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Cigarettes and chefs don’t mix.
A chef should value their sense of taste and smell above all else. It’s a lesson Sanji had drilled into him from a young age from his old man, among other things. Young and naive, Sanji had nodded furiously at the lectures, determined to remember it all. He would look after his hands, practise his craft every day, and never, ever smoke.
Staring at the cigarette clutched between his fingers, Sanji reminisces on where things went wrong.
He was fifteen the first time he smoked a cigarette. The smoke had tasted acrid and disgusting on his palette, and he’d damn near hacked up a lung after just one puff. He’d been determined to keep going though, inhaling and coughing rhythmically until the stick was down to nothing.
He’ll never forget the look in Zeff’s eyes when he stubbed out that first fag. The sadness, something near to grief, in his eyes would haunt Sanji every time he smoked again.
It had worked, though. After the initial coughing fit the cig had brought him, Sanji hadn’t so much as cleared his throat all day. It wasn’t a cure, couldn’t be anything long term, but it had worked.
Sanji felt disgusting as he curled into himself in his bunk that night. The next morning, he had lit up over breakfast prep.
[ ♡ ]
When he was thirteen, Sanji met the love of his life for the first time.
He had no idea at the time, of course. Hell, at first he wasn’t even certain the splashing green mess was even a person. He stood, frozen at the edge of the deck, until he heard a faint yell for help.
Kicked into action, Sanji immediately dove into the freezing water, new suit be damned. He swam towards the writhing mass of bubbles and reached out a hand until his fingers caught against the thing. It yelped, the sound muffled by the water, and kept thrashing around in Sanji’s grip.
Sanji held firm in what felt like damp fabric and swam back to the deck. He was lucky he was a strong swimmer, he thought as he dragged the uncooperative thing back to the deck of the Baratie. He had to fight against the soft morning tides and the uncontrollable writhing of the thing (person?) he was saving, but he managed. Eventually, he hauled himself onto the deck, pulling up the heavy weight with him.
The thing immediately collapsed into a puddle of soggy fabrics and seaweed, valiantly trying to cough up a lungful of ocean water.
It was a person, after all. Sanji watched curiously as the boy coughed and choked, retching water onto the deck. He seemed to be around Sanji’s age, though it was hard to tell with the way he was hunched in on himself. He wasn’t covered in moss or seaweed like Sanji first thought, but instead had shocking green hair dangling messily down to his shoulders. He was soaked through and looked as if he hadn’t eaten in far too long.
Well, Sanji couldn’t have that.
“Are you alright?” He asked a little fruitlessly as the boy’s coughing started to subside. The green haired boy panted and looked up through wet bangs, a look of exhaustion and relief in his eyes.
“You saved me,” he breathed out in awe, his voice rough and scratchy from the water. He immediately started coughing again, and Sanji shushed him as he rubbed his back. Another bout of water came up, and Sanji tried not to wrinkle his nose in disgust as it landed on his shoes. They were brand new but now they were ruined. Damnit.
Just as the boy started to calm down, he sat bolt upright in a panic. “Wadō!” He yelled suddenly, flailing around with his arms and managing to whack Sanji in the face.
“You bastard, that’s the thanks I get for saving your stupid life?” Sanji snapped, rubbing at his sore nose. The boy ignored him, his hands finding the hilt of the sword strapped to his side, and he sighed in relief.
“…’M sorry,” he muttered as he realised what he’d done. Sanji glared at him through watering eyes, and the boy at least had the decency to look a bit sheepish. He rubbed the back of his neck with a large hand, smiling crookedly. “M’name’s Roronoa Zoro. Please, let me repay you for saving my life.”
[ ♡ ]
It’s strange how much a man can change over the course of just four years, Sanji thinks. He’s only been on board the Going Merry for a couple weeks, but he keeps finding himself surprised by one man in particular.
Roronoa Zoro has blossomed over the years, starting to become a man rather than a boy. Gone is the beautiful long hair Sanji loved to mock, gone is the chubbiness that lingered in his cheeks, gone is his carefree smile. Worst of all, gone is his friendship towards Sanji.
Their interactions now boil down to something like this; Zoro will valiantly try to ignore that Sanji exists, Sanji will desperately try to initiate some sort of conversation between them, and just one insult later they’ll devolve into a full blown fight. It’s hardly Sanji’s fault that this keeps on happening — he’s trying to be nice here, but all it takes is one mindless comment about swirled eyebrows or shit cooking to send him into a rage.
Zoro used to like those things about him.
Still, Sanji feels like he has to at least try. If they’re never going to talk about their shared past, never going to bring up holding hands or crying together under the moonlight, then they should try to move forward and get along as the men they are now. They’re nakama for good, after all, even if Zoro still can’t stand him.
So upon arriving at the newest stop on their journey, Little Garden, Sanji tries reaching out the olive branch again. He calls Zoro back right before he can wander off to get hopelessly lost in the jungle, tries to be civil again.
“We’re running out of food,” he says calmly, looking down at Zoro over the railing. The mosshead glances back, his face a picture of sheer apathy. “If you find anything that looks edible, bring it back.”
It’s a simple request, an easy one. Maybe Zoro could invite him along like he used to, and they could go on an adventure like they did as kids. Except this time, instead of running around the woods of a nearby island and playfighting as pretend pirates, they could actually fight together.
“Sure,” Zoro says, oddly placid. He pauses before he walks off, a smirk teasing at the edge of his lips. “I’ll bag something you could never kill, easy.”
As always, Sanji sees red.
“Hold it right there!” Something he could never catch? As if he’s ever been weaker than Zoro! “Those are fighting words!” They’ve always been equals, that’s something Zoro has always acknowledged. The old Zoro would never imply Sanji was anything lesser. “You really think you can get something bigger than I can?”
“Definitely!” Zoro yells back, a deep scowl set on his face. The unwavering confidence fuels the fire of aggression even further.
“Then I challenge you to a hunt!” Sanji screams in his face, hands fisted in his pockets.
Finally, Zoro’s expression shifts into something more familiar. The competitive glint in his eye, the easygoing smirk, the relaxed posture as he folds his arms across his chest. It’s something Sanji has seen countless times as kids, when they’d challenge each other to increasingly stupid bets. They were equals in that too, as they were in everything else.
“What’re the terms of this challenge then Cook?” Zoro says, and it’s by far the least aggressive thing he’s said to Sanji since he joined the crew.
Sanji scoffs to hide how happy he is to finally get a glimpse of something fucking normal. He jumps off the ship to land beside Zoro on the shore. “It’s a contest of how many kilos of meat we bring back, of course.”
“Kilos?” Zoro says, raising an eyebrow. “Why not tons?”
“That’s fine by me.”
“Sure, I’ll beat your weak ass any day.”
Sanji pulls out a cigarette and turns his back to hide his grin. “In your dreams, shitty swordsman.”
Maybe he hasn’t completely changed, after all. It seems the boy that Zoro once was is hiding just beneath the surface of the man he is now.
[ ♡ ]
Sanji didn’t know what he wanted in return for saving Zoro’s life. In actuality, he didn’t do it just to get some sort of reward, but the boy was insistent. So Sanji had promised to think about what he wanted.
He already had just about everything he could hope for, if he was honest. He had a warm home, an old man who looked after him and seemed to genuinely care, and food on his plate every day. He had his own clothes, his own space; he was even allowed to cook. What more could he wish for?
Still, as the green haired boy sat shivering beneath two thick blankets in the kitchen, Sanji gave it some thought. It had to be something the boy could feasibly give him, something easy but not so trivial that Zoro declined it. Annoyingly, Sanji was really drawing a blank.
He glanced away from the food he was preparing to steal a look at Zoro. He sat on a stool, swathed in fluffy blankets, his hair spiked up from where Sanji had roughly dried it for him. His face was set into a scowl that seemed to be his default expression, though somehow he didn’t look unhappy. With just his fluffy green head poking out of the blankets, he looked adorable. Like a marimo.
Sanji giggled aloud at the comparison, covering his ugly wide smile with one hand. Zoro scowled deeper, somehow only managing to make himself look cuter and more harmless.
“What’re you laughing at?” He demanded, flustered. Sanji hid behind his hand and laughed louder as Zoro’s scraggly hair seemed to stand on end in anger. He was like a rumpled cat but green and stupid.
“Nothing, Marimo,” he said, making Zoro pout in anger.
“Oi, curly-browed moron, do you really have time to be laughin’ at me? I thought you were making me food,” he complained, snuggling deeper into the blankets.
“I am, I am,” Sanji said, turning back to his meal prep with a wave of his hand. The kitchen was quiet for once, slightly too late for the other cooks to be around. There was a moment of strangely comfortable silence between them then as Sanji carefully moulded rice into round balls.
“What’re you makin’, anyway?” Zoro asked out of the blue, drawing Sanji’s attention again. The blond hummed, focusing on making the rice ball as spherical as possible.
“I’m making onigiri!” He said happily, carefully cupping the ball in his palm. He got the nori ready and absentmindedly babbled about the process of making them to a surprisingly captive audience.
Zoro asked questions once or twice which Sanji was all too happy to answer. It was nice to talk to someone who knew less about cooking than he did even if just to explain the basics, he thought. Or maybe it was just nice to talk to someone his age who seemed to like him for the first time.
It wasn’t until Sanji handed Zoro a plate of slightly misshapen onigiri that he realised he knew what he wanted from the green haired boy. It was obvious in hindsight, he thought as he watched Zoro wolf down the rice balls with sparkles in his eyes.
“Hey, Zoro,” he started casually, biting back a beaming smile since he didn’t want to look stupid. “I know what I want as my reward now!”
“Oh? Wassit?” Zoro asked through his mouthful, rice stuck to his lips. Sanji rolled his eyes at the gross display.
“I want you to be my friend!”
[ ♡ ]
“Cook,” Zoro calls from across the galley. Sanji hums in acknowledgement around his cigarette, hands working at kneading dough. “I want booze.”
“It’s two o’clock in the afternoon,” Sanji scolds him, not looking up from his work. It’s important not to over-work the dough, see, but he needs to make sure everything is properly combined nonetheless. It’s a difficult task, one that requires a lot of focus.
“So?”
Sanji exhales smoke strategically away from the food, turning to face Zoro in the process. The brute stands against the doorframe, thick arms folded across a thicker chest. There’s something undeniably attractive about him in his mundanity, and Sanji hates it.
“So, you can at least wait until dinner,” he snaps, taking another long drag from the cig. Somewhere over the years, the nicotine had started to taste good to him, the smell overpowering but strangely comforting. Familiar.
“Okay,” Zoro says, unusually agreeable. Sanji turns back to the dough, rhythmically running the heels of his hands over it. It’s calming, grounding, almost like meditation, and he nearly forgets Zoro is even there until— “I want Blue Sakura Sake.”
Sanji freezes, his heart nearly stopping in his chest at the words. He grits his teeth, biting down hard on his fag. He can just about feel the smugness radiating from the mosshead, who got exactly the reaction he was hoping for, the bastard. To dredge up such memories just to tease Sanji… He didn’t know Zoro could be so cruel.
“Get out,” he mutters darkly, staring at the blurry dough. God, he didn’t even realise he was about to cry until just now. He swallows back the lump in his throat and chews his cigarette. “Get the fuck out of my kitchen.”
There’s silence, then the sound of the door opening. Sanji waits until it closes again to let the first tears fall.
Later, at dinner time, he gets a bottle of sake from the locked booze cupboard and slams it in front of the mosshead without looking at him. If it happens to be the exact kind Zoro had asked for earlier, that’s just because that’s what Sanji happened to pick up first.
[ ♡ ]
“Alright, stop,” Zeff called in the middle of dinner prep after Sanji fucked up the entrees for the third time. Sanji froze over the stove, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes as he stared at the lumpy soup he’d made. Stupid! Why couldn’t he just pay attention better?
“I’m sorry! I’ll try again and make it better next time, I promise!” Sanji declared, whirling around to face his old man. Zeff just sighed, giving him a flat look.
“You’re clearly distracted, Eggplant. Go take your break.”
Eyes wide, Sanji shook his head frantically. “No, I’ll be fine! I can focus!”
“It’s fine, kid. Not like we need a little squirt like you getting underfoot all day. Go keep the patch of mould company for a while.”
“Are you sure? I can help out more, I swear!”
“Just go have some fun for once,” Zeff said, rolling his eyes. And, well, even if Sanji really did want to perfect this soup, he wanted to hang out with Zoro even more.
He quickly dished out the messed up soup into two bowls, almost spilling a drop in his rush. He hadn’t seen Zoro in almost a month now, so having him turn up at the Baratie again was great news. His chest hurt a lot less with the Marimo around.
The boy in question sat at a table by himself right by the kitchen doors, a grumpy frown on his face. Sanji grinned at the sight of his best friend, willing down the strange lump in his throat.
“Yo, Zoro!” He called, trying to disguise his rush to see him by walking over casually. Zoro looked up, a bright smile lighting up his usually stoic face.
“Swirly!” He said happily, eyes narrowing in on the bowls in his hands. “What’ve you made?”
“Urgh, it’s the soup we’re serving at dinner. I messed it up pretty bad,” he explained, setting the bowls down in front of them. Zoro wasted no time digging in, his eyes lighting up at the flavour.
“S’good!”
Sanji narrowed his eyes at him suspiciously. “It’s lumpy.”
“So? I don’t care about texture.”
Sanji gave him another dubious look before trying a bit of his own soup. It was woefully bland, missing at least three different herbs and spices that he must have missed on the recipe. “It’s underseasoned.”
“Cook. It’s good,” Zoro said firmly, staring him dead on. Sanji pouted, averting his eyes, only for them to land on a glint of gold peeking out beneath long green strands. He reached out automatically, tucking some hair behind his ear to reveal three golden earrings.
“Wow, these are so cool!” He said breathlessly, admiring the fancy gold bars. He had to admit, they really suited Zoro, made him look more grown up somehow. “When’d you get them done?”
“Uh, I just bought them from some market and pierced myself yesterday,” he explained, his ear turning a curious shade of red. Sanji drew back, embarrassed to realise he was still awkwardly cupping Zoro’s face. Stupid… “I just wanted to get myself somethin’ meaningful for my birthday, I guess.”
Sanji blinked, tilting his head to one side. “It’s your birthday?”
“Yeah, I guess. I just turned fourteen yesterday.”
“How did I not know this?” Sanji berated himself, feeling even more stupid now since he hadn’t even gotten his best friend a present. Zoro opened his mouth to say something, but Sanji cut him off. Leaving him giftless was unthinkable, after all. “Never mind, that’s not important. I’ll just have to get you a present now!”
He got to his feet, pulling Zoro by the arm until he stood up too. The mosshead complained the entire time Sanji pulled him through the restaurant to the kitchens, then through the back to the supply cupboard. It didn’t matter what he said though; Sanji was determined to get him something cool for his special day.
“I’m serious, Cook, I don’t need—” Zoro was cut off once again by Sanji shoving a bottle into his hands. He blinked, squinting down at the label, then brightened up in a slow smile. “Is this…?”
“Blue Sakura Sake,” he said proudly, shoving his hands in his pockets. That familiar pressure was building his chest again, but forced the sensation down. He absolutely did not want to throw up on Zoro, especially not on his birthday. “You like booze, right? I think this is the geezer’s favourite brand.”
Zoro just stared at the bottle in his hands, that devastatingly pretty smile spread across his lips. Eventually, he looked up, blinding Sanji with his grin. “Thanks, Sanji! We’ve got to share this!”
“Huh? But it’s—”
“Nuh uh, no complaints. C’mon, let’s sit at the back and drink together.”
This time it was Zoro dragging him through the kitchen, bottle proudly in hand despite knowing it was stolen. The other cooks paid them no mind, used to their weird antics by this point. Sanji let himself get dragged around in a haze, making two whole laps of the dining room and bizarrely the upstairs chefs’ quarters before taking control and leading Zoro to the back deck.
Zoro sat down heavily, sticking his feet through the bars of the railing and dipping his toes into the sea. Rolling his eyes, Sanji took his time in settling down beside him and assuming the same position.
They sat in silence for a while, Zoro happily chugging his sake. Sanji stared at the ocean, heart pounding at how close they were sitting, how warm Zoro felt pressed so close. He watched as a bright yellow fish swam by, brushing against his toes before diving down out of sight.
“Have you ever heard of the All Blue?” He asked, just to drown out the sound of his too-fast heart.
“The what?” Zoro asked, passing over the bottle and landing his full attention on Sanji. The cook blushed under his gaze, taking a long gulp of sake. It was disgusting and burned the back of his throat like nothing else, but he tried not to let it show on his face.
“It’s a legendary ocean where it’s rumoured that all four blues meet as one!” He explained excitedly, absently rubbing at the burning sensation in his chest. “Did you know that there are fish native only to certain waters of the world? In a place like that, all fish could live together!”
“Sounds cool,” Zoro said, leaning his head against the railing. Sanji gave him a look, heart practically in his throat.
“What, you’re not gonna say it sounds impossible?”
“I mean, who knows? It’s a big world out there, so why not?”
Sanji blinked, shocked. All the people he’d declared that too, and only one of them had had that sort of reaction before. To humour him, listen to him, actually believe in his dream alongside him…
“Well, good!” Sanji snapped, turning his head back to the ocean. It was almost unbearable to keep looking at Zoro like this. “Because I’m gonna be the one to find it!”
“Yeah? What d’you think it’ll be like when you get there?”
When, not if. God, Zoro really did believe in him to a stupid extent. He had such huge ambitions to be the greatest, and to put even a fraction of his conviction behind Sanji’s dream too meant more than words could describe. But thinking about the fluttery swoop in his chest only made the feeling start to rise into his throat, so he forced his mind away. He focused instead on describing what his magical ocean could be like.
He spent probably hours ranting about the All Blue that day. And Zoro happily listened to every word.
[ ♡ ]
Pretending he isn’t in love with Zoro is easy for Sanji at this point. After all, he’s had years of practice.
It wasn’t like Zoro had ever noticed the flowers when they were kids, after all, and now that’s a non issue. Every time Sanji feels that roiling curl of emotion deep in his gut, when Zoro makes eye contact or spars with him or god forbid smiles in his direction, all he has to do is pull out another cigarette and ignore the situation entirely. It’s easy to fall into a routine of bickering and not-quite animosity, easier still to pretend it doesn’t make his lungs tighten and heart burn whenever they spit insults at one another.
Sanji’s never had to worry about feigning indifference. So maybe that’s why the flowers come back.
He’s already smoking when it happens, since Zoro had come up to him under the glow of the bonfire and clinked his mug of sake against Sanji’s with a wide, genuine smile earlier. He’s wandered off now, immersed in some drinking competition with a small group of Shandians, and Sanji is sitting off to one side staring pitifully after him instead of chasing after ladies like he usually would.
The thing is, Zoro isn’t just drinking and celebrating and being merry. The thing is, Zoro is flirting with someone who isn’t Sanji.
He’s sitting just a fraction of an inch too close to one Shandian guy, their arms barely brushing whenever one of them reaches for a drink. Their heads tilt in towards each other, twin smiles on their faces as if the world has disappeared to just the two of them. The Shandian says something quietly and Zoro throws his head back in that obnoxious laugh of his, looking genuinely delighted.
Sanji can’t remember seeing him look so happy. He hates that it hurts.
So he sits and he wallows and he smokes, determined to ignore the pressure in his lungs forcing its way upwards. He wants to cough and choke around his fag, a feeling he hasn’t really had since he was a kid. It’s like there’s something crawling inside of him, ever growing, vines creeping up his lungs and stealing away his breath.
The Shandian reaches out a hand — battle weary, tanned, scarred and calloused — and touches Zoro’s earrings. Zoro flushes red but doesn’t move away, almost leaning into the soft touch.
Sanji runs. He runs and runs, not stopping until the sounds of the party are distant and subdued. When he stops, he realises how shaky his legs are, how his entire body shakes, how the nicotine that is supposed to soothe him is stealing his oxygen, it’s choking him, it’s strangling him, it’s—
Sanji throws up into a bush, retching and gasping for breath. He watches in horror as chunks of stew erupt out of him, followed by liquid bile and booze. He coughs and vomits until there’s nothing left in him, but still the feeling in his throat persists.
There’s something crawling and growing in his lungs. There’s something big and alive and fluttering in his chest. There’s a bitterness against his palate, scratchy against his throat yet feather-soft against his tongue.
There’s a fully formed sunflower head, as big as his fist, in a crumpled mess at his feet.
And maybe Sanji should feel relief that it’s over, that he’s finished throwing up, but all he can do is cry. Against all the odds, despite all his efforts, it’s back.
[ ♡ ]
“Why d’you keep covering your mouth like that when you laugh?” Zoro asked one day, nothing if not blunt. His legs swung back and forth on his stool, feet occasionally brushing against the ground. He was short for his age, a whole head below Sanji, which of course the blond had just been teasing him mercilessly for.
Sanji bit his lip, lowering his hand awkwardly. Zoro was staring at him intently as always, something older than his years in his gaze. It made Sanji feel weirdly seen in a way he never had been before. He felt his cheeks heat up, an obvious blush spreading across his face. Stupid…
“It’s nothing, I just look dumb when I laugh,” he explained, folding his hands neatly in his lap. Zoro frowned, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion. He had this way of wearing every emotion plainly on his face and simultaneously being unreadable. It was weird.
“I don’t think you look dumb,” Zoro said simply. Sanji blinked at him. He blinked back.
“You… don’t?”
Zoro shook his head, rocking back on his stool to kick his feet on the table in a way he knew Sanji hated. “Nah, not really. What, do you really not know that you’re pretty?”
Ka-thump. Sanji’s eyes widened and his heart thundered in his chest all of a sudden. He’d never heard anything like that before, and it was… Well, Sanji wasn’t quite sure how he felt about it. For his best friend to say something like that, he must have meant it, but surely it wasn’t true. “Don’t be stupid, Zoro. Haven’t you seen me?”
“…What’re you talkin’ about?” Zoro asked, his frown deepening. Sanji just gestured to himself with one hand, feeling awkward.
“I mean, look at me. I’m all ungainly and gangly, my mouth’s too wide and ugly when I smile, I have stupid curly eyebrows, I’m—”
“I like your eyebrows,” Zoro blurts out simply, his cheeks slightly red in embarrassment. “You’re not gangly, you’re just tall. And I think you have a pretty smile.”
“You’re serious?”
Zoro hummed, looking at Sanji earnestly. Zoro was often matter-of-fact even when he was fucking around, but he was rarley this serious about things. “Course I am. I… You’re gorgeous, Sanji.”
Ka-thump. Sanji choked on his words, feeling like something was blooming in his chest. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, trying to find the words to say and failing. Eventually, all he managed to get out was a flustered, “Yeah, well, too bad you’re so ugly.”
Zoro grinned menacingly, but he seemed to get it anyway. He reached out a hand to smack Sanji round the back of the head, and soon they were all out wrestling on the floor.
That night, Sanji would cough up his first petal.
[ ♡ ]
As it turns out, hiding his new (and old) predicament from his crew proves harder than expected.
He’s fairly certain no one’s caught on so far, but it’s hard to tell. He’s had so many close calls now that it seems like it’s only a matter of time.
It had never happened this often before, Sanji muses to himself as he hangs over the toilet bowl miserably. Or if it did, then he could at least hold it off for longer back then. Now it seems all Zoro has to do is breathe around him and the dreaded sunflowers are crawling up his throat.
Bright yellow petals seem to beam up at him from the toilet, a terrible accompaniment to his misery. They shine brightly amongst the dirty water, almost outshining the beautiful smile that caused them in the first place.
And god, Zoro’s smile. It’s been so long that Sanji’s not used to it anymore. Yet Zoro gives it just as easily as he used to, grinning at the outlandish antics of his nakama, laughing alongside Luffy whenever he slingshots his way into an aggressive hug, beaming up at Sanji when he gets rewarded with his favourite booze.
Sanji wishes he could make Zoro smile like that without having to bribe him with alcohol or sparring. All it used to take was a dumb joke or a silly game to have Zoro smiling stupidly in that way that makes Sanji’s heart skip a beat. Now they can’t really have moments like that. Whatever connection they used to have is long gone, its echoes paling in comparison to the real thing.
Still, Sanji’s treacherous heart won’t listen to reason. No matter how sternly he tells himself that he’s not important to Zoro anymore, that he should move on, he just can't. Any time he half convinces himself he’s through with loving him, all Zoro has to do is make a stupid comment, or initiate another fight, or (worst of all) laugh, and the flowers come hurtling out of his lungs all over again.
It had to be sunflowers of all things, Sanji thinks as he weakly flushes the toilet and watches bright yellow petals disappear down the drain. They represent Zoro’s core of devotion and loyalty, as well as the adoration and joy that Sanji feels whenever he sees him. As much as they ironically fit Sanji’s true emotions, the sheer happiness staring up at him often feels like a kick to the teeth.
At least they aren’t roses. Sunflowers he could deal with being tainted for him for the rest of his life, but roses are the most romantic flowers of all. They’re his favourites, and he couldn’t stand it if they were the ones ruined by this shitty, shitty disease.
“Oi, you still pissing?” Zoro suddenly calls out, his fist thumping against the door. Sanji’s heart leaps in his chest, sending another surge of sunflowers up his throat. He coughs around the flowers, trying to clear his airways enough to speak.
“I’m almost done!” He replies in a hoarse voice, heart pounding as a familiar scratch rises in his throat. He needs Zoro to fuck off so he can have another long bout of throwing up the dreadful things, or he’s doomed.
“Hurry up then, Shit Cook,” he complains loudly, apparently with no intent on shifting away from the door. Sanji’s eyes widen as his lungs start to feel blocked off; he can’t exactly throw up quietly, but he can’t just let Zoro hear him either. Shit.
“Go piss over the side of the ship or something then, sword freak,” he manages to choke out even as petals brush up against the back of his mouth. Any sort of clever plan escapes him as he panics, desperate to keep the plant at bay for just a few more moments. “I— I need to shit.”
Fuck, the flowers are in his mouth. They’re on his tongue, clinging to his throat, choking him. A petal sticks to his lips, and it’s all he can do to move his drying tongue enough to dislodge it. Doing so shifts something and he retches, eyes widening in panic. He can’t hold it back much longer, can barely keep it contained, and Zoro’s still not moving—
“Oi, oi, you alright? You sound like you’re gonna puke,” Zoro asks, and the concern in his voice is too much. Sanji has all of two seconds to imagine that that concern is out of love, and then the flowers are spewing out of him uncontrollably.
He makes an awful sound as he coughs and splutters around the sunflowers, hands clawing at his throat. Everything in his body seizes as the flowers escape him, dry at first then horrifically slick as if coated in his own blood. He looks down through bleary eyes to find that is the case after all, bright yellow petals soaked in deep red.
“Cook?” Zoro pounds a fist against the door again, but Sanji can’t respond. He keeps on throwing up, spasming on the floor and missing the toilet bowl entirely. A whole new wave of flowers seem to be blooming inside him, stealing his air.
“Can’t—” Sanji splutters out before his words are replaced by the biggest flower yet. His mouth stretches wide to accommodate it, spitting it out with a pained yelp, and yet the shitty things keep on coming.
“I’m coming in,” Zoro warns, giving Sanji no time to even try to make himself presentable before he kicks down the door. He looms in the doorway, standing over Sanji’s shaking form just as he retches up a flower so bloody it’s hardly recognisable.
Blinking back tears from the force of his vomiting, Sanji peers up at Zoro. The swordsman looks down at him in horror, eyes methodically taking in the blood, sick, and petals clinging to Sanji’s once perfect suit. The look on his face is haunting in the moment Sanji has to take it in, but then he’s rolling back to the toilet with a groan and a weak cough.
“Chopper!” He hears Zoro yell, but the sound is lost over him painfully throwing up one last fully formed flower. He stares at the petals in despair as Zoro squats down beside him and rubs a soothing hand on his back.
A sense of dread washes over him as he realises it; this time, he’s been caught for good.
[ ♡ ]
Sanji was throwing up in the toilet again.
It was the second time that week where Sanji had to beg off to the toilets to retch and spit up bright yellow petals, and he was starting to get worried. He’d never heard of any sort of illness that left someone coughing up petals of all things, but here he was again. It fucking sucked.
Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, Sanji glared at the four yellow petals floating in the toilet. That was the most he’d thrown up so far, though at least they came up easily enough. For now he could just pretend he was pissing, and none of the lousy cooks he worked with seemed to notice. As long as things didn’t get any worse, it would be fine.
Still, he’d had this shitty sickness for months now. If it went on for much longer, he’d have to tell Zeff. He scowled at the thought and flushed the toilet — he didn’t want to admit any sort of weakness lest the old geezer made him stop cooking, but it seemed he didn’t have much of a choice left.
That was a problem for future Sanji, though, he figured as he flushed the toilet and washed up. Slapping some water against his pale cheeks made his pallor fade until he didn’t look ill at all, and with that he was ready to face the lunch rush once more.
Shoving his hands into his suit pockets, he slouched his way back to the kitchen. Just as he was about to enter, Zeff pushed open the door and blinked down at him in surprise.
“Oh, Eggplant, there you are. There’s a lump of moss moping about on the deck; go take him somewhere before he scares off the customers,” he said, and Sanji immediately perked up.
“Really? Thanks old man, I’ll see you!” He said happily, immediately rushing off to find his best friend. As much as he loved cooking, he’d happily skip out on the stress of lunch rush to hang out with his favourite (and only) friend instead.
He raced through the dining room with a grin and skidded to a stop on the deck outside when he caught sight of Zoro sat with his feet kicking through the sea. He looked like he really was moping, his perpetual scowl hidden partially by long green hair as he dejectedly watched the ocean at his feet.
“Mossy!” Sanji called out happily, watching as a startled Zoro sat up straight. He turned to face Sanji with reddening cheeks, obviously embarrassed to get caught off guard. Dumbass, Sanji thought fondly.
“Hey Curls, you took your time,” he grouched, but he couldn’t quite hide his smile. Sanji beamed right back, sitting down cross legged beside him and grabbing his hand.
“Shut up, I was busy. It’s lunch right now, you know?” He chastised him, neglecting to mention that he hadn’t actually been working when Zoro turned up. The swordsman pouted, gently squeezing Sanji’s hand. Sanji squeezed his in return, resting his head on Zoro’s shoulder.
“You too busy to hang out, then?” He grumbled, and Sanji just hummed playfully.
“I’m sure I can take some time out of my busy schedule to humour this piece of moss. What’s today’s adventure anyway?”
One handed, Zoro rummaged through the haramaki Sanji gifted him for his fifteenth birthday and eventually pulled out a scrap of paper. Peering over his shoulder, Sanji read the poster and whistled lowly at the number printed on it.
“That’s a pretty high bounty there, Marimo.”
Zoro arched an eyebrow, sending Sanji a flat look. “What, too high for you to take on?”
“No way,” Sanji said, grinning in tandem with his best friend.
“Wanna take him down together then?”
“You’re on!”
The two got to their feet and raced to Zoro’s little boat, Sanji easily beating him before having to double back and stop Zoro from getting too lost (why had he decided to head inside when the docks were literally in sight?). Before long they were off, Sanji navigating whilst Zoro obediently rowed along.
“Bandit Damon the Destroyer, huh?” Sanji mused, one eye on the bounty poster and one on their direction. Zoro just grunted, biceps straining as he heaved the oars to and fro.
“Found out about him in some bar in Clam Village,” he said mildly, as if it wasn’t a miracle his short ass was allowed into bars. “Apparently he’s holding a town hostage, not letting any food in or out. Figured it could be fun.”
Sanji looked at him properly, smiling warmly. The fact that he knew this sort of thing would be the sort of thing he’d want to take part in, the way he trusted him to be strong enough to fight by his side… Zoro really was a great friend.
The now familiar scratchiness at the back of his throat reared its ugly head, but Sanji just coughed and forced it down. Admitting he was sick to Zeff was an embarrassing thought, but admitting it to Zoro? That was unthinkable. He would hate to come across as weak or lesser to his best friend, after all.
“Hey, Zoro,” he said after a while. Zoro made a questioning noise, pausing his rowing to give him his full attention. Sanji smiled brightly at him, hoping the expression was enough to thank him without words. “Bet you we’ll beat this asshole in five minutes.”
Zoro scoffed, but he was grinning now. “Sucker bet. We’ll take him down in way less — we’re the best team around.”
Sanji laughed, because it was true. They worked so well together it was unreal. As long as he was with Zoro, he felt on top of the damn world, flower petals be damned.
[ ♡ ]
It doesn’t take too long for the entire crew to notice something’s up with Sanji.
Each of them have had a moment of nearly catching him now, though none as blatantly as Zoro just has. And now Sanji’s cornered in his beloved galley, his nakama gathered around the table and waiting for him to explain. He’s ran out of running already, left completely unprepared.
Maybe he should have expected them to catch on quicker, he thinks as he absently lights up a new cigarette. There’s a crawling sensation in his chest, reaching up his lungs and fluttering in his throat. It feels like he could throw up his heart into his hands at any moment, and under Zoro’s judging glare the fag isn’t doing much to quell it for once. If anything, he definitely should have noticed sooner how much worse he’s been getting.
“So,” he starts, stilted. There are seven pairs of eyes on him, each a varying mixture of worry and pity. It fucking sucks that it’s come to this, really, but Sanji has no one to blame but himself. “I’m sick.”
“Sanji! Why didn’t you tell me sooner? I can help with this sort of stuff, you know!” Chopper immediately exclaims, and Sanji takes a fortifying breath. Time to drop the bombshell, then.
“It’s incurable, and fatal.”
Silence falls like a gavel at the finality in Sanji’s voice. He sighs out a plume of smoke, leaning heavily against the counter separating the kitchen and dining area. For a moment it’s – well, calm is the wrong word to use given what he’s just said, but there’s an almost serene atmosphere in the stunned quiet that falls over the crew.
The silence is broken by just one word from Luffy. “No.”
“I’m sorry captain, but there’s nothing that can be done. I’m dyin–”
“No!” Luffy yells, standing up with a ferocity that sends his chair tumbling to the ground. “You can’t die, you just can’t! You’re my nakama, I won’t let you!”
“Luff…”
“Chopper’s the best doctor in the world, he can cure you!” Luffy says firmly, a deep set frown on his face. All eyes fall on the little doctor, whose face immediately hardens with determination.
“R-Right, I can try!” He says, raising a hoof to wipe away a tear. Sanji just sighs, blowing out a thick cloud of smoke. The nicotine tastes acrid on his tongue, but it’s the only thing holding back a whole new wave of sunflower heads.
“It’s hanahaki,” he says, and he has to watch Chopper perk up with a heavy feeling in his heart.
“Sanji, that’s totally curable! We can help you!”
“No, you can’t. I’m sorry.” He stares up at the ceiling, analysing each crack and mark in the wood. It’s easier to get it out like this when he isn’t faced with his expectant crewmates, when he doesn’t have to watch their hopes crash and burn. “I can’t get the surgery. The other method isn’t an option either.”
“Oi, speak plainly Shit Cook,” Zoro says, as gruff and blunt as ever. “What’s this hanahaki shit anyway? Because all I saw was you hurling up flowers and blood.”
“Hanahaki disease is one of unrequited love,” Robin says calmly, an underlying anger to her voice. Sanji feels tears well up in his eyes at hearing that word so plainly. Staring directly at the lights is the only thing that keeps his tears away. “In the stories, the victim grows flowers in their lungs until the love is requited, or they choke to death. It’s said to be a tragically beautiful demise.”
“But Chopper can fix it, right? He can do the surgery thing and make Sanji’s illness go away!” Luffy sounds so desperate in his optimism that it’s actively breaking Sanji’s heart. Fuck, but this damn disease is tearing his family apart right now, and that’s something he hates more than anything.
“If I get the surgery, I’ll lose the ability to ever love again. I’d rather die than let that happen. Do you hear me captain?” He makes eye contact, feral in his desperation. He thinks of his so-called blood family, thinks of the emotionless monsters that were supposed to be his brothers. He thinks of destruction, of hatred, of apathy. “I’d rather kill myself than get that damn surgery.”
“Then we’ll find another way to fix this!” Luffy yells, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. “We can find this person and make them love you back! Or we can invent a new cure! I won’t lose any of my nakama again!”
Sanji swallows around a lump in his throat, for once not caused by the damn flowers creeping out from his lungs. “We can’t. I’ve been like this for years, long before I met you guys. He didn’t love me then, and even if we could go back now, he won’t love me still. I think hearing him reject me would kill me dead.”
Another chair clatters to the ground then as Zoro gets to his feet. He looks at Sanji, really looks at him, and for a terrible moment Sanji is sure he knows.
What else would cause such a horrible expression? He’s simultaneously completely unreadable and entirely open, a heart-wrenching sincerity conveying something Sanji can’t name in his eyes. The whole world is swept away in a wave, leaving just him and Zoro and this damn cigarette left standing on the shore. For a second, just a second, they share that silent gaze, before Zoro is gone.
Sanji lets out his breath all in one go, staring longingly at the door Zoro left through. As if demanding to follow him, the flowers force their way up Sanji’s throat, erupting out of his mouth with renewed vigour. He doubles over where he stands, gasping for what little breath he can draw as the flowers spill out onto the floor in front of (almost) all his horrified crewmates.
Black spots dance at the corners of his vision as one particularly big sunflower head gets stuck in his trachea. No matter how hard he retches, he can’t quite dislodge it. Eyes wide and panicked, he manages to cough up a thick splatter of blood, and the stark difference of deep red on bright yellow is the last thing he sees before he falls into the arms of unconsciousness.
[ ♡ ]
“I’m not getting the surgery.”
They were the first words to come out of Sanji’s mouth after hearing what the doctor had to say. Stood in the doorway watching the whole ordeal, Zeff clenched his hands into fists, though mercifully he didn’t object.
Unbidden, three familiar faces came to mind. The very idea of becoming like them, emotionless and cruel, sent shivers down Sanji’s spine. He had vowed to choose kindness a long time ago; there was no way he’d end up turning into the Sanji his so-called father had always wanted.
“In that case, there is always the other option,” the doctor said diplomatically. He was an older man who had traveled all the way from the Grand Line to be here, Zeff having cashed in an old favour to get his help. He was supposedly one the best doctors around, so it hadn’t taken him more than a once-over to diagnose Sanji.
Hanahaki. What a beautiful, horrible word.
“Which is?” Sanji asked, crossing his arms over his chest. Imagining the plant growing just underneath his skin made him feel entirely uneasy, so he sat hunched over as if to hide away what couldn’t be seen.
“The hanahaki plant is borne of unrequited love, and flourishes as long as the feelings are suppressed. If you were to confess these feelings, the plant would die on its own.”
“So he’ll just do that then,” Zeff said firmly, tapping his peg leg rhythmically against the floor. Sanji just looked down at his lap shamefully.
How typically stupid of him to fall in love so hard that it was literally becoming the death of him. And oh, how ironic that the deepest connection he’d ever made to another person would be the thing to kill him. In his mind he could only ever picture Zoro as safety and trust, and yet here he was, unintentionally killing him.
Would he ever even know? Would Sanji die here, pining from afar, never to see his love again? Would Zoro even care?
No, of course he’d care. Surely he’d eventually get over their recent spat, come back to the Baratie and take his horrible words back. He had to return, he just had to. Whether he’d come back in time or arrive only to find Sanji dead and gone was a whole different question…
“I can’t,” Sanji said in a small voice, still staring at his lap. The air around him went frosty with tension, but he refused to look up.
“If it’s reciprocation that you’re worried about, then that’s not an issue,” the doctor explained calmly, as if he was used to this reaction. “It’s the suppression of emotions that causes the disease — as long as you don’t shut down upon a rejection, then the plant will clear up anyway, albeit more slo—”
“No, I mean I can’t,” Sanji insisted, digging his fingers into his thighs. Pathetic tears pricked at the corners of his eyes, but he refused to let them fall no matter how much his heart ached. Instead, he looked up at Zeff and met his eye desperately. “Old man, it’s Zoro. And after our fight, I don’t know if he’ll ever come back…”
“Then we’ll just have to find him,” Zeff said firmly, scowling deeply. “I’ll track him down all over the East Blue if I have to, damnit.”
“He’s gone, Zeff!” Sanji yelled, digging his fingers into his legs until it hurt. “He’ll be off on the Grand Line by now, and besides, I don’t want to leave here. He wants me to let him go, so I will.”
“You damn stubborn brat—!”
“If I may,” the doctor piped up, clearing his throat. “Whilst those are the only known ways to completely expel the plant, there is… another method of prolonging your life.”
“Like what,” Sanji snapped, still glaring at his old man. He watched the doctor shift in his seat out of the corner of his eye.
“I’d like to stress that this isn’t a cure,” he said slowly, wincing as he draws the full attention of both Sanji and Zeff. “I’d say that it should give you just a few extra years. At most, you’ll live to around twenty five.”
“Get to the damn point already,” Zeff growled, the doctor flinching at his tone.
“New research suggests that nicotine can suffocate the roots, keep the plant at bay. if you took up smoking, it could work to suppress the plant for at least a little while.”
Silence fell over the room once more. Two pairs of eyes fell heavily on Sanji, who frowned to himself as he weighed up his options. He wanted to live, to stay on the Baratie as long as he could, to repay his debt to the old man, but…
“No. Absolutely not,” he eventually said, hardening his gaze. Zeff made a frustrated noise, throwing both hands up in the air.
“Dear god brat, is nothing good enough for you? What’s your problem this time?”
“Geezer, come on! How am I supposed to be a great chef if I ruin my damn tastebuds? I might as well cut off my hands right now!” Sanji exploded, eyes pleading with him.
“What good of a chef will you be if you’re fucking dead?” Zeff roared right back, making Sanji flinch and curl even further into himself. He had a point, of course, but…
“There’s got to be another option,” he muttered, his hands tugging at his hair in frustration. Right now, nothing sounded acceptable at all.
“I’m afraid those are the only solutions as of present. With your current condition, I’d expect you only have a handful months left, maybe a year.”
“You hear that, brat? Months!” Zeff yelled, his wooden leg clopping across the floor as he approached. He squatted down to Sanji’s height, gently prying his hands from his hair. “Get it together, kid. You’re not dying on my watch.”
Sanji inhaled deeply, then let all his air out in a deep sigh. Zeff was right, of course. His options fucking sucked, but at least he had options. Well, option, singular.
He couldn’t get the surgery. He’d stand by that until the day he died — which, he morbidly noted, would probably end up sooner than expected. Losing his emotions entirely was unthinkable, far worse than death. And if he literally couldn’t confess his feelings with Zoro likely well on his way to becoming the Greatest Swordsman somewhere on the Grand Line, then that left him with just one measly choice.
It was either destroy his tastebuds with a horrible habit, or die. And he really, really didn’t want to die.
“Fine,” he eventually said, the word ripped out of his throat as if covered in barbs. “I’ll smoke. Get me a damn cigarette.”
[ ♡ ]
When he’s nineteen, Sanji meets the love of his life for the second time.
It’s a shock and a half on top of an already surprising day. One second he’s chasing the over energetic Luffy around the kitchens, fending off his attempts to help that are only causing chaos, and the next he’s watching that same boy across the dining hall messing around with a very familiar green haired man.
It’s stupid, but Sanji can’t tear his eyes away. How can this be the same Zoro? The boy he first fell in love with all of six years ago, the one who left him so long ago, is sat across the room with a bright smirk and a barking laugh, pouring water down the new chore boy’s throat. So close, yet so far away.
It can’t be him, Sanji reasons with himself as he excuses himself from the table he’s currently serving. He looks exactly the same in all the ways that matter, but he’s just different enough for it to be heartbreaking. It can’t be him, surely not. He’d know better than to show his face here after so long.
The little group of pirates don’t notice him as he approaches, not until he’s right next to Zoro and kicking him halfway across the dining room. The laughter stops in an instant as the group stares at him, but Sanji only has eyes for his ex friend.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing here?” Sanji seethes, lowering his extended leg to the floor and crunching his cigarette between his teeth. Zoro looks up at him from the floor, bemused for a terrible moment where Sanji is sure he doesn’t recognise him.
“I’m here to eat, shithead. Or do you not feed the hungry anymore?” Zoro growls out in response, his voice significantly deeper now that he’s apparently hit puberty. Sanji scowls as Zoro gets to his feet — that was a low blow, even for him.
“You know exactly why we don’t let anyone here go hungry, asshole,” he snarls as Zoro approaches, and then keeps on approaching until their foreheads are pressed together aggressively. Annoyingly enough, he’s finally hit his growth spurt, and Sanji just barely has to look up to meet his eye.
Sanji’s heart, awful traitor that it is, flips in his chest. The movement stirs something else in his chest, old roots shifting about in the vestiges of his lungs at the proximity.
“Who knows about your morals now. Thought you’d never smoke, huh Shit Cook?”
“Why you—!”
“Oi, Zoro! You know this guy?” Luffy asks brightly, as if they’re not about to start an all out brawl in the middle of the restaurant.
“Yeah. He’s just some guy I knew as a kid,” Zoro says, like their friendship meant nothing, like their connection wasn’t ever special, like he isn’t dear to Sanji’s heart even now.
“Oh, cool! Sanji’s gonna be our cook!” Luffy declares, and Sanji spins in place to pin him down with a vicious glare.
“Like hell I am!” He yells, though Luffy just ignores him in favour of picking his nose obnoxiously.
And shit, the idea of him joining this crew is even worse now, isn’t it? Not only would it mean abandoning the old man and letting his debt go unpaid, but it would also mean being forced to hang out with Zoro for extended periods of time. Getting rejected by him before would have been tough, but he’d have surely gotten through it; now, the rejection would definitely be enough to kill him.
That’s it then, he decides. He’ll never join this ragtag group of pirates, even if it’s his one last chance to chase his dream before he dies.
(It doesn’t take him long to learn that the word never means nothing when confronted by the hurricane that is Luffy, and that becoming nakama was truly inevitable from the start.)
[ ♡ ]
When he was fifteen, Sanji saw the love of his life for the last time.
He didn’t know it at the time, of course. His last day with his best friend started as normally as any other, with Zoro rocking up without warning in the morning and demanding Sanji hang out with him. Since the midsummer heat was getting near oppressive, they forwent any sort of adventure to sit on the back deck together and just lounge around.
They were sprawled out like puppies, with Sanji’s head in Zoro’s lap and calloused fingers running through blonde hair. He would have been half convinced Zoro was asleep were it not for the rhythmic movement of his hands running gently through his hair. The heat was getting to Sanji even where they sat in the shade, and he was halfway to a nap himself when Zoro finally spoke up.
“I was at the bar in Jade Town yesterday,” he started, his voice slow and deliberate. Sanji cracked one eye open, staring up at the boy he was in love with curiously.
“Oh? See any good bounties?” He asked, nuzzling into Zoro’s hand. The green haired swordsman just sighed and looked skyward, a complicated frown on his face.
“I guess so,” he said, though it was clear he had more to say. Sanji waited patiently, enjoying the scratch of fingers against his scalp for a bit longer. “Still no swordsmen though.”
Sanji winced in sympathy — it had been like this for a couple of months now. Zoro would search out bounties in his usual spots, but recently there had been a distinct lack of swordsmen left for him to beat. At this point he was easily the best swordsman on the East Blue, and Sanji could tell he was getting antsy. Hunting down other bounties and sparring with Sanji was all well and good, but for Zoro it would never compare to having a steady stream of swordsmen to train against.
“That sucks, Moss. I’m sure someone decent will turn up sooner rather than later,” Sanji said, offering up a small smile. Zoro didn’t return it for once, his hand stilling in Sanji’s hair.
“I don’t know if anyone will. Not for a while, at least.”
“You’ll just have to wait and train with me, then,” Sanji told him, shifting until he was sat up properly. Zoro just pouted, so Sanji nudged him playfully in the side. “Maybe you can find some dojo to go beat up in the meantime, huh?”
“I think… I think I can’t get much stronger here anymore,” Zoro said haltingly, his whole face doing something complicated that Sanji couldn’t quite read. Hell, he didn’t know what Zoro was saying here — was he seriously giving up?
“What does that mean?” He asked, feeling a spark of rage at the very idea of Zoro — unrelenting, driven, confident Zoro — giving up on his dream. He tamped down the feeling, assuring himself that he was misunderstanding what Zoro meant.
But then, what else could he mean?
“People call the East Blue the weakest of them all, Curls. There’s no way Hawk Eyes would hang around here. The strongest swordsman is probably on the strongest sea.”
“So, he’s probably on the Grand Line. You already knew that,” Sanji said, getting irritated now. Surely he wasn’t saying… “But you still need to train up here before you can go after him, right?”
“I need to move on,” Zoro said firmly, staring out at sea longingly. “Maybe I’ll find him, maybe I won’t. At the very least I need to find stronger swordsmen, or I’ll never get better.”
“That doesn’t mean you have to leave,” Sanji insisted, planting himself firmly in front of Zoro to force him to make eye contact. “If there really isn’t anyone out there for you to train against, then why don’t you just stay at the Baratie? The old geezer can help teach you to fight too, and we can spar even more!”
Any hope Sanji had with his plea was crushed in an instant as Zoro just gritted his teeth and shook his head. “There ain’t no swordsmen here either, Cook.”
“Well, no, but…” Sanji racked his brain for another reason for him to stay, something that wasn’t as pathetic as the truth. Because Sanji couldn’t just come out and say don’t leave me, I need you here, you’re my only friend, I love you, but he could come up with other excuses.
“But nothing! I’m serious Cook, I want to stay but there’s no reason for me not to go,” Zoro admitted, eyes begging to be understood. But Sanji wasn’t listening anymore, his mind stuck in place as a cold sensation washed over him. An ache started to build in his chest, itching and writhing slowly as Sanji’s hurt feelings rose.
“Come on, it doesn’t mean I’ll never come back,” Zoro continued, oblivious to the way Sanji had just frozen. “I’ll become the greatest in no time, and I’ll just have to come back as soon as I am.”
“Why bother?” Sanji said coldly, his quiet voice at odds with the roiling emotion churning in his guts like a sickness. Zoro gave him an incredulous look, like Sanji was being the ridiculous one here.
“Hah? What are you talking about?”
“I’m saying that if you can just go now, why bother coming back!” Balling his hands into fists, Sanji sent him a glare full of hate to cover up the hurt. “You can just fuck off, find better swordsmen, and never care to come back!”
“I just said I want to return, didn’t I? I’ll only be gone until I can beat Hawk Eyes, so what? A couple years?” Sanji just scoffed at the notion, scratching at his aching chest as he stood up to look down on his supposed best friend.
“As if you’ll want to come back after all that! Admit it, you want to go find proper swordsmen, people like you, and once you’ve found your people you’ll forget all about me!”
“Why the fuck would you think that? We’re supposed to be friends!” Zoro was starting to look pissed now, getting to his feet too. He pressed their foreheads together, snarling viciously.
“Friends don’t fucking abandon each other!” Sanji finally exploded, breathing heavily. “You want to leave? Fine, but don’t expect to pick up where we left off if you ever bother to come visit.”
“Then maybe I won’t bother! Fuck knows why I hang out with your insecure ass anyway,” Zoro growled, taking a step back and leaving Sanji spluttering.
“Insecure—? You little shit! Just because I’m the only one who cares about our friendship, apparently!”
“If you really cared about our friendship, then you’d want me to pursue my dream!” Zoro laughed humourlessly, sneering up at him. “But hey, what should I expect for a guy too chickenshit to leave his cozy little restaurant to chase his own ambitions.”
Sanji gasped, taking a step back at that blow. Zoro knew damn well how he and Zeff had met, what they went through together, what Sanji owed him. He knew why Sanji couldn’t just up and leave, no matter how much the ocean called to him, no matter how much he yearned to find his dream too.
“So that’s how you really feel, huh?” Sanji said dryly, his chest tight to the point that it felt like it was constricting his lungs. “Fine, then go ahead. Go die as a nameless nobody on the Grand Line, and I’ll never spare you a second thought again.”
“As if! My name will reach the fucking heavens, and all you’ll be left with will be its damn echoes!”
“Fine!”
“Fine!”
“Good!” Sanji snapped, his voice thick as he almost choked out the word. A crawling sensation climbed up his throat as he watched Zoro turn his back like it meant nothing and stalk off the long way round to his boat.
A few seconds passed in an awful silence as Sanji stood alone on the back deck, breathing heavily as that rising sickness tried its level best to suffocate him. It felt like a bad joke, like Zoro would come running back around the corner with a hug and an I was wrong, I’m sorry, I’ll stay with you forever.
The apology didn’t come. Instead, up came his lunch, violently spilling out his guts onto the deck.
In amongst the chunky vomit and assorted petals, Sanji threw up his first full flower head that day. After several minutes of gagging and retching the thing up, he looked down at the yellow and black and cried.
Zoro was gone, likely for good.
[ ♡ ]
Sanji comes to blearily to find himself laying on his side in the infirmary. There’s a bucket underneath his head, halfway full with awful yellow flowers, evidently from him throwing up more whilst unconscious. He’s never done that before, always been awake and aware whilst coughing up the dreadful things.
He supposes it really is getting significantly worse. He remembers the sight of Zoro’s broad back leaving his galley (and possibly his life) and his chest squeezes tight, pushing up something solid. He coughs, his throat rasping and sore, as a sunflower head slowly scrapes its way out of his lungs.
He hangs his head weakly over the side of the bed, staring at the bucket of bright yellow, so he’s startled when a warm hand lands gently on his back and rubs soothing circles into his spine. He retches and heaves a few times, his body almost too sore to force it up, but he manages eventually. As the lasts of his lunch leave him alongside a bloodied, wilted flower, he hears a deep voice shushing him and offering up nothing-words of encouragement.
“C’mon Curls, get it all out,” the voice says, and Sanji belatedly realises that it’s Zoro here with him.
Groaning, he pushes himself up to a wobbly seat. The movement dislodges Zoro’s comforting hand, leaving him reaching out to nothing awkwardly for a moment before he lets his arm drop back down to his side. They share eye contact for a moment, Zoro’s gaze a strange mixture of vulnerable and closed off.
“You’re awake, then. That’s good,” he says gruffly, rocking back on his heels in a weird act of discomfort. Zoro’s never really one for mincing his words or actions, so the little sign of uneasiness in him is enough to set Sanji on edge too. Even if Zoro doesn’t love him, doesn’t care about him, he clearly doesn’t want him to die either.
Or maybe he just doesn’t want to go through the hassle of finding a new cook once he’s gone. That honestly seems equally plausible too.
“I should go get Chopper, then. He, uh, he was really worried when you passed out. Said that… this is the last stage of hanahaki.”
Sanji sighs out a long breath, fingers itching for a cigarette. Painstakingly slowly, he reaches out with stiff hands to fumble with his pack by the bedside. The very act of taking out a stick costs most of his energy, so he settles for just holding it for now.
“I only started smoking because of this damn disease, you know?” He says in lieu of answering Zoro’s unspoken question. He rolls his cigarette between his thumb and index finger, watching its movement so he doesn’t have to look Zoro in the eyes again.
The wooden floorboards creak gently under Zoro’s shifting weight, but the small infirmary is otherwise silent for a while. The air hangs heavy between them as Sanji tries to figure out what the hell he’s supposed to say in this situation and Zoro… Well, Zoro keeps on acting uncharacteristically awkward.
Eventually, Sanji decides to just throw caution to the wind and actually clear the air. After all, he might not get another chance.
“Why did you leave, Zoro?” He asks, his voice embarrassingly small. He clears his throat, wincing at the sharp pain it sends lancing through his entire body. “Why didn’t you ever come back?”
There’s another weighted pause. Sanji stubbornly keeps his eyes on his fag.
“You said not to.”
Sanji sighs and finally looks up just so he can fix Zoro with a deadpan stare. He may well be on his deathbed right now; he’s not putting up with Zoro’s vague bullshit. “We both know full well neither of us meant what we said that day, not really.”
“Yeah,” Zoro agrees surprisingly easily, his lips twisting into a pained frown. He takes his time to formulate a response, carefully slow in his wording in a way he never usually bothers to be around Sanji. “It’s… It’s not like I didn’t want to.”
“Then why didn’t you?”
Zoro winces, averting his eyes as he rubs at the back of his neck as if ashamed. “I really was headed to the Grand Line at first. I got turned around a bit on the way, ended up somewhere in the Scorpion Isles.”
“The Scorpion Isles?” Sanji interrupts in disbelief. “That’s about as far as you can get from Reverse Mountain!”
“I said I got turned around, didn’t I?” Zoro has the decency to look embarrassed to the point that he’s blushing. He pouts like a scolded kid and mutters under his breath, “Not my fault the tides kept changin’ and the clouds wouldn’t stay still…”
“You really are hopeless with directions, huh?” Sanji says, laughing drily — too drily, fuck, he’s coughing again. It’s harsh and sore and it feels like he’s ripping up the insides of his throat when he tries to inhale, but thankfully it soon passes.
“Just— let me talk, okay? This is embarrassing enough as is,” Zoro grumbles, his tone at complete odds with the way he quickly reaches for a glass of water and shoves it into Sanji’s trembling hands.
Taking a shaky sip, Sanji waves a hand at Zoro to continue. After another long sigh, Zoro does.
“Bounty hunting had been rough and— you remember Johnny and Yosaku?” After a moment, Sanji nods, half remembering the two swordsmen who had been Zoro’s biggest cheerleaders when they reunited at the Baratie. “Well, I met them pretty soon after I got there, and I realised that even if they were both way weaker than me, I could still learn a lot training with them.”
“So? Why not come back after that?” Sanji asks, wanting to get to the point already. Surprisingly, Zoro’s blush deepens as he glances about sketchily.
“Well, I fuckin’ tried, didn’t I?” He says, folding his arms over his chest defensively. “I… couldn’t find it again. I spent a whole damn year chasing after your damn restaurant but every time I turned up where you were supposed to be, you’d already sailed off. After that I figured that I’d leave it up to luck — which worked eventually!”
Sanji blinks at him, barely containing himself. He sets down the glass of water and bites back another laugh since Zoro looks genuinely ashamed and it’d likely only end up hurting his damn lungs.
“So you’re telling me that it took you four years and Luffy’s sheer dumb luck to come back just because you got so damn lost?”
“Shut up, you’re the one who got lost! If your stupid restaurant stayed in the same spot I would have found it right away!”
Sanji can’t help it any longer — he barks out a hearty laugh. He shakes with effort, actively pushing down the veritable garden growing in his lungs, but it’s worth it. Truly only Zoro could be so utterly stupid and endearing in one fell swoop. Any lingering animosity on Sanji’s behalf dissipates in an instant, overpowered by staggering affection.
“Ohmygod, that’s so dumb,” he says through the laughter, unable to hold back his toothy grin in the face of his overflowing emotions. “I love you so much.”
It takes another minute or so for Sanji to stop his half laughter half coughing fit, and by the time he does it’s too late to take the words back. Zoro is staring at him like a deer in headlights, like his whole world has been turned upside down by the thoughtless confession. The urge to take it all back rises, and with it comes a wave of nausea so strong that it leaves Sanji light headed.
“But— That’s— Me?”
Every atom of Sanji’s being is screaming at him to shut down, to pretend he was just kidding, to think of something . But god, Zoro still looks so endearingly wrong footed, how could Sanji possibly deny it? Besides, when can he be honest if not on his literal deathbed.
“You,” Sanji says simply, bracing himself for the rejection that will surely kill him. He hopes against hope that if he prepares himself enough then maybe the sting won’t hit until later, that maybe he’ll survive long enough to say goodbye to his beloved nakama before he inevitably shuts down entirely.
“But… What about your flower disease?” Zoro splutters, apparently too dense to connect the two neon bright dot
“It’s for you, idiot!”
“You said you had it before you even met me!”
Scowling, Sanji bites down on his unlit cigarette and glares at the love of his life. “I said I had it before I met the crew! Look, can’t you just get on with it and reje—”
“But Robin said you got it from unrequited love?” Zoro furrows his eyebrows in confusion as he visibly tries to process this.
There’s an insult on the tip of Sanji’s tongue, the usual fare about the moss on Zoro’s head leaking into his brains, but he bites it back at the last second as he realises what Zoro just said. He narrows his eyes at the swordsman, hackles raised as the stems start to scratch up his chest.
“This isn’t the time to be fucking with me, Mosshead,” he growls, trying to sound dangerous rather than as shit-scared as he feels. “If you actually loved me back I wouldn’t have been suffering with this crap for the last five years.”
“Don’t bullshit me, Cook! I’ve loved you since we were thirteen, you wouldn’t be dying if it was for me!”
“We’d just met when we were thirteen, dumbass! You literally can’t have loved me for that long!” Sanji neglects to mention that they were thirteen when he first started coughing up petals, because obviously that’s different.
“Okay, fine, I was fourteen then,” Zoro snarls, poking Sanji in the forehead with an oddly gentle finger. “Day after my damn birthday. You talked my ear off about your ocean and I realised it was more than just me finding you pretty.”
“You… You think of it as my ocean?” His question is breathless but not in the way he’s used to — no, he instead feels airy, floaty, light.
“Obviously. You’re the one who’s gonna find it.” Zoro says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, like it’s as certain as him becoming the Greatest Swordsman or Luffy becoming King. Sanji inhales sharply through his nose, and for the first time in years his breath isn’t hindered in the slightest.
He grabs Zoro by the cheeks and pulls him down so they’re forehead to forehead, a stance they usually assume for a good and proper screaming match. Instead of yelling, though, Sanji strokes his thumbs across soft cheeks.
“For the record,” he says lowly, staring at Zoro’s parted lips. “This has been the worst confession I could have imagined.”
Zoro snorts, tension bleeding out of his shoulders as he smirks as sure and cocky as ever. “You wouldn’t have it any other way.
Sanji could very well argue with him, or complain some more, or start a fight. He figures a better use of their time, though, is to shut Zoro up by kissing him like he’s always wanted to.
[ ♡ ]
“So. We love each other.”
“Apparently so.”
“Which means you’re cured?”
“Have you seen me coughing up shitty sunflowers since?”
Zoro hums pensively, eyes trained on the cigarette dangling from Sanji’s lips. “Does that mean you’re finally gonna quit with the smoking?”
Because he’s always liked to rile Zoro up, Sanji blows smoke directly into his face. Because he’s in love with his tactless marimo boyfriend, Sanji soothes his scrunched up expression with a sweet kiss.