Something is wrong.

10,437, 10,438, 10,439.

Zoro's lifting weights on deck, making use of the mid-morning sun shining down onto his back as best he can while working out to heighten his control over his body. He can't concentrate well enough, though, and feels a frown creasing his features as he studies Sanji.

10,440.

Something is very, very wrong.

10,441.

And here's the thing. Zoro knows that many think of him as quite retarded in the head, and downright incapable of detecting other's emotions.

10,442.

A downright brick wall when dealing with anything other than physical combat.

10,443.

Sanji, especially, would insist.

10,444.

But it's not true. He's actually quite sharp, and right now, he can tell that something is definitely off with the curly-brow. It's nothing incredibly obvious, but from Zoro's place on the deck, he can see Sanji serving the mid-morning drinks to his delicate ladies, and there's very minimal swooning and turning into jelly limbs.

There's not even a nosebleed, and both Nami and Robin are in nothing but bikinis.

So. Something is wrong, and it's big.

Sanji's not even trying to peak down any of their cleavages, and both Nami's and Robin's are showing. Normally, this would have been a valid reason for field day for Sanji and his perverted tendencies.

Instead, today, Sanji just places the tray balanced in his hand by their chairs, and gives a small smile to each lady once they've thanked him for the treat.

The smile looks forced.

Sanji just turns around, then, and walks off, without complimenting any of them, or trying to reach over for a grope. There's no hearts floating from his eyes.

Which, okay. Is probably a good sign for a normal person, but which is so different to how Sanji usually behaves that Zoro finds himself feeling quite worried. He shouldn't though. He should just go back to lifting his weights.

He grunts as he realises that he's been so wrapped up in his thoughts that he'd stopped his workout completely, and that just won't do. He needs to be in tip top condition if he stands a chance against Mihawk.

What number was he at again?

Dammit. He'll just have to start from one, then.

1, 2, 3.

He can't help the way that his eyes follow Sanji as he makes his way back to the kitchen, and almost drops the weight he's holding above himself across his neck when he watches Sanji half-heartedly drag Luffy by the ear out of the room, before closing the door behind himself with a near-silent snick.

And that's perhaps the most worrying of all. Normally, there'd be a Luffy-shaped hole in the opposite wall if Sanji had caught him in his kitchen.

Luffy doesn't seem to notice any difference, though, bounding straight over to Usopp and Chopper, and upon looking over, Nami and Robin are both sipping their drinks, with their heads buried in their novels.

Huh. Strange.

Zoro gives up all pretence of lifting weights, admitting that he'd lost his concentration a while ago, anyway.

He wants to know what's wrong.

And Zoro always gets what he wants, so he walks over to the kitchen, and strolls in like he owns the place.

Sanji startles as the door bangs against the wall, and almost drops the paring knife he's holding.

This should be news, because Sanji is never jumpy or careless with his knives, but Zoro is more worried about how Sanji visibly pales upon seeing who his visitor is. He doesn't make a move to kick Zoro's ass, or boot him out of the kitchen, or call him a marimo.

Shit.

Zoro waits for a second, hoping that Sanji's just a bit slow today.

Nothing happens.

Sanji just clenches his knife tighter, and turns away with a shaky sigh.

Now Zoro feels out of his depth, because Sanji and him have never got along. They've never really even talked, if you don't count throwing snide remarks or tossing insults. But Zoro's always took pride in understanding Sanji, at least – he always knows where Sanji's morals stand, how he advances on the enemy, what he holds closest to his heart. Where not to push, and when to stop so that things never go too far – never turn too personal.

Or, he did, at least.

He doesn't think he does, now, with Sanji's back facing him and tension dancing along his shoulders, the way his back is stiff and even his cutting skills seem stilted.

He doesn't think he's the right person for this, suddenly. Because obviously something is going on inside Sanji's head, and Zoro's may be quite sharp on picking up on other's emotions, but he's never been good at expressing his own.

Nami, or Robin, or Chopper, or even Luffy would have been better for this job – someone who Sanji enjoys spending time with, and who Sanji would be willing to talk to, because out of everyone on this ship, he thinks that he's the least likely to fill in those roles.

He's never been one to back down from a challenge and give up, though, so he approaches slowly, albeit awkwardly. Hesitates, as he passes the galley into the kitchen, because Sanji still hasn't really acknowledged his presence other than stiffening even further the closer Zoro walks.

"Hey." He pauses at the counter, unwilling to move any closer just yet. Not until he figures out what kind of mood Sanji's in.

There's a pause, and then. "Hey."

It's resigned, and wavers a little, and Sanji's voice is so, so small, and so unlike his usual way of speaking that Zoro doesn't understand. He doesn't understand when things changed, why they did, or why he didn't notice until now. Whether it's something that he or one of the crew did, whether one small thing has triggered it or whether it's been slowly building over time, and his nakama were too slow and stupid to see it, Zoro was too stupid to see it, and now it's turned into this huge thing that's swallowed away the sunny and bright Sanji that Zoro's become used to, spitting out a hollow and bone-tired version instead.

Because that's what Sanji is, Zoro can see it now. He's moved closer, so he's standing beside Sanji, although not quite touching him, and he can see, and he wonders again how he hasn't noticed before now, how nobody has noticed before now, just how hollow and bone-tired he looks. He's pale – even paler than usual, skin an almost sickly translucent colour, and there's the beginnings of a bag forming under the visible eye that Zoro can see.

Zoro leans closer, and Sanji flinches away, still cutting up a fish, but not quickly enough for Zoro to miss how his normally vibrant blue eye is dull, and he looks like he hasn't slept well in days, at least.

Weeks, maybe.

Zoro feels the corner of his lips pull down even further, and feels like an awful person, suddenly, because he's meant to be Sanji's nakama. He's meant to be Sanji's nakama, but how can he honestly say that when Sanji looks ill and Zoro hasn't even kept his eyes open long enough to notice?

"What the hell do you want, marimo?" It's meant to come out as sarcastic and impatient, but all Zoro can hear, now, is how weak the resolve behind the remark is, and how defeated he sounds, and all Zoro can see is the way Sanji's shoulders are slumped and his posture screams apprehension.

Zoro's brows knit together, and he's not quite sure how to handle this. He's out of his element for sure, because for once, he can't solve this problem by swinging his katana at Sanji. He's not even sure if Sanji would dodge it in time, which is a terrifying thought, because they're sailing the New World, and there's so much danger everywhere that Sanji can't afford to lose his concentration, not even for a second.

He reaches out his hand, slowly, as if trying not to startle a deer caught in headlights, and Sanji would normally be pissed at being treated so delicately, but this time he only moves away before Zoro has a chance at grabbing his sleeve, placing the fillets he'd cut into a simmering pan over the stove and letting his bangs slide forward to cover both eyes. Zoro waits for Sanji back by the cutting board, because there's still half a fish waiting to be filleted, but Sanji makes no move towards Zoro. He carries on staring at the fish in the pan, stirring it absentmindedly and avoiding the elephant in the room, that something is clearly wrong, going so far as to avoid Zoro as to start burning the fish in the pan instead of moving closer to grab more water.

Which is ridiculous and so unlike Sanji, because the Sanji Zoro knows would never act like a coward and avoid confrontation, would never burn his food, that Zoro is overwhelmed by a sudden rush of anger.

He sweeps out his arm and grabs the collar of the dress shirt Sanji's wearing, tugging once, hard, so that Sanji is spun around to finally face Zoro.

"The hell's your problem today?!" He yells at Sanji's face, shoving him in the shoulder.

Sanji's knocked back into a cupboard, head banging against wood, but he makes no move at shoving back.

Instead, he just lets himself be pushed, and stays exactly where he is afterwards, leaning his head back and closing his eyes. He inhales a shaky breath, lost between Zoro's ragged ones.

He doesn't answer, and Zoro's about to yell at him again when, finally, Sanji opens his eyes. What Zoro sees in them is enough for all of the frustration to drain out of him so quickly that the air inside a popped balloon would escape faster, because oh, no, there's tears welling up in Sanji's eyes. There's tears, and Zoro has never, ever seen Sanji cry before, and now Sanji's visible iris is blurry behind the tears building up. None have fallen yet, though, and Zoro wants to keep it that way.

He's just about to apologise, to get down on his knees and grovel if he must, because even though he doesn't really understand why Sanji's upset just because Zoro yelled at him, he knows that he's made a huge mistake if Sanji's just about crying over it.

Before he can, Sanji speaks.

"You know, I just-" a hitch of breath, "-I just don't get you, sometimes."

And then he's brushing past Zoro, eyes trained on the ground as he turns to leave the kitchen. He's shaken up, Zoro can tell – he's biting down on his lower lip, and just before he passes him, a tear slides out, carving a track down his pale cheek, curving along his jaw, and dripping off onto the floor.

Zoro just stares after him as he makes his way across the room, steps uneven; watches Sanji until he closes the galley door behind himself as he leaves, and then Zoro turns to stare at the teardrop on the floor.

It's silent in the kitchen - the kind that feels like it's crushing him, almost - and for the first time, Zoro doesn't know how to make it stop – isn't sure how to fight back.