Disclaimer: I do not own One Piece and I'm getting rather irritated with myself for not coming up with better disclaimers.

A/N: Let's say this is a sequel to 'Two Steps'. :)


He heard her laugh. Instantly his head shot up from the cooking he was doing. Sanji turned the heat down and rushed from the stove. He wanted to know what his Nami-san was laughing at. The cook only made it till the doorway of the galley. "Oh." The marimo had made her laugh. Eight days he'd been living this nightmare. Eight days since they had broken the news to the crew of what had been going on between them. Eight days of pure torture.

Sanji could clearly see them standing in the centre of the lawn deck. The marimo's hands were on her waist; her fingers were playing with his yukata. Sanji dug into his pockets for his cigarettes and lighter. He couldn't stand it! "Where the hell is everyone?" he said to himself. He had a good mind to break it up, show the two they were not alone. Then again, it wouldn't make a difference, would it? He lit the cigarette, took a puff, felt himself relax – a little. He saw Zoro playfully slip his hands off Nami's waist and turn away from her. Nami immediately went after him, she jumped, reaching one arm over his shoulder and weighing him to a halt. She then hooked him in, tightly holding on to his arm. They slowly walked over the lawn.

It was moments like these when Sanji hated, absolutely hated the fact that they were on a ship. And that they were travelling at their own pace and that the marimo and his Nami-san could always be together. Any time of the day. Any time! At least he never walked in on them, together, doing other things. But there had been times when he had known they were doing other things and he had instantly run the other way.

The couple stopped and Nami threw her arms around Zoro's neck. Sanji couldn't stand how she clung to him. The marimo would move and she'd latch on, he'd stop and she'd throw herself at him. Why?! He had to admit that with the marimo, she was safe. If there was anyone in the world he'd trust almost as much as himself to take care of her, it would be his rival, the green shit-head. With the marimo, she looked happier than he'd ever seen her. Together, they seemed to..fit. He couldn't deny they were the perfect picture of love as they stood there. That picture he had always craved to be one half of and his Nami-san was supposed to have been the other half. But there she stood, completing her own picture with someone else – with the shitty swordsman. Sanji leaned in the doorway, releasing a stream of smoke from his lips. Even the marimo looked different when near her. It was obvious in the way he looked at her, the way a smile would creep up on his boring face. What could you do when you saw that look? They were in love and there was no wishing it away, no matter how many drinks you continued to serve, no matter how many fights you picked or how many times you declared your own love.

They were whispering things to each other now, their faces so close together and the marimo was holding her tightly around the waist, almost lifting her from the ground. They were whispering things which were only meant for their ears, only meant to tease and tantalise each other. Then they inevitably kissed. Sanji made himself look. Silently, they kissed. His Nami-san moved her head until Sanji couldn't see her face anymore, only the marimo's big head – blocking the way. Her hand sensually stroked the back of his over-sized head, her fingers running through his stupid green hair. Sanji looked away now and thought that he'd better return to the stove. He was tired of watching other people's 'perfect pictures of love' anyway. Then he heard her laugh again and once again he needed to see what was happening, what was making her laugh!

Zoro had lifted her off the ground and her jeans-covered legs were now wrapped around his waist. Sanji bit on his cigarette as he watched Zoro patiently carry her across the grass, slowly climb the stairs leading to the women's-quarters. He saw his Nami-san's arms around the marimo's neck, her face, buried in his neck. Sanji couldn't see if she was kissing his neck. She was so taken with the shitty swordsman and Sanji dryly allowed himself to continue watching until they reached the door and struggled for a moment to get it open; Nami had to turn the handle as Zoro's hands were occupied. Then he carried her into the room and Nami loudly threw the door closed behind them. Sanji moved from the galley doorway, returning to his cooking.

With every sighting of them, with every reminder, with every stabbing pain hitting him each day; he was getting more and more used to them being together. And hopefully, because of each sighting, each reminder, each stabbing pain; that stabbing pain would weaken – over time.


A/N: I took the sad approach and ditched the love-idiot in this one. Just to express the pain of love without making Zoro and Nami have to suffer. :)

I really think I'm developing a soft spot for Sanji ^ ^. Maybe cause he never gets to have Nami in my stories, (Sorry Sanji) lol. Plus, I can't help but admire the guy, he does have style;).

Thanx to fmdevil for the advice on categorising the story. :)