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Summary
“I have these swords,” Sanji says, his hand back to the swords on his side, “Because you’re dead, asshole.”
A devil fruit user sends Zoro through alternate timelines where the only constant is that, in every single one of them, he’s already dead.
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Bookmark Notes:
harrowing
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Bookmark Notes:
“You just said it’s the swords’ fault!” he eyes Zoro, settling on his waist. “If you’re not going to do it yourself,” Sanji starts, reaching toward Zoro’s swords.
With a sudden jerk, Zoro remembers the last time Sanji touched his version of Wado. It left him on the floor, withering in pain, and absolutely not. He’s not going to see /that/ again.
“/No,/” Zoro shuffles back, reaching for his own belt, and tosses his own swords across the room. They clatter loudly on the floor. “Solved that.”
Sanji groans, and it for once sounds normal. “Oh, so you’re allowed to toss your swords around, but I’m not?!”
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“I don’t– you– how do you–”
“Ten minutes, right? You don’t have much time left,” Sanji must see the abject confusion on his face, because he laughs annoyingly. “You told me about it before your last duel,” he says.
His last–?
“So if you found the All Blue, does that mean I’ve…” Zoro trails off. He doesn’t really want to know the answer.
Sanji knows him well enough. He knows him too well. “Wouldn’t you like to know,” Sanji grins. Then, the grin falters, if only for a moment, and his eyes soften into something sad. “Good to see you again, marimo.”
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Bookmark Notes:
Fascination but pain-flavoured
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Bookmark Notes:
Read again, been looking for it