Archive of Our Own

At first, it doesn’t bother Sanji.

               At first, it seems like nothing.

               “Zoro,” says Nami. She sashays from her cabin, barefoot in a stunning strapless sundress the colour of a perfect summer sky. She stops in front of Zoro and turns, presenting her back to him. The blue fabric plunges at her sides. She presses a hand to her chest to hold it up, but the rest of the dress hangs open, revealing the width of her shoulders, the curve of her spine, the swell of her hips.

               The colour is high in Sanji’s cheeks. He can’t look away.

               “Zip me up,” Nami says, like it’s nothing.

               And—like it’s nothing—Zoro does.

               Cupped together, his hands could encircle her narrow waist. That’s how big and blunt they are, with scarred knuckles and callused palms. His fingers are squared at the tips, and the nails look sanded more than trimmed. Sanji pays a lot of attention to people’s hands and Zoro’s are decidedly ungroomed, like the rest of him. They’re a lot more weathered than the rest of him, but weathered in the way of old, impenetrable rock. In a word: strong. And yet, Zoro takes the teardrop of Nami’s zipper between his thumb and forefinger and pulls it up without so much as grazing her skin, until the dress comes together below her shoulder-blades.

               “Thank-you,” she says, and walks away in one direction. Zoro yawns and walks away in the other.

               Sanji blinks and realizes that he’s whipped his cream into butter.

               Why Zoro?

               He mentally measures the distance from the cabin to the galley, then considers where Zoro was standing.

               He was the closest to her. That must be why.

It’s hot in the desert.

               Sanji is glad to trade his suit jacket for an outfit made of lightweight cotton, which protects his fair skin from the sun without making him sweat. Usopp’s attire is practical and similar to Sanji’s, while Luffy and Zoro simply grab the first garments they see and tug them on. Sanji doesn’t tell Chopper that him wearing a coat is counterproductive, because the young reindeer looks too pleased with himself and his disguise. Instead, he lights a cigarette and waits for Nami and Vivi to emerge.

               The curtain rustles. Sanji perks up.

               It parts to reveal a sliver of Vivi: head, neck, collarbone, and one smooth shoulder. She looks distressed as she scans her surroundings.

               Sanji jumps to his feet, eager to be of assistance—

               “Mr. Samurai?” she calls, relieved to see Zoro sitting with his arms crossed and his head bowed.

               At his name, Zoro cracks open one eye.

               Vivi gestures to a garment, disturbing the curtain. “Will you pass me that, please? Yes, that one,” she nods.

               It’s a mere ribbon of midnight-blue fabric trimmed in coral pink; a dancer’s top. Zoro picks it up by the strap without giving it a second glance; as if it’s purpose isn’t to cradle a woman’s bosom.

               Vivi smiles gratefully as he hands it to her, naught but an old, ragged curtain separating her body from his.

               A curtain that catches when Vivi tries to retreat and tears with a scandalous riiip!

               “Ah!” she cries in surprise.

               Sanji bites down on his cigarette, alert as a hunting dog. He inches closer, leans to the side, hoping to catch a glimpse of—

               —nothing, because Zoro is in the way.

               Move, you idiot!

               Sanji sees the cascade of Vivi’s long hair and her foot as she pivots, but that’s all. The breadth of Zoro’s body is blocking the rest of her from view, and then, too soon, he has the curtain in his hand and lifts it overhead to hold in place. Not only does this prevent Sanji peeking inside, but it means that Zoro—sleepy, stupid, uninterested Zoro—can.

               Sanji is furious at the outcome. He’s shocked, indignant, appalled. He can’t believe his bad luck, that sweet Vivi would call to Zoro instead of him. She must not have noticed him hovering nearby for just such an emergency as this. She must not have wanted to bother him by asking for assistance, even though he had been closer to the top than Zoro. She must have felt too shy to speak to Sanji while in such a state of undress… She must have, but…

               Why Zoro? he wonders again.

               The swordsman stands there, facing the dressing-room and looking bored, as if there weren’t two half-naked women changing inside.

               Sanji is flummoxed.

               What kind of a healthy, nineteen-year-old man isn’t aroused by nude women? What kind of a man doesn’t try to peek?

               He doesn’t realize that he’s staring until he meets Zoro’s gaze.

               There’s nothing gentle about those fierce grey eyes. They’re as cold as steel, or as warm as thunderclouds, but never gentle; never soft. The shape is sharp at the corners and the lashes are short and black as soot. His brow looks heavy when he’s glaring like this, eyebrows lowered and drawn together in disapproval. The look he’s giving Sanji now is stern and a little accusatory.

               You’re the one looking the wrong way, he wants to say, but quickly leaves the building instead.

The Straw Hats are in disguise once more, this time in formal evening wear. And this time it’s Robin whom Sanji can’t take his eyes off of.

               She looks lethal in a long, form-fitting black gown, with heels that accentuate her tall figure. Her pin-straight hair is velvet smooth and her lips are a deadly red.

               “Robin-chan, you look stunning!” Sanji emphatically compliments her.

               She smiles demurely at him, then loops her arm through Zoro’s. They walk away, and Sanji exhales a huff of cigarette smoke in annoyance.

               They don’t even match, he criticizes.

               Robin’s gown is long and sleek, whereas Zoro is wearing a dark kimono. It’s a very nice outfit, made of pure silk with subtle but delicate grey stripes that shimmer like silver when he moves, but it does nothing to compliment Robin’s gown, which is what a gentleman’s ensemble should do. He’s there to provide a backdrop to emphasize her beauty; that’s what Sanji believes. He’s there to be her escort and see to her needs; to offer food and drink before she asks; to ask her to dance; and to ensure she isn’t bothered by any of the other guests. The fact that they are—once again—in disguise to infiltrate a crime syndicate is irrelevant, in Sanji’s opinion. The responsibility of a gentleman is to put his date first and make certain that she feels as special as possible.

               Sanji has only dreamt of escorting a lovely lady to a party such as this. He’s imagined every miniscule detail of it, and perhaps it’s that enthusiasm that makes him a little overeager. Perhaps it’s his eagerness that makes him an undesirable date.

               Neither Nami or Robin had approached him when they were choosing escorts, and, instead, wagered a game of Rock-Paper-Scissors for Zoro.

               Sanji just wants to attend the party, but instead he’s forced to watch Robin smile in victory as if Zoro is some kind of prize. And to make matters worse, before he can swoop in to ask Nami, she sighs in defeat and resigns herself to Luffy. Sanji can only stare in disbelief as she shakes her finger at their captain—who is wearing shorts (shorts!)—and warns him to be on his best behaviour.

               Am I invisible? he wonders—panics for a second. Is there something wrong with me? Do I not look suitable?

               I look better in formal dress than either of them, he thinks, but it’s peppered with self-doubt. Luffy is—Luffy, but Zoro is an objectively handsome man. In fact, it’s a little unfair how attractive he is, since he puts no effort into his appearance whatsoever, and yet women seem to like that untidy, unconventional look. Maybe it’s the samurai-warrior thing that holds so much appeal. Those muscles certainly aren’t just for show…

               “What is it about him?” Sanji asks Chopper as he trades a three-piece suit for a chef’s uniform. (“Sanji-kun can infiltrate the kitchen,” they decide.)

               “Zoro’s a nice guy!” Chopper chirps.

               Sanji realizes he’s asked the wrong person.

               “Aren’t I a nice guy?” he asks, kneeling to tie Chopper’s tie.

               Chopper taps his chin with a hoof in thought.

               Ouch, Sanji thinks as the seconds tick by.

               “Hmm, yes… you are,” Chopper finally decides, but it comes out slow and uncertain. It’s an affirmative with conditions attached, but before Sanji can press the issue, it’s time for them to go.

               Sanji infiltrates the kitchen, as planned, and though he can’t contain his need to correct every culinary error and mishap he sees, he maintains his false identity. With his part of the plan executed perfectly, he changes into a waiter’s uniform and slips into the ballroom.

               The first two people he sees are Robin and Zoro: Robin, because she’s gorgeous; and Zoro, because he’s dressed unlike everyone else. He’s also scowling, as if he’d rather be anywhere else. The two of them standout, even though their post is at the back of the room by the balcony.

               Could you be any more conspicuous? Sanji chides Zoro.

               The three swords might not look unusual with the kimono, but the swordsman, himself, does. He’s not a good actor. Even scrubbed down and dressed-up, Roronoa Zoro still looks too feral for Champaign and fine crystal.

               “You’re a horrible date,” Sanji says, sidling up next to him.

               Zoro’s acknowledgement is a grunt.

               Sanji rolls his eyes. “This is a party. You could try a little harder, moss-head. You haven’t even asked anyone to dance.”

               A sharp, sly grin curls Zoro’s lips. “Okay,” he says, glancing sideways at Sanji. “Want to dance?”

               Robin chuckles, but Sanji only huffs in defeat.

               “Be serious!” he snaps, and stalks off.

Are you seeing this?” Sanji asks Usopp.

               He stabs a finger across the beach—beach? if the sea is made of clouds, is the vearth considered a beach?—to where a quartet of beautiful raven-haired Shandia women are vying for Zoro’s attention, and where Zoro is mostly ignoring them. One offers gold jewellery in gratitude for his part in saving their tribe, which he refuses; and another offers a gilded goblet of something that must not be alcohol, because he refuses that as well. Instead, he looks directly at Sanji and mimes drinking.

               “Unbelievable,” Sanji mutters, putting down a ladle, replacing the pot’s lid, and stepping away from the soup simmering over the open flames. In a temper, he collects a bottle of saké from the Going Merry, tosses it straight up in the air, and then kicks it as hard as he can in Zoro’s direction. Zoro catches it one-handed, yanks the cork out with his teeth, and drinks. The Shandia women ohh and ahh in complimentary tones, but the swordsman doesn’t respond.

               “Un-be-lievable,” says Sanji.

               “Why?” he asks Usopp. “Why him?”

               Usopp is in the middle of slurping noodles. He pauses, glances at Zoro, and shrugs unhelpfully. “Zoro’s cool.”

               Sanji scrunches his nose. “Aren’t I cool?”

               Usopp stares unblinkingly at him as he slowly sucks noodles into his mouth. It’s a contemplative stare rather than complimentary. “Yeah…” he says eventually, as if he’s tallied the sum of Sanji’s pros and cons and the result is in favour of Sanji’s coolness, if only numerically. “It’s just… you’re less cool around women.”

               Shocked, Sanji drops the ladle into the pot. “What does that mean?”

               Usopp shrugs again, uncomfortably this time. “It means you’re not cool around women,” he repeats. “You’re the opposite of cool. You’re, err… hot. It’s, like, you can’t stay still and you talk faster than normal and you get flushed and flustered. It’s like your heart is pumping your blood too fast. And your temper gets worse.”

               “I don’t have a temper!”

               Sanji’s voice echoes in the silence that follows. The celebration quiets for a moment, and the Shandia women look at him in disapproval, whispering behind their hands. One of them looks afraid. Sanji’s face burns and his fiery pride is smothered in shame. He wants to hide. For once, he wishes he could be invisible. And then—

               He hears Zoro’s laughter before he sees it, because his head is bowed. It begins as a low, rumbling sound that grows until he can’t keep it contained. His shoulders shake, and then Zoro lifts his head enough for Sanji to see the big unchecked smile on his face.

               You’ve got to be kidding me. Is my embarrassment really so amusing?

               Zoro’s mirth reignites Sanji’s fire and then Sanji is crossing the beach—beach?—and kicking Zoro in the face.

The wind is blowing, sheets of snow are falling, the sea is a torrent of icy water, and Sanji finally has an opportunity to prove himself a gentleman.

               Nami loses her coat, but, seconds later, Sanji is stripping off his and putting it over her shoulders.

               “Thank-you, Sanji-kun,” she says, gratefully slipping her arms into the sleeves and buttoning-up the front. She pulls the hood over her head and hunches her shoulders, then smiles at him with a red nose and pink cheeks.

               Sanji is elated to be of service.

               “It’s my pleasure, Nami-san!” he says, sweeping her a bow. “I would do anything for you! I would take off all of my clothes if—”

               “Luffy!” Nami snaps, redirected by their captain’s antics. Without a backward glance, she stomps off.

               A gust of frigid wind tears through Sanji’s clothes and he shivers. The Thousand Sunny is anchored in a bay across the island, left in the capable care of Franky and Usopp; Luffy is hurling snowballs at Chopper; Nami is yelling at Luffy; Robin is secretly assisting Chopper, whose hoofs aren’t as conducive to making snowballs as her Devil Fruit; and Zoro is… Sanji scans the barren wasteland, doesn’t see him, and shrugs, because Zoro disappearing or getting lost is an uncommonly common happenstance.

               I’d better light a fire and make us something to eat.

               Half-an-hour later, he has a dozen fish smoking over a fetal fire that struggles to survive the blowing wind.

               “C-C-Chopper, a l-l-little t-t-to the right.” Sanji is shivering too much to form words, so he flaps his ungloved hand.

               Chopper shifts, the bulk of his human-hybrid form acting as a wind block. Luffy swallows a fish whole, then reaches for a second.

               “Nami-s-s-san, Robin-ch-ch-chan.” Sanji extends his hand to them, indicating the food. His smile chatters along with his teeth, but he’s happy they’re happy, so he doesn’t stop. He’s glad Nami isn’t suffering the cold like he is.

               It’s just a bit chilly, he tells himself, crouching by the fire. He breathes on his hands, then tucks them under his arms. I’ve survived way worse than a little cold.

               Robin’s duplicated hand blossoms on the ground in front of him, holding up a fish for him before Luffy can scoff it. Robin, herself, smiles at him, but Sanji doesn’t want to uncurl himself to take it. His body is so stiff it aches.

               “I-I-I’m not hungry—”

               A big, heavy coat falls on top of him. It’s thick and warm with body-heat and smells like ice and steel.

               Sanji pulls it off his head in time to see Zoro’s retreating back.

               The swordsman walks to the shore, coatless and gloveless, and draws a sword. From this distance, Sanji can’t see which one it is, but he can imagine Zoro closing his eyes, taking a deep, meditative breath, and beginning the slow, graceful movements that Sanji knows by heart. If he had a knife, he could probably do the routine himself. It’s Zoro shutting himself off to the elements and all other distractions and focusing solely on his training.

               “Cook-san?”

               Sanji jerks, startled. Robin is still smiling at him. A Sphinx-like smile that makes him blush. He avoids eye-contact as he tugs on the coat, feeling immediate relief as he’s engulfed in warmth. It’s Zoro’s heat, and Zoro’s scent, but… Sanji is cold, and… if he doesn’t wear the coat then no one will be wearing the coat and that would be a waste of a perfectly good coat. It’s not bad that Sanji is wearing Zoro’s coat. It doesn’t feel bad. It feels… really good.

               He glances surreptitiously at Zoro again. Shirtless, now. Why shirtless?

               “Swordsman-san is very generous,” Robin says.

               “Him?” Sanji whips around to gape at her. “But it was me who—I was the one who—I mean, I’m the—!”

               “Oh, goddamn it,” he says, and shoves fish into his mouth.

Absalom is a horrible person.

               Not because he’s a villain, or because he’s the leader of a zombie army, but because he assaults defenceless and unsuspecting women in the shower.

               “AA-AH!

               “Usopp! Chop—!” Nami screams.

               Usopp and Chopper are guarding the washroom door. (Sanji had offered to guard it; to protect Nami; to join her… but he was denied.) They rush inside to find Nami pinned to the stonewall, being propositioned and proposed to by an invisible force. They don’t immediately expect danger, though. Chopper is confused, but Usopp’s face goes red the moment he sees Nami. When Sanji—hearing her cry—arrives a second later, Usopp is bowing to her in gratitude. Sanji frowns at him, then looks up. His heart pounds in his ears, submerging all else as he takes in the scene. All of the blood in his body rushes to his face and his, err…

               “Idiots!” Nami gasps. She struggles, then lifts her leg and kicks.

               Somewhere in the depths of Sanji’s stunned brain, he hears a masculine voice grunt in pain, but it’s a distant, unimportant thing when faced with the beautiful, nude woman in front of him. That same part of him knows that he should leave; that peeking is one thing, but it’s impolite to openly stare. His head sees Nami for what she is, his friend and navigator, and he knows how frightened and embarrassed she must be, and he feels anger in her defence. But his heart only sees a woman, a wet, naked body, and—damn it!—he’s nineteen-years-old and he’s never seen anyone like this before. It’s arousing and, blood pumping, heart pounding, he can’t look away.

               “Save me!” Nami pleads. “There’s someone in here!”

               Someone—? Before Sanji can process the threat, Zoro appears in the doorway and, with a sob of relief, Nami flings herself at him.

               “Zoro!” she gasps, ducking behind him and using him as a shield.

               Zoro flinches at the sudden contact, but doesn’t otherwise react. His face reveals confusion and mild horror. “What’s going on? I heard a scream.”

               “Someone’s in here!” Nami panics, tugging insistently at Zoro’s shirt.

               He scowls, but pulls off his t-shirt and hands it back to her. She pulls it on, and then Zoro is advancing into the wet, steamy room with a sword in each hand.

               Sanji is stunned, now, for a different reason. While Chopper shifts forms to sniff out the intruder, and Usopp inspects the shower, Sanji is left trying to process the interaction he’s just witnessed.

               Nami ran to Zoro. Naked. Zoro was the farthest away, but she ran to him. Naked. And hugged him. Naked. And then demanded his clothes, which he gave her, to cover-up her naked. And neither of them seems particularly bothered by it.

               It’s not until the window opens, seemingly of its own accord—Nami shrieking, Usopp chasing, the intruder fleeing—that Sanji finally shakes out of his stupor.

               Afterward, in the corridor, he catches Zoro’s arm. “Hey—!” he says, more accusatory than he intends. “What was that about?”

               Zoro might not be bothered, but Sanji certainly is. He feels defensive and jealous.

               “I don’t know,” Zoro answers, scanning the dim corridor. “Someone in this castle must have a Devil Fruit—”

               “Not that,” Sanji snaps.

               Zoro’s gaze returns to him. “What then?”

               “I meant you and—”

               Sanji can’t bring himself to say it. There are too many emotions warring inside of him, and one of them—he doesn’t know which—is too shy to confront Zoro about it. The same one that’s making him blush.

               “Never-mind,” he mutters and stalks away.

In the days that follow, Sanji watches Zoro closely.

               He watches Zoro interact with Nami and Robin, and nothing has changed. Nami still nags at him, and he still snaps back at her, calling her ugly names and refusing to obey until threatened with bankruptcy. Robin watches them in amusement, but beyond a cursory observation or macabre joke—she’s just joking, right?—neither she nor Zoro says much to each other. Brook is an entertaining addition to their crew, and Sanji is glad to have another connoisseur of female beauty aboard, even if his antics—and competition—is annoying at times. Luffy is excited for the next leg of the journey, Franky and Usopp spend a lot of time in the workshop, and Chopper spends the majority of his time scolding Zoro for not taking the time to heal.

               Sanji is still sore about the encounter with Kuma, both emotionally and literally. Absently, he rubs the bruise on his ribs.

               They reach Saboady Archipelago and Sanji’s highest point is meeting Camie the Mermaid.

               An actual living, breathing, beautiful mermaid! …whom Zoro barely glances at. Even Luffy is excited to make Camie’s acquaintance. The whole crew takes an interest in her, her culture, and her business. Sanji can’t help but gush over her in admiration—she’s so funny and friendly and sweet! She’s everything he’s ever dreamt a mermaid would be! But when he looks over at Zoro, the swordsman is yawning and looking at the horizon, as if waiting for something more interesting to happen. More interesting than a mermaid.

               I don’t understand him, Sanji reaffirms. There must be someone—or something—that excites him. How is a beautiful mermaid not that thing?

               His lowest point at Sabaody Archipelago is being too slow to save Zoro from Kuma’s paw.

Upon his return to Sabaody Archipelago, Sanji sees Zoro before Zoro sees him.

               It’s been two years and Zoro looks… relatively the same, except that he’s bigger, older, and a lot more roguish than before. (Roguish like a rōnin, not like a romantic hero, he decides.) He’s also strong enough to cut a ship in half.

               Sanji wants to ask about Zoro’s eye, but doesn’t.

               He wants to say: Finally gave up on shirts altogether, huh? but doesn’t do that either.

               Instead, they argue, they fight, Zoro teases Sanji, and Sanji leads the wayward swordsman through the city. They fall back into their old routine as if nothing has changed. And, really—what has? They’re both older and stronger and Sanji’s goatee has finally grown in, but otherwise nothing seems to be different—

               “Oh good, you found him.”

               Sanji has never in his life forgotten a woman’s name, so he knows that the enchanting ghost princess floating in front of them is called Perona.

               “Perona-chan!” he greets enthusiastically. “I’m so lucky to meet you again! You’re so lovely!”

               Perona twirls her parasol and giggles, like someone who thinks her pet is amusing. She glides to Zoro’s side and stage-whispers: “That’s the cook, isn’t it?”

               He takes a swipe at her, but she dodges and laughs louder.

               “He’s your problem, now, Mr. Cook,” she says odiously. Then she kisses Zoro’s cheek, wiggles her fingers in farewell, and is gone.

               Zoro starts walking again, but Sanji is rooted in shock.

               “Did she just—? Oi! Why did she kiss you?” he asks, hurrying after Zoro when the swordsman doesn’t stop.

               Zoro shrugs. “Who knows?”

               “But—She’s from Thriller Bark, isn’t she? How do you know her, like—like that?”

               “Been living with her for two years,” Zoro replies, more interested in the street-sellers than the conversation.

               “You lived with her?!”

               A dozen implications fuel Sanji’s imagination. He circles in front of Zoro, forcing him to stop.

               Zoro blinks. “Yeah—? Why? Where’d you end up?”

               Sanji’s ears get hot. “None of your business!” he snaps in embarrassment, but Zoro is, as usual, uninterested.

               “I’m thirsty,” he interrupts, stepping around Sanji. “You thirsty, Cook?”

               He enters a restaurant without a backward glance, leaving Sanji to follow or abandon his burning curiosity.

               He follows.

First, Sanji hates Trafalgar Law’s Devil Fruit.

               Then he loves it.

               Nami points at Sanji—in Nami’s body—and then Brook, who are leaving to find the rest of the disassembled samurai. “Zoro, go with them,” she orders. “You have to protect my body.”

               She glares pre-emptively at Sanji, who only sees himself glaring back. It’s like looking into an angry mirror.

               “Nami-san,” he pledges chivalrously, “I would never disrespect your beautiful, bountiful—”

               “Zo-ro!” she whines.

               “Argh, alright,” the swordsman grumbles.

               Sanji is perturbed and a little hurt that Nami doesn’t trust him to take care of her body, and that she requires Zoro, of course, to guard her from him. Zoro, who doesn’t appreciate women like he does; who doesn’t admire them, revere them, or give them an ounce of the attention they deserve. Zoro, who doesn’t even pay attention unless told to do so. And yet, it’s always Zoro.

               Why is it always Zoro?

               They leave the safety of the cave for the deep snow and biting wind. Zoro is bare-chested and unbuttoned, as usual, the fur coat hanging open at his sides. He and Brook call for the samurai, but Sanji is… distracted. It’s not every day he has a literal out-of-body experience. Or rather, out of his body and into a completely new, completely female body. It’s very disorienting. He’s smaller, slower, and altogether weaker than usual. He feels fragile. His hair is long and he kind of likes the feel of it. (Maybe I’ll let my hair grow longer…) His whole body is a lot lighter, except for—

               “So heavy!” he huffs, smiling as his—Nami’s?—breasts bounce as he jogs. His weight is distributed all wrong. What a strange sensation!

               Ironically, he’s so focused on keeping his balance; fixated on how his—Nami’s?—body moves, that he doesn’t anticipate the ice.

               The second his heel hits it, he gasps: “Oh no!”

               His feet go out from under him and he falls backwards. His borrowed body doesn’t have the speed or reflexes to save him.

               Nami’s body! I’m going to injure Nami’s body! he realizes in alarm.

               He waits for an impact that doesn’t come, because Zoro grabs his hand.

               Zoro’s hand envelopes his. It’s strong and firm and warm, even through his glove. Zoro is looking down at Sanji, and Sanji stares back, literally suspended in a moment of awe, because…

               Oh.

               Is this what it feels like? Is this why they all run to him?

               In this single moment of necessity, Sanji thinks he might understand what it feels like to trust someone—to really trust someone—with, not just your body, but your safety; your dignity. He understands what it might feel like to rely on someone who doesn’t expect anything in return. Sanji loves his crew. He believes in every one of them, and he knows he can rely on them in times of danger, but… He doesn’t entirely trust them. Not with his history, and not truly with himself. There’s too much of himself that he doesn’t want to share; parts he despises and keeps locked-up tight. There are parts of himself that he’s deeply ashamed of, and maybe that’s why people shy away from him. Maybe that’s why they don’t choose him, because they don’t trust him either. Not like they trust Zoro, because Zoro is trustworthy. Zoro is strong and cool and dependable, and has never pretended to be something he’s not.

               In this moment, staring up into Zoro’s earnest face, Sanji’s breath catches and his heart skips a beat.

               Then Brook gushes: “How romantic!” and Zoro immediately drops him.

               “I don’t care if you fall down!” he snaps, sounding just as flustered as Sanji feels.

               “You jerk!” Sanji retaliates.

               Any lingering feelings of affection are instantly replaced with annoyance. “Be careful with Nami’s body!” he argues. Zoro snarls back, but when he stomps off, Sanji can see that the swordsman’s neck and ears are flushed. And it’s not from the cold.

               Again, he wonders about the intimacy of Zoro and Nami’s relationship, and a hollow feeling steals over him.

Roronoa Zoro!”

               It’s not his name, but Sanji’s head snaps up. The voice calling for Zoro is soft and feminine and belongs to a woman Sanji has never had the pleasure of introducing himself to: Captain Tashigi of the Marines.

               She’s a tiny woman, with jet-black hair and big, determined eyes fixated on the Straw Hat’s swordsman. He does nothing but lift an eyebrow in question.

               “I just—I just wanted to say—”

               Sanji suspects this is a private conversation he ought not to be eavesdropping on, but his attention is rapt.

               Tashigi is nervous, that much is obvious, and Zoro’s stony silence is only adding to her discomfort. She isn’t looking at him, but at her hands, which wring the handle of her sheathed sword. She’s fidgeting, and wearing a pale pink coat the same shade as her cheeks.

               “I just wanted to say—” Finally, she musters her courage and lifts her head to face him directly. “Thank-you.”

               Zoro considers her for a moment, then shrugs. “It was nothing.”

               “It wasn’t,” she insists. “I put you in a very awkward position, and I was terribly presumptuous, but you were patient with me. Not gentle,” she scolds (Sanji’s eyes widen), “but patient and… kind. To me. I wouldn’t have had the confidence to do it without you, so… thank-you. I’ll never forget what you did for me.”

               Tashigi retreats quickly to the Marines, and Zoro saunters lazily over to Sanji’s cook-fire. Sanji tries to catch his attention twice before finally blurting:

               “What was that about?”

               “Oh. Heard that, did you? It was nothing.”

               “It didn’t sound like nothing. It sounded very much like something.”

               Zoro shrugs, further infuriating Sanji.

               “What did you do to that woman?” he demands, half-intrigued and half-afraid of the answer.

               This time, Zoro looks at Sanji and grins. “Can’t say,” he says, and now Sanji knows Zoro is teasing him. He’s teasing Sanji—but he’s also maybe, definitely protecting Tashigi’s honour: one swordsman to another. “If she wants people to know, she’ll tell them. She can fight her own damn battles. Mostly,” he adds, reaching for the stew.

               Sanji is torn between admiring Zoro’s discretion, and wanting to kick him in the head.

               He settles on slapping his hand with a ladle.

               “Yours is over there,” he says, pointing to a single serving of rice soaked in broth and peppered with sesame seeds. “Eat it, or starve.”

               The threat is just for dramatic effect. He knows without looking that Zoro will eat it, because no one wastes Sanji’s food. And rice is Zoro’s favourite.

Sanji inspects his reflection.

               Black suit, white shirt, black tie.

               He readjusts his collar, then frowns at the white beard that Luffy insists is a viable disguise. Luffy is browsing facial hair for himself from a display, while Franky squeezes his massive metal shoulders into a jacket, Kin’emon dons a black kimono, and Zoro is being pestered by the shopkeeper, who is trying and failing to appeal to the swordsman’s sense of style. Little does he know, Zoro has no sense of style—or, common courtesy, because the pretty shop assistant keeps stealing shy glances at him, and he hasn’t acknowledged her at all.

               “Can I recommend this?” she asks, approaching with a smart black suit.

               Zoro sighs and accepts it, then disappears into the dressing-room without a word.

               “Something wrong, Sanji-bro?” Franky asks.

               Only then does Sanji realize that he’s glaring at the mirror. He had thought the assistant wasn’t approaching him because he’s not clueless about fashion, like Zoro is, but maybe she’s been avoiding him because of his unfriendly demeanor. He changes it instantly, plastering a smile to his face; overcompensating in apology, maybe, because she quickly changes direction. Sanji’s shoulders sink in disappointment and he blames Zoro for it.

               “She’s been nothing but sweet to him since we walked in, and he hasn’t even looked at her once!” he says to Franky.

               Franky glances at the dressing-room, where Zoro has emerged fighting with a tie. The shop assistant is right there, but instead of asking for her help, he tosses it aside.

               “It’s just—” Sanji continues, feeling he needs to justify his complaint, “if you liked someone, you would pay them attention, wouldn’t you?”

               He thinks of Franky’s obvious interest in Robin, and Robin’s reciprocated interest in him, and hopes he’s not overstepping. It’s just that he sees them interact every day. They spend a lot of time together aboard the ship, talking, laughing, eating, and engaging in separate activities, but enjoying each other’s company. Sometimes she reads to him while he works, and other times she falls asleep in his workshop and he covers her with a blanket. They’re completely at ease with each other, because they trust each other. Trust, there’s that word again. Is there no one in Sanji’s life he truly trusts? What they have is what he wants. Someone to take care of. Someone to shower with affection. Someone he wants to talk to, look at, be with all the time. Someone he would pay attention to.

               “Yeah,” Franky casually agrees, “I think so.”

               “Right?” says Sanji, excited to have someone’s support. “If you like someone then you’re not rude to them, or inconsiderate of their feelings. You admire them. You respect them. You know their likes and dislikes. You know what they need and what they want. You do everything you can to ensure they’re happy and safe, and you’re always there to support them. Always focused on them, because they’re special to you. You don’t ignore them.”

               He points accusingly at Zoro, who’s looking right at him. How long has he been looking at him?

               “What are you staring at, moss-head?” he snaps.

A beautiful woman gives Sanji a rose.

               Sanji is elated.

               He fits the rose into his lapel and turns a beaming, victorious smile on Zoro.

               Finally! he thinks, feeling validated; feeling special. She chose me! Zoro is right there, but she chose me!

               Zoro says something insulting and inconsequential, immediately—and typically—suspicious of the woman. A warning, maybe. Sanji doesn’t care and doesn’t pay it any mind. A beautiful dancer has taken an interest in him and he couldn’t be happier.

Sanji awakes in a warehouse with blood on his face and his legs chained together. A big, heavy man steps on his chest.

               The beautiful, brown-eyed dancer is looking down at him.

               “I heard you had a soft spot for women,” she says, “but I didn’t expect it to be that soft. How pathetic!”

               She’s grinning unkindly. She crosses and uncrosses her legs.

               Her name is Violet, Assassin of the Donquixote Family.

               “You look terrible. You’re a good-for-nothing—Black-leg Sanji. Did you really think that a guy like you could win my heart?”

               The men surrounding Sanji laugh and spit insults at him, but all he can think is:

               Oh.

               Zoro was right.

               Slowly, Sanji lifts his head. It hurts, but the woman in front of him is hurting even worse.

               Zoro might fight her, but Sanji will not. Zoro might humiliate her, might destroy the threat and obstacle that she is, but Sanji is not Zoro. He will never strike a woman, even to his own detriment, because when you like someone you don’t hurt them. You protect them.

               He might have been wrong about Violet wanting him romantically, but there’s one thing he knows is true:

               “I-I—I know you have a beautiful heart…”

Sanji’s heart is breaking.

               It’s raining and a pink bouquet of flowers wilts at his feet. A basket falls to the ground. His lighter won’t light.

               “You’re my salvation,” he said to her, and then he proposed.

               His hands are cuffed with explosives, and his father’s life is being held hostage. He’s being used as a political pawn by the people he fears most in the world. He’s being sold by people who hate him to people who hate him, and, because of that, he’s hurt the only people who ever accepted him. He did it to save them, and thought that she would save him. He might be facing life as a prisoner, full of regret, but at least he wouldn’t be alone. At least he would have her: beautiful, charming, kind-hearted Charlotte Pudding.

               Her laughter wafts out the open window and slaps him in the face. She mocks him and calls him pathetic and he knows that he is.

               “Who’s gonna marry a damn failure like him?!”

               Sanji bows his head. The rain is cold. His lighter won’t light.

               “Can’t you at least bring me a decent prince?!”

               His cigarette is soggy between his pursed lips. He thinks about the Straw Hats and the Thousand Sunny. His family, his home. He thinks about his dream to find the All Blue. He thinks about Luffy’s dream to become the Pirate King, and how he won’t be there to see it happen. He won’t be there to make it happen. He thinks about Totto Land and how nobody here needs him to feed them. Nobody needs him to take care of them. Nobody needs him to protect them.

               Nobody needs him.

               Nobody wants him.

               He really tried this time to be a good man; the kind of man who would be a good husband; the kind of man a woman could love.

               A teardrop falls. Then another.

               Why doesn’t anyone want me?

               His lighter won’t light.

A little girl is crying over Shimotsuki Yasuie’s body.

               Sanji knows this girl. She’s a very sweet, sad little thing. He smiled at her and she smiled back and he fed her soba. Then she smiled bigger and said it was delicious.

               “Seeing you makes me smile,” he told her, and it was true. There was nothing that made him happier than someone’s pure, honest joy when eating his food.

               “I worked hard and managed to save enough money to buy the soba,” she said, smiling and laughing. “This is the best soba I’ve ever had!”

               Worked? Sanji was glad she liked his soba, but his heart ached for her. She couldn’t be more than six-years-old.

               And now she’s kneeling in the dirt, crying over the executed body of her father.

               “Daddy! Daddy!” she calls, shaking him, even as the Shogun approaches in a selfish, grief-stricken rage. Not grief for the man he’s just killed, but for a geisha he lost. “Come back, Daddy!” the little girl cries.

               Kurozumi Orochi raises a gun and aims it at her.

               “Otoko, run!” a woman screams.

               Two shots are fired.

               Two shots are sliced in half.

               The green gate around the execution platform falls, cut and burning. Sanji’s foot is still aflame. He’s furious.

               The dust clears and he sees Zoro beside him, with Otoko cradled protectively against his chest. She’s crying and clinging to him, and this time Sanji gets it. Zoro looks as deadly as an enraged tiger, but Sanji knows why the little girl trusts him, because he does, too. In one strike, Zoro defeats a handful of Orochi’s men. And in one kick, Sanji does the same.

               Shocked by the unexpected rescue, Drake and Hawkins consult their bounty posters. Sanji has always hated his poster, but he hates this one the most. Not because of his photograph, but because it labels him: “Vinsmoke San—”

               “Hey!” Zoro interrupts.

               Drake gives the order and a battle ensues.

               “Take Otoko and run already!” Sanji says, afraid of her getting hurt.

               Keep her safe, Zoro, like you do everyone else. She’s frightened and grieving and she needs someone to take care of her—

               Zoro pushes Otoko into his arms. “Run!” he shouts, drawing a second sword.

               Shots are fired, but they never reach Sanji and Otoko. Zoro is in front of them, defending them both.

               “Hey, Moss!” Sanji knows they’re surrounded. If they don’t do something soon, they’ll all be trapped. “Don’t rush into a fight on your own!

               “Stop, you idiot!” he tries again, frantic now. “What are you thinking?!”

               What am I thinking?

               The small, shivering Otoko is clinging to him, now, relying on him to keep her safe. She needs him a lot more than Zoro does, but it’s Zoro he can’t take his eyes off of.

               Drake attacks and Sanji just barely dodges. In his arms, Otoko sobs.

               He holds her tighter, hugging her to his chest. He doesn’t speak, but he makes a decision and makes her a promise:

               As long as I live, I won’t let anything harm you. You can trust me, little one. It’s okay, because I’m here.

Sanji saved Otoko. And Zoro saved the most beautiful woman Sanji has ever seen.

               “Are you fucking kidding me?” he mutters, puffing hard on a cigarette and stirring soba with agitated vigour. “How does he even know her?”

               Across the encampment, Kozuki Hiyori is insisting that Zoro rest and recover; she’s thanking him profusely for rescuing her; and is generally showing a great deal of interest in him. And his reply to all of it is:

               “Get off me, woman!”

               Annoyed, he pulls his arm out of her grasp and marches away. She follows him with all of the concern and compassion of a loving spouse.

               Sanji reaches the end of his cigarette and immediately lights another.

               What the hell is wrong with him?

               It’s understandable that Zoro has never taken an interest in Nami or Robin, because they’re his crewmates; his family. And it’s baffling, but conceivable that none of the lovely ladies they’ve met on their journey have been to his liking. Maybe none of them were his type. But Hiyori—? Hiyori must be his type. She’s exquisite; he’s handsome. She’s a geisha; he’s a swordsman (samurai). She’s the epitome of a culture that he emulates with every fibre of his being. Finally, he’s found a woman who matches him, and yet—

               He growls at Hiyori to leave him alone, and finally she relents. He’s much more interested in his new sword.

               Later, Sanji sees Chopper lecturing Zoro and it’s entirely normal. It ends with Chopper aloft Zoro’s uninjured shoulder, eating spun-sugar.

               Later, he sees Law giving Zoro medical advice that the swordsman actually takes. That’s not normal.

               Sanji watches surreptitiously as Zoro pulls down his sleeve to reveal the linen bandages underneath. He lets Law take his arm in a callused, tattooed hand and slowly roll his shoulder back to test the extent of the damage. His amber eyes are focused on Zoro’s body, and Zoro’s grey eye is focused on Law. Law says something to Zoro, and Zoro answers with a smile—not a condescending curl of his lip, but a smile big enough to show teeth. His reply makes Law chuckle as he tucks Zoro’s arm back into his sleeve, leaving Sanji bewildered. Zoro doesn’t smile for people who aren’t his crew, and Law doesn’t smile period. Sanji doesn’t think he’s ever heard the sound of Trafalgar Law’s laugh. He’s too melancholy for levity. Zoro is usually serious too, content to watch—or ignore—fun and games rather than partake in them. It’s weird to see him so at ease with someone, now, but, then again, he suspects that Law is the same. Maybe they bonded on the journey from Zou to Wano…

               Is it women? Sanji wonders. Do women make him uncomfortable?

               No, that’s not it. Zoro’s never had a problem talking to or interacting with women; he just chooses not to. He doesn’t choose many people at all.

               There’s only a handful of people whom Zoro pays attention to. And apparently Trafalgar Law is one of them.

               For the rest of the day, Sanji ignores the nervous flutter in his stomach. He avoids Zoro and Law, because he doesn’t want to see either of them. Sometimes lies are lifeboats, and Sanji is desperately clinging to his.

               He ignores the nagging in him while he cooks and does the washing-up, while he makes tea and delivers it to their allies on watch duty, and while he smokes one last cigarette before bed, but finally he can’t stand it any longer. Curiosity and uncertainty are making him ache.

               He finds Zoro asleep with Otoko curled against his side. He’s snoring like he does when he’s deeply asleep, but his arm is wrapped around the little girl, keeping her safe and warm. She looks peaceful, and that, alone, makes Sanji smile. Zoro has always had a soft spot for children, and they for him. Maybe it’s instinct, but they seem to sense the strength and kindness in him that wants to protect those weaker than himself.

               That’s a lot of people, Sanji thinks, and his smile gets softer.

               It brings to mind something that Luffy told him back in East Blue. Something that Sanji has never forgotten:

               “When I first met Zoro, he ate gross, muddy rice balls off the ground so they wouldn’t be wasted, and so the little girl who made them would be happy.”

               “Did you really?” Sanji asked Zoro in surprise.

               Zoro shrugged, and said “Yeah,” like it wasn’t something special, but simply the right thing to do.

               Sanji sought Zoro tonight to confront him, but he can’t bring himself to do it, now. He doesn’t want to wake Otoko. Instead, he takes Zoro’s discarded haori and lays it over them both.

What’s its name?” Sanji asks.

               “Enma,” Zoro replies.

               He’s standing near the edge of a sharp cliff, making slow, measured strikes with the long, variegated blade. It’s taken nearly two weeks of practise, but it finally looks like he can wield it without devastation. It looks like Enma, itself, has accepted Zoro as its master.

               The moonlight is bright and reflects off the polished metal. It’s beautiful. The sword, but also…

               Sanji sits down in the cool grass and lights a cigarette. He stares at the mountains, and says: “We might die tomorrow.”

               “No.”

               Sanji chuckles mirthlessly. Of course Zoro can’t make this easy. Zoro never takes the easy route—figuratively and literally.

               “Luffy’s challenged a Yonko—again. We’ll be facing a force stronger than anything before. We might die—”

               “No,” Zoro says again. Not angry, but firm. Certain. “We can’t die until Luffy becomes the Pirate King. I can’t die before I become the Greatest Swordsman. And you can’t die before you find the All Blue.”

               This time, Sanji’s smile is genuine. It’s small and a little sad, but genuine. He takes a long, deep drag on his cigarette and exhales a ring of smoke.

               “Still, it’ll be a hard battle. Who knows what will happen to us. You shouldn’t go into it with regrets.”

               Zoro stops, his arm outstretched. Enma catches the moonlight and gleams, blinding Sanji for a second. He blinks, and then Zoro is looking down at him.

               “What are you talking about?”

               Sanji doesn’t look up. He pulls his knees to his chest, and says: “Hiyori-chan. You should be with her, if you want to.”

               “I don’t.”

               Sanji swallows. The words get stuck in his throat. “She’s beautiful. The most beautiful person I’ve ever seen.”

               Zoro snorts. “Never look in a mirror?”

               Sanji is taken aback for a moment, then he glares up at Zoro. “Fuck you,” he says, getting to his feet. “I’m just trying to help. You don’t have to be a dick about it.”

               “Cook,” Zoro says, but Sanji doesn’t turn back.

               “Cook,” Zoro says again, grabbing Sanji’s arm.

               Sanji wrenches free harder than he means to. He blinks angry tears from his eyes and doesn’t know why. Not why his heart hurts, or why his chest feels so tight.

               Am I that jealous of him? Is that the kind of ugly person I really am?

               Sanji regrets seeking Zoro out tonight. He wants to flee. He wants to hide. Only Zoro’s voice makes him stop:

               “I don’t need her,” he says. “She’s not the one I don’t want to lose.”

               Slowly, Sanji turns to face him. “So—someone else then? Who? I’ve never seen you interested in anyone, and I’ve known you for almost three years.”

               Zoro sighs, as if in resignation; like he’s made a decision. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “You have.”

               Sanji waits for Zoro to elaborate, but he doesn’t. He just stares at Sanji, directly and unblinking. He just…

               It hits Sanji like a hurricane.

               “Oh.

               “Oh, fuck,” he whispers in disbelief.

               He’s staring now, too, except his mouth is agape and his eyes are wide and his cigarette is smouldering on the ground. For a moment, he doesn’t breathe. He doesn’t move. He can’t even think anything, except:

               “Me—?”

               He presses his hand to his chest, like an idiot. His heart is racing so hard it hurts.

               “You like… me?”

               Finally, Zoro looks away. “I was never going to tell you.”

               “Why not?”

               “Because I know you don’t feel the same way, and I didn’t want to ruin what we have.”

               Sanji frowns. “What we have is chaotic and dysfunctional.”

               Zoro chuckles fondly. “Yeah. It’s great. I like that you’re strong.”

               Sanji swallows the lump of emotion welling in his throat. “You… really mean that, don’t you?”

               Zoro nods. “You’re probably the only person I can be myself with, Cook. You and Luffy are the only people I really trust. I don’t want that to change, so… if you want, we can forget about this. We can pretend this conversation never happened—”

               “No!”

               Sanji’s voice echoes off the mountains and he’s just as surprised by it as Zoro.

               Blushing, he says: “I don’t want to forget it. It’s just that I… I don’t know what to say. I just need a minute to think.”

               Zoro takes his request literally and waits. Sanji—given a minute—tries to comprehend what it is he’s feeling and fails.

               “I just don’t believe it,” he says, soft and honest.

               When he looks up, Zoro has closed the distance between them. His gaze is gentle—more gentle than he’s ever looked at anyone. But it’s determined, too, and Sanji sees a hint of something he might call fear if he didn’t know the swordsman so well.

               “No one has ever wanted me before,” he tells him.

               “You’re wrong,” Zoro says. His voice is deep, and his hand is warm on Sanji’s face. “I’ve always wanted you.”

               “You could have anyone you want.”

               “I’ve only ever wanted you. I’ve only ever… loved you.”

               A tear rolls down Sanji’s cheek. Zoro wipes it away with his thumb.

               “No one’s ever loved me before either,” he says. “Are you really sure you want to?”

               Zoro’s answering smile is everything Sanji has ever wanted. The way Zoro is looking at him is exactly how a man should look at the person he loves. He just never expected to be the recipient.

               “Yeah,” Zoro says, sealing his fate. “I’m sure.” Pause. “Is that okay?”

               Now, it’s Sanji’s turn to smile. “Is you loving me okay—?” He nods, dislodging another tear. “It’s okay.”

               Zoro kisses him, and Sanji kisses him back.

               “Now I have no regrets,” Zoro says.

               Sanji laughs, giddy—happy. Happier than he’s ever been. He throws his arms around Zoro’s neck and kisses him again.

               He never knew what it would feel like to be in love, but now he does.

               It feels like this, he knows.

               It always has.

THE END

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