Sanji's about to lose his mind.

"Captain, you have to eat."

He never thought he'd end up here, begging this of Luffy, of all people.

"No."

And it isn't Luffy's fault, he knows that. Luffy's never been sick like this before, when a bite of the rich food Sanji prepares on a daily rebels in his stomach, and he scares the hell out of the rest of them by rushing to a bathroom to be sick for hours. After that, when he's miserable and wrung out, and everyone else is miserable and wrung out for him, Luffy doesn't want to eat, and even if it seems wrong on a cosmic level for Luffy to turn down the tray Sanji brings him, Sanji understands.

But it's been three days, and Luffy's still sore and aching and his voice when he speaks is wheezing and hoarse; Chopper promises an anxious crew for the one hundredth time that it'll pass with good care and plenty of rest, but the little rubber shit won't eat.

"You have to eat something if you want to get better."

"I just have to take Chopper's medicine."

Sanji's grip is crushing and the handles of the bedtray fold in his hands. Luffy blinks over at him, slow and hot with fever and almost purblind; but he must have seen what he was looking for, because he shifts under the heavy blankets and reaches out past the covered dishes to touch Sanji's arm.

It's a gesture he's seen Luffy do before with people bowing under a great weight, people who need to borrow strength for as long as it will take to stand on their own again. Sanji wants to slam his head into the wall at the same time he wants to pick him up and hold him.

He does neither.

"I can't let anyone go hungry," he says, and it comes out a little more earnest than he'd intended, but Luffy's eyes are locked on his and he knows these are the things Luffy understands. "I don't want anyone in this world to starve."

But it's more than that. They both know it's more than that.

"I'm your cook," he stresses, implores, feels Luffy's hand tighten on his arm marginally because Sanji is that, Sanji is his. "My job, my purpose on this ship, is to feed you. Do you understand?"

Luffy's quiet for several long moments, and finally nods, and Sanji sets the tray down on the nightstand, sits on the side of the bed, watches Luffy's head roll to follow him, gaze owlish and intent.

Would your immune system be stronger if you ate better? More nutrients, more fruits and vegetables? I could do better, I can do better.

His captain hasn't eaten in three days, and Sanji can't function this way. He doesn't know how to say it, how to explain why Luffy needs to eat, if not for himself then please, just do it for Sanji, do it so every bite Sanji takes doesn't feel wrong and stolen, do it so he stops pacing around the kitchen in the late afternoon when the youngest three of his companions would usually come bursting inside for snacks, do it so Sanji doesn't have to take back a plate when he sets the table for each meal. It's only been three days but it's three days and Sanji doesn't know what to do with himself when Luffy pushes his food away.

His hands are shaking with the ghost of a crippling hunger he can still remember to this day, and if Chopper hadn't banned cigarettes from the infirmary he'd have been on his fifth one by now.

"Please eat. Just- try to eat as much as you can. I'll help you eat slow, so your stomach doesn't get upset again." And, because it's breaking his heart, "You have to be hungry, Luffy."

"I am," comes the unexpected reply, "but I don't want to throw up again."

"You won't, we'll be really careful."

Big brown eyes are round, serious and searching. And then Luffy says, "Okay," and he's sitting up, blankets pooling around his waist, and this time when Sanji, disbelieving, hoping, sets the tray over his lap it stays there, and Luffy looks more uneasy than Sanji's ever seen him, but he's going to eat and Sanji's nearly light-headed with relief.

"Start with the soup, captain, and sip it slow."

And it's only ten minutes and almost half a bowl before Luffy's face creases, but Sanji whisks the food away at once and pulls Luffy against him in one arm carefully.

"Just relax now, your stomach was really empty so it's gonna feel weird for a little bit, but you're okay."

Sanji feels the boy nod against his shoulder, and holds him tighter.

"Don't ever starve yourself again, Luffy," he says quietly. "Don't ever do that."

There's a few minutes, and Sanji's not sure if he's going to get a response. Which was okay, he wasn't really asking for one. But always unpredictable, his captain finally says, "As long as you cook for me, I'll never waste food. Sorry, Sanji."

Sanji hugs him for real at that, all-encompassing like an envelope folding around a letter; and, just like everyone else who ever found strength in a thin boy with a scar and a smile, he prays the day won't come that he's forced to let go.

"I'm your cook, idiot. Don't worry about wasting anyone's food but mine."