The historic Baratie Hotel stretched long on the beach like a tidal wave from inland, set to crash over the ocean itself. The hill that rose up behind the white mansion was topped with a row of palm trees that towered over the grounds below, their leafy bursts and tall trunks swaying in a funny synchronised dance with the wind.

At night, they became something different, soldiers standing sentinel, watching silently as, in the distance beyond the hill, the lights of the city lit the sky a dusky purple and plunged their silhouettes into darkness.

The sixteen ionic columns that supported the front eaves of the mansion mimicked their stance rigidly. Sometimes, if the warm light from the building's many windows was bright enough, and the moon hid itself away, their shadows sprang out as far as they could, over the marble terrace, down the stairs onto the sand in a desperate bid to reach the ocean. They never quite could.

The hotel's wooden floorboards were creaky; its hallways were long. Its decor was a time capsule, that of a nautical beach club of yesteryear, albeit a lavish one. On fine days, the floor-to-ceiling windows were left open to the breeze, wispy curtains tickling wicker furniture.

One might never assume all the chaos the tranquil Baratie had withstood over the centuries.

Storms, battles off the coast from the Pirate Wars that left the ocean-facing facade riddled with bullet holes worn into the stone exterior.

Its rooms had seen death, accidental and intentional. Overdoses in bathtubs, perished sailors - injured and starving after a bloody battle, a suicide off the third floor balcony to the west.

Laughter and music might have flowed through its walls now, good food and good memories working hard to staunch out the bad, but to those who looked past the surface, the darkness was undeniable, always waiting to be uncovered.

Despite all that, Sanji didn't believe the hotel was haunted. Nothing crazy like that.

It was his home. His father owned it. He'd lived there all his life, helped out in the restaurant's kitchen since before he could remember. To him, the hotel was grand and welcoming and full of history. The strife of years past surely left behind nothing but relics and stories.

Sanji was never afraid to take a night shift, never afraid to stay alone and work the front desk after dark, roam the halls for routine check-ups.

His co-workers called him brave for it, but he honestly didn't see it that way. Late at night, when guests were asleep and the grounds were quiet, any shifts or noises the old building made simply reminded him of a ship, rocked softly by the waves, never completely silent.

It was a place he was drawn to, a place he'd tried to leave, when he'd chosen a college several hours away, but he'd come right back after graduation with a degree in hospitality and a fully focused dedication to the hotel. He was still young with so much to see of the world, and his friends joked that he'd be stuck there forever, but how could he feel stuck when he loved everything about it?

In fact, there was no better feeling of freedom than standing on the front terrace, smoking a cigarette and watching the sunset over the ocean waves, or getting to be there for so many joyous moments in their guests' lives.

He wasn't living vicariously when he witnessed weddings, anniversaries, and celebrations of all kinds that chose the Baratie as their venue. He was merely feeding off their cheer and happiness.

They came with smiling faces, and they left with smiling faces. And maybe it was naive to gloss over the negativity in the Baratie's past, but if he focused on it, creeped himself out by it, then it would surely have changed his entire perception of this place he loved so much.

It would have done so particularly one summer night, close to one in the morning, when he sat behind the front desk in the lobby by himself, nothing but the slow tick of the grandfather clock across the room, the smell of smoke drifting in faintly from an open window, most likely a lingering bonfire from a party down the beach.

He sat by himself, still dressed in his work uniform, a smart black double breasted suit, typing in a few figures from that night's dinner service into the computer. Summer was drawing to a close, but they'd still been busy, as they had been every night, though Sanji had to imagine the crowds of vacationers would die down in the coming weeks.

Still, it was empty now.

It was quiet and peaceful, save for the two footfalls he suddenly heard, a sound he knew well from the squeaky floorboards directly beneath the threshold that connected the entrance hall to the side check-in lobby.

"Hello?"

A man's voice, and Sanji looked up from the computer, eyes having to adjust a bit to the dimmer ambient lighting after staring at the white screen for so long.

Just within the open glass doors, there indeed stood a man, one who looked rather out of place, his brow furrowed as his eyes scanned the room.

He looked young, with short spiky hair of a dyed minty green that would have been explained by the whole pastel trend if the guy hadn't contradicted the aesthetic entirely with dark jeans, a worn leather jacket, and combat boots.

Sanji could not remember him as a guest, and they weren't due to have any late-night check-ins, but the stranger had a backpack slung over his shoulder, so the blond got to his feet, a smile coming to his face despite his confusion. The guy could've been wearing a hat earlier, changed clothes. He could've come in with a larger party, and that was why Sanji didn't recognize him.

"Sorry, sir, hiding behind the computer~ I didn't hear you come in until just now," he said.

It was true. He hadn't heard the front doors open. But he'd also been focused on his work.

"Can I help you?" he asked, hoping the man wasn't looking for a room, because, unfortunately, they were fully booked.

The man's dark eyes met his for an instant.

And then he vanished.

Sanji felt a chill run down his spine, his heart jolting in his chest as he stared at the empty spot, smile fading slowly from his face.

Someone had been there, clear as day. He'd seen him, heard his voice. He'd been sure of it. Sure enough to actually speak to the man. Could he really have imagined it…?

A few more seconds staring at the spot, then his gaze shifted around the room, which hadn't changed. He heard nothing, saw nothing out of place.

Damn. He must really have been tired.

Sanji lifted a hand to smack at his cheek a little, shaking his head and letting out a breath.

"Shit...get it together," he muttered to himself, and settled back down into his chair, leaning elbows heavily on the counter before him.

Hands rubbed over his eyes, and he realized that they did throb a little. That faint burning throb that happened when he hadn't slept enough. The computer screen's bright light blazed into his retinas.

Yes, there was certainly exhaustion there. Definite cause for spacing out and seeing things.

He still had a few hours left until he was due to lock up and go to bed. Being privately-run, their hotel didn't have twenty-four-hour service, so it was in their stated policies that from the hours of one in the morning to six, guests were on their own.

It had never been a problem for as long as his dad had owned the place, and so, Sanji vowed to stick it out, enjoy this quiet time…..but perhaps with a small cup of coffee to wake him up.

So he abandoned his admin work for the moment, getting to his feet and striding out from behind the front desk to cross the room.

The wood floor creaked loudly beneath his shoes, so he quickly stepped off it to skirt along the oriental rugs instead, dulling the sounds of his movement.

There was another lounge on the other side of the large entrance hall, a lounge with a hot water machine and a coffee maker, which the geezer had strategically tucked inside a decorative cabinet to avoid any eyesores in the room.

It shouldn't disturb the sleeping guests, so long as he turned it off before the timer alarm beeped.

Hands in his pockets, Sanji walked beneath the threshold, out of the lobby room.

That was when something flashed in the corner of his eye, a shadow, moving, with long appendages that swung independently to look like thick arms.

A sharp inhale and he instinctively whipped his head towards it.

But again….nothing. Nothing but empty couches, the large potted fern in the corner.

He froze there for a moment, just watching, still watching even as he murmured, "Coffee. Coffee, for fuck's sake," to get his mind back on track. This was getting ridiculous.

He kept moving, now into the main entrance area, the large front doors to his left, and the grand staircase that led upstairs to the guest rooms on his right, the deep red carpet spilling down the middle of the steps towards him. Sanji didn't like the color. It reminded him of a long tongue rolling out of a gaping mouth, but his father had stubbornly insisted on following the tradition of the place, keeping it red as it had been for decades. One day, when Sanji owned the hotel, he would change it to blue.

Briefly, he glanced up the stairs, still well-lit through the night, the large mirror on the wall at the top of the first landing reflecting the second set of steps that doubled back to the upper floor, also affording a small glimpse of the guest hallway as well.

He looked away, finally reaching the opposite lounge room, shrouded in darkness until he flipped an inconspicuous light switch on the wall, hidden behind another potted plant, the ficus tree that had nearly doubled in size since they'd first acquired it a few years ago.

Light flooded the room beyond the glass doors, which he opened carefully to avoid any unnecessary squeaking.

He liked this lounge. It had bookshelves, a grand piano where their musician, Brook, often played. The glass doors on the opposite side of the room all led out to the wrap-around deck, always left open during the day to let in the warm air and provide access to the comfortable rocking chairs set up out there.

He'd barely had the lights on for a second before footsteps, unmistakable running footsteps, rushed him from behind, with them a gust of cold air that came from nowhere.

Sanji jumped, turned, and was confronted with the sudden image of a face advancing towards him - nothing but a face.

But it was the same face he'd seen a few minutes before. The face of that man with the green hair, only this time, his eyes were wide, almost panicked, his mouth open for the split second his visage imprinted itself into Sanji's brain.

And then he was gone from sight again, but Sanji felt him. He no longer felt like he was alone in the room.

This was the first time. This was the first time anything like this had ever happened to him. There were the stories, things his co-workers and guests had recounted of odd things they'd seen, heard, and felt. Disembodied voices. Footsteps. Dark shadows. Cold spots, and unexplainably heightened emotions.

He'd never believed them. But something was definitely happening now, because his body was reacting. His heart was pounding; his skin prickled with goosebumps. And there was that faint smell of smoke again that absolutely should not have been there.

Sanji wasn't scared. At least, he told himself he wasn't. He was too rational for that, but he still found his footsteps quickening as he crossed over to the cabinet, opened it and threw another paranoid glance over his shoulder that he couldn't help.

There was that feeling every kid knew, of being left behind in a dark place, running up the basement steps as fast as possible to escape the unknown monsters lurking just out of sight….

He felt it in that moment, but he forced himself to calm, slowed his frantic movements so he didn't smash any of the ceramic cups and saucers when he reached for one.

He set them aside on the small table beside the cabinet, pressed the button on the silver coffee maker.

But it didn't turn on.

There was no beep, no welcoming flash on the small menu screen. Why?

Instantly, his eyes followed the cord to where it threaded through a small hole at the back of the cabinet. He shuffled around to peer, with some difficulty, behind it.

It was plugged in.

So he tried again, jamming the button down harder.

Still nothing.

"Say something!"

A low voice, close, a few feet from him. An aggressive-sounding male voice that had Sanji stumbling back in surprise, knocking into one of the open cabinet doors, sending it squealing on its hinges.

"Who's there?!" he blurted out automatically to the empty space, eyes searching the room nervously now for any sign that this was someone fucking with him.

The thought of the humiliation was enough to muster a burst of bravado within him, and he took off across the room towards the sitting area, checking behind every couch and chair and growling when it turned up nothing.

That voice had been so clear! Too clear to not be human!

He was certain of this as he reached the fireplace, not caring how crazy he looked when he caught a glimpse of his own reflection in the old speckled mirror hanging above it. He ducked down, moved aside the black iron grate across the opening and stuck his head in, finding, predictably, nothing in there but darkness and soot.

A huff and he gave that up, moving back the grate and straightening once more to see the man standing directly behind him in the mirror.

Sanji stopped. Everything stopped. He stopped breathing, and he didn't move.

Like looking into the sun, forcing himself to stare was an unnatural feeling. To force his eyes, wide with instinctive dread, to focus on the figure behind him. The figure that hadn't been there a mere moment ago. The figure who met his eyes for the second time, sending a shivering shock through Sanji's body, head to toe.

"Who are you?" the blond just barely whispered, knowing if he looked away, the man would disappear again.

The man's countenance changed, his face cloudy and warped beyond the tarnished glass, but his expression was instantly bewildered, as if reacting to Sanji's words.

He opened his mouth.

"I know you-"

And then he was gone once more.

Sanji stood there, alone again, as he'd always been, the lone reflection in that mirror.

When he looked behind him, his solitude was confirmed.

He felt sick. He smelled smoke, and he felt sick, his chest tight, a slight sheen of sweat beading on his forehead.

No more. This was insane. Not even making coffee anymore, no. Fuck it. He was going to bed and sleeping this damn fever dream off. That was to say, if he wasn't already dreaming, a growing possibility.

He hurried across the room, heart fluttering as rapidly as a terrified rabbit's, leaving him feeling lightheaded as he hastily shoved everything back into the cabinet and left the room, closing the doors and flipping off the lights.

He realized he shouldn't have the instant he heard the latch click behind him, the doors swinging open on their own.

The blond didn't look back. He didn't even re-enter the front lobby, wasn't mindful of his footsteps anymore, let them thump freely and loudly as he rushed to the stairs, unable to ignore the fact that another pair followed swiftly after him.

Up the stairs he went, trying not to stumble, though his breathing had picked up, and it was growing more and more difficult not to panic when those steps behind him kept coming.

He reached the landing, his own reflection sprouting up into view in the large hanging mirror. He kept going, even as he saw a glimpse in the glass, again, of the man behind him, whose eyes narrowed, his hand reaching out towards Sanji.

Sanji rounded the stairs, desperate to get away, but that was when he felt it. A touch. A solid, ice cold grip clamping down onto his shoulder and yanking him back.

With it came terror, but also a shot of adrenaline that had him whirling around to face whatever the hell was behind him.

Nothing stood in the mirror, apart from his own disheveled, trembling self, but still, he hissed, "What do you want?!" to the open space, not expecting a response.

But he got one, in the form of an equally hissed reply of, "Listen!"

In the moment he heard that voice, he saw him in the mirror again, just briefly, the man's back, though he couldn't see anything in front of his face.

"Listen?" Sanji panted helplessly, not knowing how he was supposed to do that when he couldn't see or hear this entity for more than a split second at a time.

Frustration mixed with his panic as he stood there, heavy breaths still leaving him, unsure if he wanted the man to appear again or not.

Too long passed. The air felt thick and stifling. Silence, complete silence, and enough time went by that he began to feel stupid, standing there. He'd been certain he'd seen what he had, but now, was it gone?

"Fuck," he cursed to himself under his breath, eventually turning on his heel and starting his ascent again. He felt a little better with his own cynical voice as background noise.

"Fine, so the place is haunted. Fine. I believe it. I don't know how it's possible, but I believe it. That doesn't mean I'm gonna run. That doesn't mean I'm gonna let it scare me. If anything, this is good! I can provoke the stupid ghost to go bug Patty and Carne instead of-"

As soon as his foot touched down on the plush carpet of the hallway, the lights went out.

Every light went out and that overpowering smell of ash and smoke came back to him, along with a surge of emotion. Fear, but also sorrow, regret.

He realized he was standing in the burnt skeleton of the hallway, pitch black smears somehow darker than the night itself staining the walls, wallpaper curling off and hanging low like tendrils extending to grab him.

Sanji stood stock still, staring stubbornly at the top of the steps. Somehow, his body kept him there, even though there was such a powerful feeling of loss rising within him, the instinct to flee strong as movement tugged at the edge of his vision in the dark.

He couldn't move, and when the lights blinked on and the hallway righted itself in a heartbeat, wallpaper pristine and the smell the familiar breezy, salty air that permeated much of the building, there were tears in his eyes.

Why? Why the fuck were there tears?

There was a shuddering breath directly beside him, and his entire right side went numb, a freezing cold invisible presence materializing there.

Sanji sniffed, took a deep breath himself, and wiped at his eyes frantically.

"Are you - are you showing me how you died?" he murmured to the empty space, voice thick.

No reply, even though he could still feel the presence circling around him now, until the coldness disappeared, replaced by the usual warmth and light humidity.

Slowly, sensation came back into his right arm, and he lifted his left to rub his hand over his sleeve.

When had there been a fire here? He had no knowledge of one, and certainly not one that would have been big enough to destroy the entire floor.

The man he'd seen had been wearing modern clothes too. Was that his own imagination filling in missing details? Or had something happened in the years he'd been away at university…..something his father hadn't told him?

Why would he keep that a secret though…?

Fuck, he needed some fresh air. He needed to clear his head and process everything he'd experienced. And he needed to research, find out when the hell such a fire had occurred.

He moved off, starting the long walk towards the end of the hallway, past identical white doors labeled with gold numbers.

210….211….212….

The hallway was in flames.

Smoke blurred his vision, and he could feel the heat rush over him, enough that it brought a sheen of sweat to his forehead.

The worst part was, he was rendered immobile. He was rooted to the spot, unable to scream, unable to flee. He could only watch the impending disaster roar in front of him, coming ever closer, sweeping up everything in its path.

And just when he thought the flames would swallow him whole, engulf him with no escape, they disappeared, leaving the hallway as it should have been, quiet and untouched.

He didn't hesitate this time. He ran down the hallway to the end, where the doors to the upper balcony lay in wait. If his pounding footsteps disturbed guests, he didn't care at this point. He simply had to get out, had to clear these fucking visions from his mind and stop these tears that stubbornly fell.

It wasn't real. Not in this moment at least. Everything was fine and he had to remind himself of that when he pushed through into the clear night air and stumbled his way up to the balcony railing.

He didn't hear the door click shut behind him, but he refused to look back, more concerned with fumbling in his pants pocket for his gold lighter, then inside his inner suit pocket for his box of cigarettes.

He pulled one out, stuck it between trembling lips and flicked the lighter. A flame sparked up, but then quickly disappeared. Over and over he tried, until his thumb was raw, but no flame would catch.

Sanji growled with frustration, clamped the stupid lighter in his fist and fought back the urge to chuck the damn thing into the courtyard below. His fist shook with the effort it took to resist, and the blond eventually shoved it back into his pocket, dissatisfied and in need of nicotine.

That was when his cigarette caught fire on its own.

The tip burst into flame, and he nearly dropped it when his mouth fell open in surprise. It didn't simmer to its usual slow burn though. Instead, the flame shot down it, disintegrating the stick to ash that fell into his mouth and caused him to cough and splutter as it rained down over his shirt to the ground below.

"What the fuck do you want from me?!" he cried, desperation in his tone.

He nearly jumped out of his skin when a light, a floating orb of light, came flashing his way from the door that stood wide open. He'd been sure he hadn't propped it like it was.

The light came closer, flashing on and off, backing him up against the balcony, unable to look away.

It nearly reached him, when it blinked off….and didn't come back.

He waited. Waited, almost frustrated now that this shit was being so elusive.

But then, a blinding white light shining directly into his face, enough that he had to shield his eyes, raise a hand to cover it. The air was freezing cold.

It shone for so long though, long enough that he actually lowered his hand a little, tried to get a good look at it. He couldn't be fucking scared. It was just a light.

He stared at the area around it, unable to look at it directly, and that was when he saw something coming into focus, a figure standing behind the light, faintly visible in the darkness, partially obscured by the bright orb.

It was the man again! He couldn't make out his entire form, but that was definitely his face, underlit and creepy as fuck, but now Sanji wanted answers. And if this fucking insane moment was happening? Fine. Let it happen!

"Answer me, dammit!" he insisted forcefully. "What do you want? Who are you?"

He half expected the man and the light to disappear the instant he spoke, but he didn't. Instead, his face lit up with something else, a look of wide-eyed disbelief, and then a slow grin, an audible laugh.

"You're fucking - you're real!" replied the man, staring at him in amazement, and it was such a useless response that Sanji actually rolled his eyes. At a ghost!

"Of course I'm real!" he shot back. "What the hell are you?"

The apparition looked just as baffled to be having this conversation, enough that he fumbled for words again for a second.

"I'm-" he started to say, eyes seeming to want to take in every detail of the blond's face. "I'm Zoro - I'm-"

But he never finished his sentence. He disappeared, as did the light, plunging Sanji back into lonely darkness.

He kept talking though, even as eyes blinked frantically to adjust to the sudden lack of light.

"Zoro? Is that your name?" Sanji pressed. Weird-ass name, but at least it would give him something to Google later. "Did you die in a fire? Is that why you're pulling all this insanity?"

Sanji never thought he'd be thrilled to hear a low, disembodied voice growl, "No!" in his ear.

"No what?!" he called out in response, though there was an edge of excitement there. An actual conversation was happening here!

Or….there was for a moment, until there was silence again, and Sanji threw up his arms.

"Urgh, if you can't talk, just - write a message on the wall or something - and not in blood or some freaky shit! Actually, on second thought, forget it, because I'll be the one cleaning it up…"

The blond sighed, staring into the empty night air.

He didn't feel threatened by this ghost guy. That genuine look of amazement on his face when they'd made contact had been enough to tell Sanji he was harmless, at least on the surface.

If he was going to accept this whole situation though, he assumed he also had to accept the fact that there might still be real problems here. He couldn't afford to hallucinate this shit at work. He couldn't afford to freeze in the middle of a conversation with someone because, suddenly, the entire hallway was on fire. Even if his co-workers could commiserate with their own paranormal stories, he had a job to do.

That thought in mind, he gave up on his cigarettes, instead marching back inside, down the empty hallway towards the emergency stairwell on the other end.

He moved quickly, eyes shifting about with paranoia, almost expecting another vision or voice, or even a touch, to spook the living daylights out of him again, but nothing happened. The hallway stayed the same, and the stairwell was normal as well, nothing strange about its undecorated interior.

A sigh, and he moved upstairs, footsteps echoing in the cavernous space, fluorescent lights tiring his eyes with their harshness. But it was up to the third floor he went, where he and his dad maintained their living quarters in a suite down a shorter hallway, separated from the guest rooms. It was modest, but it was how the two of them liked it.

Sanji pushed down on the metal bar once he reached the third floor, tentatively peeking out at the hallway beyond, but it was the same as the last, red carpet narrowing to a tiny point on the distant end of the building.

He even stood there for a minute, watching the hallway with an air of defiance, almost daring something to happen now. Daring Zoro to appear and stare him down, or for that creepy light to swallow him up whole.

Would it be stupid to talk to him again? To try and coax out a response, not that it would probably work out the way he wanted. It seemed this weird shit happened on its own terms.

He shook his head, abandoning that imposing hallway view to turn the corner, heading down the shorter one instead.

It was here that he found himself muttering out loud as he approached the door.

"Zoro? Are you listening?" he said quietly, fumbling in his pocket for the room card, which he tapped to the scanner on the wall. A quiet beep and the door unlocked. Sanji turned the doorknob. "We need some ground rules, okay? First of all, none of this-"

He walked in to find the room completely dark.

Dark….but smoldering.

Sanji walked into the destroyed ruins of his suite.

Ash, broken glass, charred remains of furniture. Their small kitchen, where he liked to try out new recipes for the restaurant, was gutted, cabinets in disrepair, the counter collapsed in on itself. Nothing remained in the living room, save for two chairs covered with white tarp that seemed to glow in the moonlight that streamed in through shattered windows.

Gone were the framed photos they'd kept on the wall from his and his dad's trip to France, though he could see the faint outline of where they'd hung, etched in the soot coating the once-clean walls.

He couldn't even walk past the kitchen, the floor completely caved in, crumbling down into a gaping black hole, sucking in wooden beams and bits of carpet and insulation.

There was nothing left, and this was harder to withstand than the burning hallway. This was his home, however small, where he and his dad had shared memories, returned to after long days of work. Even if he considered the whole hotel his home, this was his sanctuary within that, and seeing it so completely ruined was more painful than he ever could have expected.

Tears filled his eyes again, his heart in his throat, and the vision was so vivid, so real, that he felt terror begin to fill him again.

He could smell the smoke, permeating every surface. He could smell mold and decay, things that should not have dirtied the air, not here by the ocean, not in this beautiful place.

Why wouldn't the image leave? He closed his eyes, squeezed them shut, opening them after a good ten seconds. It persisted.

He tried again. No change. Hands came to his temples, squeezing hard, but it didn't help.

The blond frantically looked behind him, hoping that would reset the images, but was horrified to find the hallway just as burnt and abandoned, lights gone, pitch black without windows to light the way.

"What the fuck - what the fuck," he breathed, feeling panic start to take hold as he whipped his head back towards his suite, even daring to take a step in. He felt the floor dip dangerously beneath his foot, enough that he drew it back fearfully.

"Hey! Geezer!" Sanji called out, not even caring if he raised his voice now. He wasn't where he should be. Things weren't as they should be! "Geezer! Fucking - are you in there?! Dad!"

His own voice sounded far away, like he was hearing it from a great distance. And there was no response from his father.

Heavy breaths, his heart throbbing in his ears, and he slammed fists to his hair.

"Wake up - wake the fuck up! Why is this - urgh!"

It was a nightmare. It had to be, especially when he heard noises behind him, footsteps creaking ever closer in the dark, and he couldn't see anything.

Everything in his body was telling him to get out. Get out of the building. Get out of here, go somewhere before he completely lost his mind.

There was nowhere to go but down that hallway, into that black cave that surely housed any number of unseen demons, visions, and images he was terrified to see.

Shaking, he went anyway, used the adrenaline spurred by his fear to fuel him into that void.

He stumbled through, nearly tripping over fallen boards and rubble that were so real and solid when his feet knocked into them.

He found the side stairwell, shoved his way in and felt his way down through the darkness, clinging, first, to the railing before he felt rusted bits and chips of paint flake off in his hand, enough to make him withdraw it and stick to the wall instead.

All the way to the ground floor he went, and when he saw no reassuring warm light shining in through the square window in the door, he felt yet more tears of hot panic prick at his eyes.

Fists he slammed on the door, forehead pressed to the glass, beyond which stood nothing but dark desolation still.

He closed his eyes, tried and failed to control his quickening breaths.

And he audibly gasped when he heard the metal bar on the door depress, lurch beneath his weight to swing open on its own.

He scrambled back, nearly fell backwards off the landing to tumble down the final flight of stairs to the basement.

The door continued to open though, and just when it came swinging back to shut, he saw, through the window, a fleeting glimpse of an apparition, the back of a head moving away. A head of very distinctive green hair.

Sanji didn't wait.

"Hey!" he yelled, forcing legs to move, sprinting after him, bursting through the door and out into the hallway.

He looked back and forth frantically, didn't see him for a second, until he heard the door across from him click shut, like someone had just entered it.

"Hey!" he called again, rushing across the corridor and shoving open that door too, the grime of soot tangible on his hands.

The ballroom he entered upon was empty, largely unchanged from how it usually was, a huge open space, but something wasn't right about the mirrors that lined the walls. The reflections were distorted, smoky. He couldn't even see himself...and then, in that mirror world, the entire room burst into flame, consuming his reality in a menacing orange glow.

Instinctively, he turned around to run back, but a door opening on the other side of the room distracted him.

Sanji caught just a tiny glimpse of a leg slipping through the door before it closed again.

He was off, braving the devilish flames behind those mirrors, chasing the man across the length of the ballroom towards the door marked 'Exit.'

He didn't stop in the hallway, particularly not when he saw the door to the billiards room was missing entirely, cool moonlight suddenly washing over the space and snuffing out the flames behind him instantaneously.

Plunged into darkness once more, he couldn't make out anything….save for the figure standing in that room across the hall, his back to Sanji as he stared out a window, silhouetted.

Sanji couldn't breathe suddenly, physically couldn't get enough air, it felt like, shoulders heaving and heavy coughs hacking out of him. He dragged feet forward though, leaned heavily against the door frame, eyes not leaving what had to be the image of Zoro in that room.

"Sto - Stop this - Stop this!" he huffed out, a hand coming to his chest to grip his shirt. "Please! I'm - I'm sorry for what happened to you! I-I don't - know when it - when it happened but-"

Zoro wasn't responding, didn't seem to hear his voice at all. It was frustrating enough that Sanji pushed off the wall, slowly crossed over, willing the man to stay there, to make contact with him again, do something.

"You have to - move on from this place!" Sanji insisted through labored breaths, nearly upon the ghostly man now. "You can't be stuck here forever! It's - It's not-! Urgh, Zoro, listen to me, come on!"

Sanji reached out to grip Zoro's shoulder, hard. He couldn't even marvel at the fact that he could touch him. He simply tugged Zoro around to face him, frantic eyes searching his face…..

A respirator mask covered half of it.

Just as it had….that….night….

Revelation hit him. Sudden, hard revelation that stopped his heart, stole his breath.

"It was you…" Sanji realized.

Overwhelming emotion followed in a rush. A tidal wave of ultimate loss and grief.

He looked down to see the skin of his hands blackened with soot and congealed blood, visible skin blistered and red beyond recognition.

He didn't see it for long before a white light blinded him, engulfed everything, including his body. He had no control, couldn't even close his eyes.

White light. Endless white light.

His mind was blank.

He was the light.

...

The first image that took shape in that heavenly void was of his mother. His mother, whom he hadn't seen since her death, close to seventeen years ago.

She smiled, extended a hand.

"I've missed you, Sanji," she said.

And she was beckoning to him.