Archive of Our Own

i.

Sanji doesn't like his name, he never did. There is a bitterness in hearing it to this day, a bad taste in his mouth and an old ache that accompanies the sound of his name whenever it is said. His last name is forgotten, buried deep in his own memories as a way to run from it, despite how sometimes he feels nauseous at the thought that said last name has just been forgotten because of a promise he seems to be good at keeping. Either way, Vinsmoke sounds like a far away thing, a word which sounds wrong and empty — not him, never him — because of how it is never said anymore.

Sanji, however, remains; he doesn't like that it does. Hardly a name, mostly a number, an indicator of what he is, not who. Third son, third experiment, and a failure at that.

Still, he couldn't part with it, not when the memories of his mother had her saying that name with fondness and love he still carried with him despite the years that passed. He held on to it, while simultaneously bitter at the awful sound. 

Zeff had seemed to notice back then, his reaction to the name being said in a louder voice, a rougher tone, a lot more visible then as a child. Little eggplant seemed to fill in the void where his name should be, and although degrading, it felt better to hear it than Sanji. The other cooks at Baratie didn't seem to catch on to that, but Sanji couldn't blame them — even so, curses and the occasional brat being thrown at him instead of his name had always been more welcome.

When Luffy came with his ragtag crew and that annoying insistence that dug at his resolve faster than he'd like to admit, his name sounded different. Sanji had always been the word Luffy called when calling for him, never anything else but his name, and it had always been accompanied by that cheerfulness that's Luffy's alone. It almost made Sanji hate his name less, and he could admit he didn't mind it as much when it came from his captain's mouth, but the uneasiness never left. The rest of the crew always used his name, and despite his fondness for them, it brought back that bitterness to his mouth, even when Nami used it.

And then there's Zoro, who never uses it. His number never left the swordsman's mouth, instead, much like Zeff had done, Sanji becomes Cook, or Curly, or, on some occasions when the mosshead decided he could spare a few more words without burning his brain cells away, Curly Brow. Sometimes, when they fought and bickered, those names were followed by some form of curse, but they never bit as bad as his name did.

Strangely enough, it's always the gruffly said Cook that brings back his mood from sour to normal again after a whole day of hearing his own name. He tries not to think much about it.

Sanji wakes in the night to the sway of the ship, blinking himself awake and waiting until his eyes adjust to the darkness around him. He couldn't know the hour, but he knows he should've been awake by now, although there is no sight of the green swordsman around. He grunts, knowing Zoro probably had either slept during his watch or ignored the cycle again, ready to pull an all-nighter despite Sanji being the one who should've been switching with him for the night watch. 

He stands up, feeling dizzy from how tired he still feels, but pushes past it to grab his shirt and pants, shedding his pajamas and getting dressed quickly, rolling up his sleeves as he exits the men's quarters. 

Like he guessed, he finds Zoro on top of the crow's nest, wide awake and giving Sanji a huff at the fact that he's awake when the mosshead clearly had planned not to wake him up at all.

"My turn," Sanji grumbles, kicking Zoro's side lightly to get him to move from the sitting position he's in, wrapped in a thin blanket. "Out, Marimo."

"I can stay a few more hours," Zoro grumbles back, not moving an inch, eyes on the horizon and a frown on his face. "You can sleep more, Cook."

The name is said in a gruff voice, and Sanji has to ignore the quiet peace that spreads through him as he listens to it against the sound of wind and the waves below. 

"You should go to sleep. Who knows- maybe you'll stop sleeping all the fucking day if you just slept at night like a normal person."

"Says you," Zoro says, an accusing glare in his eyes. "You barely sleep, shit-cook. I'd rather not have to find another cook because you fell asleep at the stove or something."

"Yeah, yeah, fuck you, get the fuck out," Sanji mumbles, kicking Zoro a little harder now. 

Zoro groans, almost sounding like a growl, and Sanji just deems the sound worthy of another kick. A hand grabs at his ankle, golden eyes glaring up at Sanji while Sanji glares back, golden and blue meeting. 

"You're fucking annoying," Zoro finally grumbles after a while, letting go of the ankle and slowly getting himself up as Sanji just watches, satisfied at having won their little stare-off. "Fine, have fun, Curly. Whatever."

The cook stands there, watching Zoro move towards the stairs that would take him back to the ship's deck, and he doesn't know if it's the cut-off sleep that left him with no filter or if his curiosity truly finally won fair and square, but he hears his voice leaving his lips before he can think better of it.

"You never call me by my name," Sanji says. "Why?"

Golden eyes meet blue ones again, and Sanji tries not to clench his jaw too visibly when he realizes he's asked it. To his credit, if Zoro notices the discomfort that comes with the question, he doesn't comment on it. 

"Should I?" Zoro answers with a question.

"No."

"It's not like you use my name all that much either," the swordsman points out, and Sanji shrugs at it, knowing it's true. He tries not to overthink the way Zoro's voice goes from annoyed to neutral — almost soft — with the subject. 

"Should I?" Sanji repeats Zoro's earlier question.

"No," Zoro repeats Sanji's response, although his voice is quieter, eyes leaving the cook's like he suddenly can't stand looking at Sanji anymore. "Didn't you tell me to fuck off? Why are you starting a conversation, Cook."

"Right, my bad, Marimo. I'm probably frying whatever bits of brain you have left in that green head of yours," Sanji sighs dramatically, looking up at the dark sky and hearing the low growl of discontent coming from Zoro. 

When he's finally alone, wrapped on the thin blanket that had been wrapped around Zoro before, still carrying the smell of sake and of the salty sea, Sanji fights to ignore the peaceful feeling left behind from the talk with the swordsman and the absence of his name in the other man's lips. 

ii.

It's not just the picture on the wanted poster that causes Sanji to get into a sour mood, although he can't say the picture helps; it's the name, big and bold for anyone around the world to read and tie it to him definitely. Vinsmoke doesn't accompany it — and how could it, no one but the people in Germa knew — but Sanji seems to taunt him.

There's something to it that causes the cook to smile without any humor behind it. His name, his number, accompanied by the number that told the whole world his worth. 

What am I but a number?, he thinks, brushing the gloom away from his mind as soon as it comes.

He takes longer making dinner that day, quieter than usual, hidden away in the galley where he could be alone with the sour taste in his mouth after the celebrations over the crew's bounties. Nami, bless her heart, had been the one to question his behavior when dinner had finally been served, but all the cook did was reassure her that she shouldn't worry about a thing — he was fine. Usopp had made a face like he could see through the lie, but Sanji only ignored him. 

Later, washing the dishes on his own, he hears the door to the kitchen opening, and he's about to point Luffy towards the leftovers when his eyes catch a glimpse of green that shouldn't be there. Blue eyes go towards the newcomer, seeing as Zoro sits at the table again and makes himself comfortable. Sanji is not looking for company, he'd rather not have to deal with it right now as he deals with the way he has the constant urge to grit his teeth every time he remembers his name on that poster, but the way Zoro makes himself at home in one of the chairs tells the cook he would have to literally kick the swordsman out if he wanted to be alone again.

"Do we still have sake, Curly?" Zoro asks, eyes closed and voice indifferent, and Sanji groans at the words.

Of course, he thinks, going back to washing the dishes. If he does it a little more aggressively, it's just because the food remains takes a while and a little more strength to come out, of course.

"Not for you," Sanji mutters back, putting a plate away.

"You locked it away again," Zoro says, and it's not a question because the mosshead knows it's something Sanji does, so the cook doesn't try to even confirm the words. "What is your problem with letting me drink?"

"If I don't lock it away, Marimo, you drink everything in two nights- One, if you're in one of those moods," he explains, and tries not to focus on how his shirt is wet at his stomach, the cloth sticking to his skin. It adds to the overall discomfort he feels. "And then you spend the time we take to go to another island complaining we don't have more alcohol, and I do not want to hear your complaints for something you caused yourself. Besides, I like using it for cooking, and my dear Nami and Robin sometimes like to drink too, I can't let you have it all to yourself."

"Can't you make an exception tonight?" Zoro asks gruffly, but something in his tone makes Sanji halt. 

When he looks back, golden eyes stare at him with less anger than he expects from having just denied the swordsman the drink he wants, and instead Zoro looks calm and focused on something.

"Why would I?"

"Celebration," Zoro says, and Sanji understands. The bounties on the crew's name — a pirate not like Sanji would still be happy about the prices on their heads. "And maybe a distraction too."

"We celebrated already," he points out. Zoro just shrugs.

"Could use some more."

The cook wants to say no, wants to scream his frustration at the swordsman's face and let out that strange anger in a way that could maybe rid him of it. Instead, he sighs, lips curved downwards in a frown, before walking towards the locked cabinet to take a bottle of strong ale. He would give the mosshead alcohol, but not the one he wanted; he had to have at least some sort of control.

Sanji plops the bottle with a loud thud in front of Zoro at the table, giving the swordsman a last glare before going back to the dishes. If he's lucky, Zoro will get the alcohol and leave, drink himself to sleep in the crow's nest and let Sanji sulk on his own.

He should know he's not that lucky.

"Shit, you truly got bothered by the poster if you're just giving me the alcohol without a fight," Zoro mumbles, and it causes Sanji to look back at him again.

"What?"  

"Do you really think I wouldn't notice, Cook?" The swordsman grumbles, and pushes the alcohol away — odd — in order to lean against the table and turn his body a bit to face Sanji better. "Even Luffy noticed. Everyone got confused over it since we guessed you wanted your own bounty, I just didn't think a picture would cause you to go into a mood like this."

"Why the fuck are you talking? I didn't ask for a conversation," Sanji grunts, finally closing the tap and turning to face Zoro fully, seeing golden eyes rolling at the words. "Get out of my kitchen."

"You got a good bounty, the picture shouldn't matter that much-"

"It's not the picture," Sanji yells, feeling his face heating up when he realizes what he's done, Zoro's eyes narrowing.

The swordsman opens his mouth, ready to ask something, but Sanji doesn't allow it, turning around and slamming his hands against the sink. The dishes rattle, water droplets flying from the impact of his palms against the wet surface, and his damned damp shirt is getting cold, the patch of wet cloth still clinging to his skin uncomfortably. The gesture seems enough to shut Zoro up, no noise coming from him as Sanji takes that moment to flee, although he'd never admit to fleeing — escaping an annoying company, maybe, but he isn't running away, of course not.

He makes it only halfway through the door of the kitchen before a hand grabs his arm and stops him in his tracks. His body acts out of instinct, leg raising and body twisting to land a blow against the swordsman immediately, intent on escaping his grasp. Surprisingly, his foot doesn't meet the blunt side of a blade, his kick instead being blocked by a raised arm that immediately bruises with the blow. The cook sees how Zoro reacts to the hit, how his jaw clenches and pain crosses his face for a quick second before it's gone. His arm would bruise, Sanji knows it, but he couldn't care about it properly when that damned hand still held him in place. 

He raises his other leg, using the one propped on Zoro's arm as leverage before kicking the swordsman to the stomach and sending him flying back. The annoying mosshead doesn't fall, and it's nearly enough to fully anger Sanji at the insistence of those golden eyes.

"So is it because your bounty is less than mine?"

"Fuck you, I don't owe you any explanations."

"Are you seriously this sour because you weren't above me, shit-cook?"

"I couldn't care less about this, mosshead."

Zoro narrows his eyes again, and it almost feels like he's looking for something. It only serves to distress Sanji even more.

"Leave me the fuck alone-"

"Is it your name?"

Sanji freezes, visible eye locked on golden ones with clear shock in his face before he hisses out a quiet, "What?"

"If it's not the picture or the value, then that's the only thing left," Zoro says, and maybe Sanji is being too honest with how he's acting, because the swordsman seems to stand now like he got confirmation to his words. "You have some kind of problem with your name. That's it, isn't it? The others thought I was an idiot for thinking that, but I knew you acted weird everytime someone called you by it."

For a second, Sanji doesn't know what to do, frozen in place as he realizes in horror that the man standing just a few steps in front of him had somehow caught up on his distaste for his birth name. The last time someone caught up on it, it had been Zeff, but Zeff was — is — his father, or the closest to one Sanji has ever gotten, it was only fair that the old man would catch up on Sanji's behavior. Zoro is… his rival, the man he despised for being a brute and just plain rude.

But Zoro is also nakama, and, in a way, his family now. Maybe it is expected that he'd notice the little things like this, despite Sanji hating the idea. Still, Zoro had been the only one in the crew to notice the reason, not just the whole 'I'm in a bad mood' thing.

For the first time ever since joining the Strawhats, Sanji truly feared Zoro.

"Get out," Sanji says, and his voice is quiet and breathy. It takes a frown out of Zoro. "I don't want you here. Get the booze and get the fuck out."

"Cook-"

For once, the name didn't bring him too much comfort, his fear outweighing the pleasant knowledge that Zoro still ignored his birth name to call him something else. He doesn't let Zoro continue his words.

"I'm asking you plainly and clearly to leave," he hisses through gritted teeth, and Zoro's eyes widen a little. "Don't make me fucking kick you out of here."

Zoro doesn't seem too keen on doing what he's told, but the cook sees when resignation fills those eyes and his posture loses the offensive stance he had been sporting. He walks out of the galley in silence, and although Sanji can see Zoro's face turning to take a look at him as he passes him, Sanji just ignores it, eyes forward and pointedly ignoring the swordsman as he finally makes his way out, alcohol forgotten on the table.

He sleeps on the couch in the kitchen that night, unable to drag himself to the men's quarters and face Zoro after all of that. He tells himself and the others on the next day that it had been to prepare the breakfast properly that morning, but no one other than Franky — too new to the crew to notice — seems to believe him.

Zoro gets lost, because of course the moss-for-brains would get lost on that little island they docked at just to step on land for a moment before continuing their travel, and of course Sanji had been the one chosen to find the man despite his complaints.

"You seem to think like him sometimes," Usopp had said, continuing with a shaky voice once he saw the glare directed at him. "I-I-I mean, y-you have a talent for knowing where he's going and how he thinks! It's honestly very impressive and-"

Usopp had never finished the phrase, resorting to throwing one of his pellets to the ground after hastily taking it from one of his pockets and making smoke rise on the place where he had been standing, running away from an annoyed Sanji. Now, walking through the quiet jungle, he can't help but realize Usopp is right: he has figured out the way the Marimo went to just by looking, noticing as he walks that some of the trees have marks to them left by the blade of a katana — they're all new cuts as well, he can see how they are fresh on the bark of the trees. 

He grunts to himself, displeased with the new knowledge, although he tries to use it to his own gain: maybe Zoro isn't the only one who knows something about him, who can read him so easily; Sanji can read him too. He's not sure if it's a comforting knowledge or a terrifying one.

Their conversation from days ago is still fresh in his mind, the ease with which Zoro had read him still burns him slowly and causes him to doubt his every move — is he giving away too much by moving this way? Will saying this bare his thoughts to be seen? Is his face showing too much?

In times like these, he darkly wonders if being like his siblings wouldn't have made this easier. There would be no feelings to be seen, no fear of having his vulnerabilities being read so easily.

He wouldn't be here at all if that had been the case, he reminds himself. He wouldn't hate his name if that had been the case.

He wouldn't have the memory of his mother smiling at him as he once again offered her terrible food that she ate like it was a five star meal, either.

He hates walking alone. Too much time to think, and he blames Zoro as he follows the signs that will undoubtedly lead him to the swordsman.

Thankfully, soon enough, Sanji spots the familiar green hair of the man who seems to be taking a nap against a tree, a grunt leaving the cook's lips as he steps closer, standing in front of the swordsman and looking down at him with distaste. As if sensing his presence, Zoro opens his eyes, golden irises meeting Sanji's blue ones; his expression remains the stoic mask the swordsman usually wears, not giving away his thoughts at all as he fixes his gaze on Sanji.

"Let's go, Marimo. It's time to go back to the ship."

Sanji expects some kind of resistance like it always happens, longs for it, even, his body aching for a fight now that he's seeing Zoro face to face after blatantly ignoring the swordsman whenever possible ever since their conversation in the kitchen. He pushes down the frustration when it never comes, and Zoro only gives him a long look before huffing and standing up, cleaning dirt from his pants and waiting for Sanji to lead the way — lost, as everyone predicted.

Sanji walks a few steps ahead, hands in his pockets and mouth aching to have a cigarette between his lips now, desperate for the feeling of nicotine in his system and frustrated at the fact he had forgotten to pocket a pack before looking for Zoro. He's tense, jaw locked tight as he guides the other man back towards the Sunny, wondering desperately about what Zoro is thinking and why he's so quiet. Zoro is a quiet person normally, although reserved might be a better word for the oaf, but not around Sanji. It's almost uneasy to have this silence between them. He's not sure if he appreciates it or not.

They're halfway to the ship when the silence is finally broken, Zoro's voice sounding careful and quieter than normal as they cross the foliage of the island.

"If I asked you why you don't like your name, Curly, would you answer?"

Straight to the point, Sanji thinks, lips pressing together as he clenches his fists in his pockets. 

He thinks of not answering, of leaving Zoro's voice to fade away until neither of them were sure someone had said anything at all, but something in Zoro's words stops him from doing it. There had been something akin to worry there, a softness Sanji isn't truly used to hearing in the green-haired man's tone; and then there was the Curly as well, the name given to him by Zoro that had started as a curse but that carried no harm behind it now: a name, Zoro's perception of him, outweighing Sanji.

"I wouldn't," he answers, and his voice sounds like it hasn't been used in days, despite that not being the fact. 

There's an acknowledging grunt behind him, and Sanji thinks that the conversation is over when silence stretches between them again, only to be broken a minute later by the other man once more.

"Why not tell the others not to use it?" 

Sanji sighs, stopping his steps and hearing when Zoro stops as well, turning around to face the swordsman finally and seeing how curious he actually is, how golden eyes stare at Sanji like they don't understand him but they're desperately trying. It's a foreign look, this quiet want to understand Sanji of all people, and it's both elating and horrifying. He pushes those thoughts down quickly.

"It's not a problem," Sanji decides to answer, seeing the frown forming on Zoro's face.

"With how sour you get whenever you hear it, I'd say it is a problem."

"Don't talk like you know shit, Marimo," he bites back, seeing Zoro's gaze harden. "It's just a name, alright? I don't mind it. I just- You know what, I don't owe you an explanation."

"You don't mind it, huh?" Zoro asks, and the words make Sanji go still as he looks at the swordsman. "So if I started calling you by that name from now on you wouldn't mind."

Sanji feels a cold weight settling in his stomach, the knowledge that, yes, he would definitely mind it, but that saying so would be confirming to Zoro what the man already knows. There's a feeling almost like heartbreak, although Sanji would never describe it as such, as he waits for the name to leave Zoro's mouth and settle that sour taste on his tongue — and he knows, he knows, that it would bother him more than it did with others; the sound of his name in Zoro's voice is unknown to his ears, he realizes, and he doesn't want to know how it sounds.

Zoro stares back at him while Sanji waits, and suddenly there's a sigh leaving his lips and steps being taken to break the distance between them a little. Golden eyes are serious as they look at Sanji with intent, that frown never leaving his face, although less confused and more determined now, before his voice sounds louder than it should in the silence of the jungle they're in, like the cook's ears can only hear him and him alone.

"I would never do that, Cook," Zoro rasps out, and Sanji tries to hide the relieved breath that leaves his lips once the title hits his ears. "The others wouldn't either if they knew."

"Why do you even care?" Is what Sanji manages to breathe out.

He thinks that Zoro's face darkens with a blush, although he's not sure he's seeing properly. The swordsman's lips press together, eyes moving away from Sanji's like he can't bear looking at the cook anymore, before he says, "You're part of the crew. Can't have you have your panties in a twist everytime someone calls you by your name, especially in a fight."

The words are said with a tone of indifference, and Sanji is sure now he's imagined the blush from before as anger rises in his body. To Zoro's credit, he blocks the kick directed straight to his face, even if he stumbles back a little with the force of it. 

So the answer is that Zoro doesn't care, not in the way Sanji wants him to — why does he want him to? He doesn't, he surely doesn't. All Zoro cares about is that Sanji would still be useful despite whatever personal drama he has going on, and maybe that's why his name is never used by the swordsman. It's damage control, really, and once again that feeling like heartbreak strikes through him and pierces deep somewhere that hurts.

It feels familiar, that feeling of being looked down at and knowing his weaknesses will always be a hindrance for someone else's wants, and he had forgotten how it burns. Zeff had made the burn go down, Luffy had kept it at a steady warmth that caused him no harm; it suddenly burns brighter than it ever did, and he feels like he could choke with the smoke.

"Don't you fucking worry about it, you shitty swordsman," Sanji says, hisses, and Zoro's eyes are on him, an expression on his face like he regrets something. "I'm not weak. You can trust me on that."

Zoro's mouth opens, like he wants to say something, but Sanji doesn't allow him. He turns around and walks away, not caring if Zoro is following or not — the damn swordsman might as well find his own way back to the Sunny for all he cares.

When he reaches the ship, Zoro arrives a few minutes later, and Sanji can only guess he had been following from a distance considering he hadn't gotten lost again. The others notice the tension in the air as they both get on board, but other than Nami's quiet complaining that, "Great, those two fought again," no one tries to question what had happened. 

He sleeps in the kitchen again that night, and tells himself that, at the very least, like this he can stop Luffy from leaving them without food by protecting the fridge from his captain's late night snacks. Not once he sees green hair peeking through the door, stepping into the kitchen to look for booze.

iii.

"Alright, I hate to be the one to say it," Usopp says after a while of silence, making Sanji look up from the vegetables he's cutting to gaze at the man sitting on the couch in the galley, "but I think you should talk to Zoro and settle whatever is happening between you two."

Sanji narrows his eyes, seeing how Usopp doesn't back down on his words for once, hands stopping his tinkering with some upgrade to his slingshot to keep his focus on the cook alone. He takes the chance to sink the knife with a loud chopping sound on a carrot, annoyed already at the subject, and seeing how the movement brings back the fear of god in Usopp's eyes, although he stands his ground.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Sanji mutters back, gaze focusing back on the task at hand as Usopp huffs.

"We are all used to you two bickering and fighting around the ship, but the way you've been avoiding each other is uneasy to say the least," the sniper says, his voice contemplative, as if he's wondering about the distance between the swordsman and the cook at that exact moment. "And, well… I'm sorry, Sanji, but I have to say it- you almost cost us our fight on the last island because of whatever grievance you have with Zoro."

Sanji's grip on the knife's handle gets tighter, his breath catching in his throat. He knows exactly what Usopp means, but that doesn't make it sting less — Sanji, followed by the quiet disappointment and blame in those words; a far too familiar sound. 

They had stopped at a small island, and yet Luffy had been capable of causing big trouble just by being there. It had led to a fight, and although the island had been small, the amount of fighters had been almost overwhelming. Sanji had fought alongside the others just like always, but all it took was one of the enemies pointing at him as he recognized Sanji and saying his name loud and clear for everyone to listen for the cook let the anger lower his guard enough for a swing of a sword to almost get him.

He only had time then to look back and hear the clinking of two blades meeting each other, a head of green hair just behind him and blocking the hit that would've taken Sanji out of the fight. There was a growl, and the cook couldn't see Zoro's face, but he could imagine the scowl there when his voice sounded in the middle of the noise of the battle.

"Don't let your guard down, Cook!" Zoro had berated, and the tone had only fueled the fire that still burned from before, causing Sanji to grit his teeth. "You're in the middle of a fucking fight!"

"Shut the fuck up, Marimo! I could've handled that."

"Could've handled it my ass," Zoro yelled, katanas cutting through the enemies like they were made of paper — Wado had still been in its sheath, the fight not intense enough by Zoro's standards to take it out for the fight. "Focus on hitting the people around you! Don't fucking listen to them, shit-cook!"

That had been enough, and Sanji barely remembered twisting his body rapidly to kick Zoro's back. The swordsman had flown through the battlefield, hitting a few enemies in his path, before falling to the ground with a huff, swords falling from his grasp and leaving him vulnerable. He had regretted the move moments after making it, watching with wide eyes how Zoro almost had been stabbed on the back before he composed himself, trying to make up for it by attacking everyone who tried to get to Zoro, although his focus had been lacking at best. It caused the fight to last longer.

Zoro had avoided his gaze afterwards when they had been back to the ship, and Sanji thought it was better this way — he still felt shame, that nagging hurt still eating him away at Zoro's words.

"I know you and Zoro have your rivalry," Usopp says now, and Sanji swallows thickly, only to find his throat is dry from the memories. "But you can't let it get in the way like this, not when it's a life or death situation. Both of you are part of this crew. Both of you have to have each other's backs at all times."

Sanji finishes chopping the vegetables, sighing as he puts them aside to use on the stew while he gathers the peels and sets aside the ones he can use for something else in the meal and the ones he'll use to make a paste for Nami to put on the dirt of her tangerine trees — the nutrients would be good for them, and Nami always appreciated the gesture whenever he gave her the mix.

"Who set you up to talk to me?" He asks, seeing how Usopp groans at the question.

"No one, dumbass," Usopp grunts, lips pressed into a pout that makes Sanji huff amusedly. "I was just thinking about this right now and thought you should listen."

"Backing me in the kitchen where I can't run away because I'm making dinner and making me listen," Sanji hums, seeing Usopp make a face that shows the cook had gotten his plan right. Right now my ass, Sanji thought, knowing Usopp had planned it beforehand. "How evil."

"Well, at least you listened," Usopp huffs, hands going back to his tinkering although Sanji knows his attention is on him and not on the contraption on his lap. "Will you talk to him?"

"I don't know," Sanji answers, and it seems like Usopp understands that this is the end of the conversation, the room going back to its normal silence.

The galley is finally quiet again as the rest of the crew leaves after dinner, save only for Sanji himself, who washes the dishes quietly, and the swordsman, who sits at the table quietly eating the onigiris Sanji had made for him. Everyone had received a different desert, although the cook couldn't deny that he had made Zoro a bigger portion of the salty onigiris with the excuse of the swordsman being bigger and needing more food to replenish his energy — it's the only way Sanji could think of keeping Zoro from leaving with the others without outwardly saying it.

There's a bottle of sake in front of the green-haired man as well, and it sticks Zoro to his place as Sanji had warned everyone earlier that the booze was to stay in the galley. They usually respected that rule when Sanji would utter it, if only to make sure they'd get booze in the first place without having to deal with his ire.

The silence in the room is heavy, filled only by the sounds of plates clinking against each other, the water running from the tap, and the occasional sounds of a sake cup being refilled and being put down against the wooden surface of the table. Sanji sees the exact moment when the sake ends, Zoro turning the bottle completely to dry its contents into his cup and preparing himself to drink it. Curiously, the swordsman doesn't drink immediately, staring at the cup instead and extending the silence. It gives Sanji time to think.

He needs to say something, to begin the shameful conversation Usopp had advised him to have and that he knows he needs to have. But, just because he needs, doesn't mean he wants to. Now it's a good moment, where they're alone and calm, and Sanji had set this moment up for that reason alone. But Sanji still feels the now quiet burn in his chest, the one Zoro had set alight again with his words weeks ago, and it sours his mouth, makes his tongue heavy; he wants Zoro to apologize, to go back on his words, although it's stupid. 

He wants to feel that strange peace again when the swordsman calls to him with names that aren't his own. They now feel just as cutting as his name does in the other man's mouth, and it settles a weight on Sanji's chest that he tries to ignore as best as he can.

With a sigh and the clenching of his jaw, he decides on something, eyeing the empty sake bottle again as Zoro drinks down the contents of his cup.

He turns the water off and leaves the plates behind for a second, opening a cabinet above the sink and staring at its contents. He grunts quietly to himself noticing there are only two bottles of good sake left, hesitating before taking one of them and closing the cabinet again, knowing he'll have to hide the last one properly if he wants to use it to cook or to give to the girls in case they want it. He walks calmly towards the swordsman, placing the bottle down in front of him, the soft sound of glass against the wooden table ringing against his ears before he takes the empty bottle.

It's a peace offering, but it's also a way to have Zoro start the conversation. Sanji never gives him alcohol so freely, let alone allowing him to have more after finishing a bottle already, and the blonde can see for a second how Zoro turns to stare at him with a frown in his face, golden eyes almost burning his skin with the gaze they send towards Sanji. It should be enough to make Zoro say something, and Sanji could go from there.

The silence continues as he goes back to the dishes, and he hears the sound of the sake being opened and poured on the empty cup, and for a moment Sanji wonders if all he has done is waste a good bottle of sake before the other man's voice finally sounds in the quiet room.

"Is this your apology for almost getting me killed in the middle of a fight?"

Sanji presses his lips together, eyes intently focusing on the dishes he's washing. Like last time they've been there, there's a patch of his shirt that's damp against his stomach, clinging to skin uncomfortably, and Sanji feels it too cold. The déjà vu makes his hands shake for a moment.

"If you don't want it, leave it," Sanji grumbles back his answer, hearing a huff coming from the swordsman.

"I don't- understand you," Zoro says through a grunt, and it makes Sanji blink a few times before looking back to watch the green-haired man. He sees Zoro staring at his empty cup, like he could find the answers to whatever questions he has inside of it. "I tried being nice and then you got pissed and ignored me for days. And then I try to help you during the fight and you strike me for it. Is there anything I can do that won't earn me your ire, Cook?"

Sanji stares, because Zoro seems truly confused as to why Sanji had acted the way he did when he did. His eyes narrow, and he turns around again, doing the dishes a little more aggressively now.

"Tried being nice when, Marimo?"

"On that island? When you went to find me? I was… I tried being supportive because I knew you were not happy that I figured out about the whole name shit."

"I would not call saying I'd be a hindrance to the crew being supportive," Sanji hisses, putting a plate away a little more forcefully than needed. "You must be so happy that you were right after that last fight, huh?"

Silence, and then, "Shit. I didn't- That's not what I had meant."

Sanji dares a glance behind his back, catching a glimpse of Zoro looking back at him. His face is flushed, and he looks embarrassed, although the cook can't fully care about it right now as the anger and that damned hurt still burns underneath the skin. 

"Listen, Cook, I wasn't- Shit, I didn't say you'd be a hindrance."

"I heard you loud and clear back then."

"It wasn't what I meant! I'm not good at this talking thing, okay?" Zoro insisted, his voice a little louder now, and, by the noise of a chair scrapping on the ground, Sanji could guess the man was standing now.

"Then shut the fuck up, you shitty swordsman. Maybe you should do that from time to time!"

Annoyedly, Sanji realizes that his plan backfired; what should've been a conversation to end that tenseness between them had turned into another fight, and Sanji should've known it would end like this. It always does when it comes to Zoro.

He keeps doing the dishes, ignoring the tightness in his throat and how his eyes burn. What the fuck is wrong with him? He should just kick Zoro out of the galley; hell, let him take the booze if he wants to, Sanji doesn't care! Talking be damned, he wants the swordsman away from him, and yet he doesn't understand why he contradicts himself so badly when his mouth opens again, words flowing without restriction anymore.

"For a second there, I thought you actually cared," Sanji says, and his voice is louder than he wants it to be. "I thought that maybe, for once in my life, someone had actually looked at me and seen that I am a fucking person who has stupid feelings once in a while about some shit like my own name and that they cared about it, but fuck me," he laughs, a little manic, his hands shaking as he forces himself to wash every last dish left on the sink, "I should've known better! Nineteen years and I'm still fucking stupid- But it doesn't matter because I don't care that you don't care. I fucking don't!"

"Cook," Zoro calls and although Sanji's voice is loud in the galley, Zoro's is quiet, calm and gentle in a way Sanji is barely familiar with.

The name used and the tone makes Sanji's eyes burn harder, and he closes them tightly as he bares his teeth and bites hard enough that he feels they're going to break. He wishes, for one second, that Zoro would call him by his name so the feelings had a proper reason — a reason he understands, at least.

"I care," Zoro says, still quiet, and almost like a confession. 

Sanji opens his eyes again, and he looks at the dishes left — two plates and a cup, almost everything done so he can just leave and forget this conversation even happened. He washes them more intently.

"No you don't," he rasps out, hearing an unbelieving huff coming from the swordsman. "Fuck you."

"You don't get to choose what I care or don't care about, Cook," Zoro mutters, clearly annoyed again now.

"Don't care," the cook says, and at this point he knows he just wants to rile up Zoro so they can go back to their thing, the simple thing between them where they fight and no complications come from it. This is not simple, this is confusing and terrifying, and Sanji would rather not deal with it at all. 

Fuck talking, fighting is familiar, it is easier. Violence is always easier than care — natural, even, at least for Sanji.

"Drink your booze, idiot, before I change my mind."

"I'm not gonna fight you just so you can run away from this," Zoro grunts, although he can hear it underneath the swordsman's voice: the urge to fight the rude cook, pushed down by his will alone.

"Just 'cause you know you'd lose," Sanji keeps going, keeps pushing, because fuck if he'll allow Zoro to get close again — last time, it had ended with Sanji feeling that heartbreaking feeling that he doesn't want to feel again.

"I'm not falling for that," Zoro announces, although Sanji knows, by the tone of his voice, that if the cook keeps pushing he will fall for that. "I didn't mean to make you feel like a hindrance, Curly, I-"

"I'm done with the dishes," he interrupts, fishing his cigarette box from his pocket once his hands are dry and looking for his lighter as well. He needs a smoke. His hands are not shaking. "No need to waste your brain power trying to speak anymore, Marimo."

"I'm trying to talk!"

Just a little more, Sanji thinks, a dark, ugly feeling settling on his chest as he takes the cigarette to his mouth and lights it.

"Is that what you're trying to do?" Bared teeth and a glare are the signs Sanji needs that it is working. "You really talk like you fight, shitty swordsman."

"I've had enough of you," Zoro grunts, and there it is. 

As the first blow comes, Wado leaving its sheath to strike against Sanji, the blonde knows he's won, despite the loss he suddenly feels.

"That all you got?" Sanji teases, a smirk on his lips around the cigarette as he blocks Zoro's hit and tries a strike of his own, easily avoided by the swordsman.

Another swing of a sword, another block and an added kick that doesn't land, stopped by the swordsman, their strength annoyingly matched. The smirk on Sanji's lips feels out of place as he sends blow after blow at the swordsman, and Zoro's scowl seems a little more focused than usual — golden eyes shine with determination; for what, Sanji doesn't know, and he doesn't really care at the moment.

There's the sound of something breaking around them — a plate, a cup, who's to say? Sanji would be mad at it later, once he got rid of Zoro and that bothersome feeling — but the fight goes on, neither of them paying much attention to their surroundings, only focusing on the familiar dance they're used to. Zoro swings, strength focused solely on the blade he carries, and Sanji kicks. It almost feels normal.

"What are you scared of, shit-cook?" Zoro asks in a growl, jumping back to avoid another of Sanji's blows, the cook's shoe hitting the ground and making an ugly cracking sound. 

The question makes Sanji groan, jumping the table easily as Zoro tries to put it between them, probably trying once again to talk after the failed attempt. His feet land on Zoro's chest, and the force is enough to send him flying towards the wall. The sounds of glass and ceramic breaking catches Sanji's attention, noticing some spices and bits of ingredients he had separated earlier going to the ground together with the sharp pieces of their containers, making a mess of Zoro as well.

He stops, noticing the waste around him — and fuck, they shouldn't fight in the kitchen — feeling his stomach drop. He had rationed that food to keep them well fed while they didn't reach the next island; with the food that now is on the ground, they have one less meal for their travel, and at least one third of the spices are also gone.

The waste distracts him for enough time to not realize Zoro is launching forward, and the air leaves his lungs as they hit the table behind them before falling to the ground, Zoro on top of him, holding him down against the ground, cigarette falling from his lips with the way he huffs at the impact.

He barely registers when the swordsman leans down and holds him. Strong arms grab him from under his armpits and up until hands are on Sanji's shoulders, holding his upper arms tightly, stopping some movements of his arms, legs trying to keep Sanji's still. Zoro's knees are planted on the ground, straddling Sanji's waist, calves over the blonde's thighs and feet placed between them. 

With a start, Sanji realizes he's immobilized.

Sanji tries to escape. He kicks, hits the man as best as he can, but Zoro's grip is relentless and unmoving. With the way he's being held, his hands barely reach the other man's shoulders, legs made useless by the way his thighs are pinned to the ground. His breathing becomes faster, a quiet panic settling as he's forced to stay where he is, with the swordsman holding him down in a way he hadn't before, and he can hear Zoro speaking by his side, something about calming down before releasing him, but Sanji can't understand a word.

He pushes and pulls, kicks as best as he can, although with Zoro's grip the power behind his kicks are barely anything, and, in a desperate attempt, he scratches, hands finally finding bare skin on Zoro's arms and running its nails against it. Zoro remains unmovable, and the panic settles deeper in Sanji's body.

He screams, the sound loud inside the galley, hurting his throat and probably hurting the swordsman's ear as well, although Zoro keeps still. He screams again, and again, and on the fourth time his eyes are burning again, but the tears fall without his permission now as he keeps moving around in an attempt to escape. 

He moves his head, face hitting the side of Zoro's head where the swordsman rests it against the ground next to Sanji's own, and, with a desperate thought, he finds he can reach Zoro's shoulder with his mouth. He bites mid scream, sinking his teeth against clothed skin, hearing the howl that leaves Zoro's mouth. Even so, Zoro doesn't let go, and Sanji gives back by keeping his mouth latched on his shoulder tightly. 

They stay like this, the galley suddenly falling silent except for their heavy breathing as the screams slowly stop, tears still streaming down Sanji's face as he feels his jaw hurting with the force used to keep biting. 

He sobs, and doesn't pull his mouth away, but Zoro seems to relax a little, although his hold doesn't become any weaker.

"Calmer now?" Zoro asks after a beat, his voice controlled, probably strained from the pain of the bite. 

Sanji bites a little harder as a response, hearing the swordsman hiss and tense for a second, and good, he's feeling pain. Sanji still cries, but his body is still, not trying to escape anymore.

"Cook," he calls, and the blonde groans at the name, trying for a kick that ends like all the others: useless. "Whatever you understood from what I told you back on that island, it is wrong. I just- Poor choice of words on my part, Curly."

Sanji softens the grip of his teeth for a second only to bite again, punishing Zoro for his words, hearing the man hiss again. 

"You asked me why I cared, right?" Zoro keeps going, despite the way it must be hurting like a bitch to have someone biting that one spot for so long with so much force. Sanji's tongue tastes of cloth and sweat as he refuses to let go. "I said those things because I was fucking embarrassed to answer, okay? You want the truth, Curly? I care because you are fucking important to me- that's it!"

Sanji's breathing turns fast again, and suddenly he feels the panic rise again. He trashes around a bit, moving his head and trying to make the pain of his bite worse, so maybe Zoro could shut his mouth. It doesn't seem to work, and Zoro holds him more tightly. He doesn't want to hear it, he doesn't, because he won't ever believe it. Care is something he has for others, not that others have for him. It has always been like this.

"I hate seeing how that ugly face of yours goes gloomy after a day of hearing your own name, even if I don't know what's wrong with it," Zoro continues, and Sanji closes his eyes, tries to tune out the sound of Zoro's voice, but it's the only thing he can hear. "It's why I never call you by it, because I see your face and how your expression relaxes when I call you Cook, or Curly, or whatever the fuck I feel like as long as it isn't your name. That's the truth. It's not because you'd be a hindrance if I called you Sanji."

The blonde goes still, and suddenly he realizes how foreign the sound of his own name feels on Zoro's voice, how it doesn't feel like his name at all, merely a word uttered by the swordsman. Said by Zoro, Sanji is not him, and it doesn't hurt as much.

"You're a fucking idiot, and you did almost kill me on that last fight, you asshole," Zoro adds, his voice less urgent now, probably because Sanji is suddenly not biting as strongly or trying to escape anymore. "But I'm sorry. Please, Curly, just fucking listen to me."

Sanji listens, and the tears keep falling but they seem to be for a different reason now. Silence stretches, their breathing filling the room, and slowly, after a while, Sanji releases Zoro from his bite, hearing the swordsman sighing in relief once the pressure relents. The cook sobs quietly, upset at himself for crying and allowing himself to do so to release some of the weight on his chest. He turns his head to the side, finding Zoro's face there, forehead still pressed to the ground; they're so close to each other that Sanji's nose brushes against Zoro's cheek, warm skin against his cold nose.

Zoro turns his face slightly, only enough for golden eyes to be able to meet blue ones. They are intense, although Sanji can't tell what that intensity is for and what are the feelings behind those eyes. All he knows is that it releases something inside of him, his lip shaking before another wave of tears come and he leans his face closer to the swordsman's.

Zoro's grip on him changes, legs and arms moving slowly to stop the immobilizing hold and turn it into something softer, holding Sanji close as the blonde cries like he's eight again.

The ship docked at the shore had been a terrifying sight, something unknown and uncertain, and yet he had never felt hope as big as the one he did as he ran towards it — maybe, just maybe, it would take him somewhere better, someplace where he wouldn't be so afraid all the time, or trapped without escape for the rest of his days. 

He holds Zoro back, gripping the swordsman like he's that ship, terrifying but with the promise of something good.

They stay there in complete silence, the mess they had made of the kitchen around them as Zoro held Sanji close and the cook grabbed at the swordsman back; it feels like drowning, he realizes, and it's Zoro's grip on him that keeps him afloat and breathing. It's pathetic, and later he'd hate himself for acting so vulnerable around the swordsman — for now, however, Sanji just holds the other man close, and allows himself to be selfish. 

When reality sinks in, many minutes have already passed, and when Sanji pushes Zoro away, it's less forceful than it should've been — for their standards, at least. Zoro moves without much complaining, golden eyes focused on Sanji as the cook sits up, feeling exhausted as he tries to dry his face, the tear tracks feeling disgusting against his skin now. His elbows rest over his knees, blonde locks falling over his eyes as he lowers his gaze, and he thinks about lighting a cigarette, the last one lost somewhere in their mess after the fight, but makes no movement.

"I have the first watch today," Zoro mutters, his voice quiet and yet loud with the silence that surrounds them. "Go rest, Curly."

"Are you blind, Marimo?" Sanji says, and he winces as soon as he hears how his voice sounds. His throat is not doing well after all the screaming. "I have a mess to clean."

"Right," the word comes as a mumble, and when Sanji dares a quick glance at the swordsman from behind his bangs, he seems to be looking around at said mess now. "I'll help you with that."

"Don't act like you're offering your help. You'd clean this with me wanting or not, it's your fault as well."

"You wanted to start a fight, shit-cook," Zoro groans.

"And you fought me. Can't even stand a little teasing, tch."

"Cook," Zoro says, his voice a warning not to push any further. It makes Sanji smile, and it almost feels completely genuine.

"Yeah, yeah," Sanji huffs, still where he sits, facing the ground and not moving a muscle. "No more fighting in the kitchen, we've wasted food."

Zoro stays silent for a moment, then mutters, "Some of it can still be saved. Let's do it quickly, eh, Curly?"

Sanji nods curtly after a few moments, and finally moves to stand up. As they clean the kitchen and try their best to save whatever food they can, Sanji realizes that familiar peace coming back as Zoro stands next to him and names him anew with each word.

iv.

They don't talk about the fight, let alone about the hug that it led to and the way Zoro had held him while he broke down, a silent agreement between them to keep quiet and forget.

Usopp tries asking, having heard the commotion in the kitchen after they all retired to sleep that night, but Sanji brushes him off quickly. It leaves the sniper curious and restless to know what had happened, but at least he doesn't push. Sanji isn't sure he'd know how to explain, either way.

Chopper is the least happy of the crew, however, considering he's the one who has to deal with a bitten Zoro and the wound Sanji's bite had left behind. 

"You idiots! At least it didn't break the skin, so there's no risk of infection," the doctor had said, clearly distressed as he waved his hooves around and gave the ugly bruise a worried look. "But he managed to bite you in a really bad place, so you'll be feeling the pain for a while until it fully heals."

Even now, after days, Sanji still sees the way Zoro winces when he lifts something heavy with his right arm, the bruise not fully gone and the pain still present.

They remain not talking about it, although it becomes common for Zoro to stick around longer in the kitchen after meals, and for Sanji to cook him a salty dessert that is more appreciated than the sweet ones he prepares for the girls. Zoro eats them in silence, and Sanji pretends not to enjoy the silent company and the grunt as Zoro hands him the empty plate back that the cook had come to learn is a thank you.

They just don't talk, and it eats away at Sanji that he has to deal with his own thoughts alone. On cold nights those thoughts are worse as he pulls the sheets closer to his body to warm himself, remembering how warm Zoro's skin had felt that day — a walking furnace. The sheets don't seem enough to warm him now.

They walk around a small village, Zoro a few steps behind, carrying Sanji's groceries while the cook reads the list of what they still need to buy once again. They bicker as they walk, because it's what they do, but the words aren't as biting as they used to be, and Sanji tries not to think too much about it. Zoro complains less about being the cook's packing mule, and Sanji goes slower to allow the other man to follow him instead of moving without caring if Zoro is able to follow. It's calm and strange and comfortable.

"Almost done here, mosshead," Sanji says after a while, hearing the answering grunt coming from the swordsman. "Just a few more things and we can head back to the ship."

"Are you sure?" Zoro asks, and Sanji turns his head back to look at the other man, seeing Zoro looking back at him. "This feels lighter than last time we restocked."

Sanji looks at the crates Zoro carries on his back, arm holding the ropes that keeps them there and safe from falling, the swordsman's face not even scrunching up with the weight once. He had the upper body strength of a monster, really. Anyone else would have already been crushed by the weight, Sanji thinks idly. Still, the other man isn't really wrong.

"We still have some food back at the ship," Sanji explains, gesturing for Zoro to keep walking and slowing his step so they can walk side by side. Zoro's shoulder brushes against Sanji's, and he ignores the way his body suddenly feels cold despite the spring island's weather, and how he suddenly wants to seek that warmth. "It's not enough for a long trip, so it's better to restock. But we don't need as many things."

Zoro grunts to sign he's listening, and Sanji huffs at how the man seems to only be able to communicate through grunts and groans. 

He looks at his list again, looking around to figure out the fastest route to get what he needs, noticing a stand nearby with a line of buyers and the spices lined up on the stand. His eyes light up, recognizing some of them and figuring out others were local — he'd have fun testing these out, and he has just enough money left to get them and what is still missing from his list, he realizes. With a nod to himself, he turns towards Zoro, who looks at him like he knows the cook is planning something.

"I'll go get whatever we still need," Sanji says decisively. "You stay in that line and wait for me."

Zoro eyes said line, frowning immediately as he sees it, clearly displeased when he looks back at Sanji. 

"It's going to take ages for us to even get to the stand with that line."

"That's exactly why you'll be in it while I finish what I need to do, Marimo," Sanji shrugs, and although Zoro grunts, he doesn't seem like putting up a fight. 

The cook watches as the man makes his way to the line, pushing a man off with the crates on his back as he tries to step in front of Zoro at the last minute to stand before him in line. The man tries to argue, but one look from Zoro and he shuts up and takes his place behind the swordsman. Sanji pushes down the small smile that creeps into his lips, and turns around to get what he needs.

It's quick work, and soon enough Sanji just needs to find rice to finish his buying and go back to where he left Zoro. He finds a store quickly in an empty street, seeing the bags of grains piled at the storefront with their prices on top. Without Zoro to carry it for him, he'd have to make do with his own strength to carry the big sacks of rice on his back until he found the mosshead again, checking them for any holes before lifting his head to find a storekeeper and buy the rice. 

A girl walks closer, and Sanji can't help the smile that spreads through his face and how he flushes. She's pretty, long dark black hair tied up high and away from her face, wearing blue overalls over a white shirt, eyes the color of amber, almost golden. She looks up at him with a smile, and Sanji is about to start fawning over her, heart already beating faster at the possibility of getting any attention at all, when her smile fades and a look of almost horror fills her features. His smile fades as well, confusion and alert taking over at the way she looks at him — she looks like she's seeing a ghost as she looks at Sanji's face.

He's about to ask if everything is okay with her, if she needs some help, when she turns around and disappears inside the store without a second look. Sanji frowns, a strange feeling settling at the bottom of his stomach after being looked at with such horror by the strange girl, and he's about to follow her inside and find out exactly what had happened when she comes back again.

This time, however, there is a shotgun in her hands, and it's pointed directly at him.

"Woah, wait- what- Miss, I don't-"

"How the fuck did you find me?" She says through gritted teeth, and Sanji wonders for a moment if he knows this girl, although he's sure he doesn't. He'd remember if he did.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Sanji tries, keeping his voice calm to not scare her. With the way her hands shake, one wrong movement could mean a bullet through his chest there. "Please, put the gun down, will you?"

Her brow furrows for a second, and she looks genuinely confused for a moment, before she bares her teeth and looks angrier than before. Fuck.

"I don't care that the bullet won't hit, you fuck! I will still shoot- It'll do something, that's for sure! I'm not going back without a fight! Leave me alone!"

Sanji frowns, staring at her and trying to make sense of her words, when something clicks. I don't care that the bullet won't hit.

She knows who he is. Maybe not that he's Sanji, but that he's a Vinsmoke. The realization makes bile rise up his throat, but he holds himself together, despite how his expression turns a little more annoyed now, anger rising within him at the idea. He tries to ease his expression into something more neutral right after, at the way her body tenses — he probably looks like his brothers when he's angry.

"I'm not gonna hurt you or take you anywhere, mademoiselle," he says, although her grip on the gun doesn't relent. "I'm just a buyer, look," he raises the few bags he has in his hands for her to see, amber eyes looking at them for a quick second before her gaze goes back to him. "I'd just like some rice, but I'll understand if you'd rather I leave."

"You're a Vinsmoke," she accuses, and it sets a weight on Sanji's shoulders that he thought he had gotten rid of a long time ago. "Which one are you? Ichiji? Niji? Yonji?"

"Missed a number there," he mutters before he can stop himself, wincing as she bares her teeth and threatens to shoot. His voice is almost weak as he says, "I'm not any of them."

She ignores his words, and says, "I'm not going back to that place! I'm not going to die for your family anymore, neither will my family."

"I'm not-"

"Quiet!" She hisses out, and Sanji obeys, wondering how to escape that situation.

He couldn't fight her — no self preservation in the world would make him hit a woman, no matter if his life is on the line — and he has a sneaking suspicion that, if he even tries to move to leave, she will open fire. He clenches his teeth, deciding that running is his best option, he just needs to find the right moment.

"Die, Vinsmoke," she growls, and Sanji watches with wide eyes when her finger starts pressing the trigger.

He gets ready for the shot, to try and escape being hit, or at least being hit somewhere fatal, when the noise of metal cutting through metal hits his ears. Both him and the girl watch with wide eyes as the shotgun she's holding is cut in two, a sudden shadow with a familiar green hair to it pushing the woman until she's pressed against the wall of her store with a huff at the impact. 

Zoro is there, Wado out of her sheath and pressed dangerously to the storekeeper's neck, his other hand pushing her back against the wall by the chest, a dangerous look in those golden eyes. That look and the way the blade threatens to draw blood from the girl are enough to break Sanji from the trance he has been put in after thinking he'd be dying then and there.

"Oi, Marimo, let her go!" He shouts, starting to walk closer to take Zoro away from the woman.

"I thought she had a gun pointed at you because you were being a creep, Cook," Zoro grunts, ignoring how Sanji tries to pull him away, gaze still on the woman. "But the last part there sounded way too personal."

"Get off," he warns again, and a strong kick to Zoro's side makes him stumble enough to pull away, the sword leaving the girl's throat, who falls to the ground with ragged breaths. "You fucking brute! Don't attack women like this, you walking plant life!"

"I just saved your life, shit-cook!" Zoro screams back, placing Wado back into its sheath together with the other two — he's never seen Zoro take the white-handled katana out so much than the past few days, when Sanji was involved. "You were about to get shot!"

"Please, Vinsmoke," the woman says in a quiet voice, both men stopping their fighting to look at her. Sanji's jaw clenches, seeing the fear in the way her body shook. "Don't take me back. I don't want to go back to Germa. I don't want my family to- Please, have mercy, your highness."

Sanji can see how Zoro frowns with the corner of his eye, hearing the muttered "your highness?" that comes from the swordsman's mouth, but his focus is still on the girl. His body feels heavy and disgusting, like his skin is not his own anymore, flesh that's not his sticking to his bones and making every movement awkward and wrong. Still, he walks towards the woman and crouches in front of her, fear back to amber eyes that makes that disgusting feeling even worse.

He thinks on what to say, if he should once again tell her he's not who she thinks he is, that he's not like his brothers or his father, but he finds that he can't. She wouldn't believe him, her fear too big to look past Sanji's old last name. For her, he's Vinsmoke , nothing said there would change it in her mind, so he makes a decision, and plays the part, allowing the disgusting feeling of his own skin settle.

"You're lucky it was me and not my brothers who found you," he mutters, and his voice sounds distant even to his own ears. 

He looks at the rice again, checking the price one last time before taking the needed money from his pocket, maybe even a little bit more, and placing it in front of her, on the ground, as gently as possible. She looks confused when she looks at it, but Sanji only stands up again and grabs the rice, throwing it at Zoro's direction, who catches it quickly like it weighs nothing, managing to catch the second sack as well when it comes his way. 

The swordsman looks at him with clear confusion in his eyes, but Sanji only gives him a tired look. 

"Let's go, mosshead," Sanji says, hands being shoved in his pockets as he starts to walk away. In the distance, he sees their crates where Zoro probably had left them before he ran to fight, going towards their direction. "Back to the ship now, since you left the line I asked you to stay in."

He notices that it takes a moment for Zoro to follow him, standing still for a few seconds before finally going after Sanji. The cook makes sure to keep a distance — he'd rather have the silence for now, despite how loud his own mind is.

The cook finds out only later, when he's doing the inventory of everything he bought, that Zoro hadn't left the line, but instead had bought at least a little bit of every spice he saw in the stand that day, and although his mood is still sour and he feels like taking his own skin off until he felt human again, the sight of the small portions of spices in small bags laid in a box there amidst the the chaos of other foods makes him breathe a little more clearly.

They leave the island at night, once everyone got what they needed from the small village and were back at the Thousand Sunny. It had been a small comfort for Sanji, to know he'd leave that place and that the woman at the store wouldn't see him again. The poor woman clearly had a history with the Vinsmokes and Germa 66, and the fear in her eyes would haunt his mind for a while, as well as the knowledge that he could cause this fear to someone for just being related to them. 

As the ship sailed away from the small island, Nami hurrying them up so the log pose wouldn't reset and take them from their track — they found that island by chance, docked just to restock, but couldn't stay too long — Sanji still felt that strangeness on his skin, his movements awkward and wrong. He wonders idly as he finishes up the food for their dinner how long would it take for him to feel normal again, less like an out of place creature and more like a human.

He places the food on the table, each plate carefully set for his crewmates at their preferred seats, and looks at the empty plate in the counter that should have his food. He doesn't feel hungry, and hasn't really made anything for himself; the main dish is rice, each crew member having a different side dish based on their likes and needs, and he knows exactly why he's not excited to taste his food. The rice sacks sit closed near the stove.

Slowly, the others come to eat, and Sanji decides to distract himself by cleaning whatever he had gotten dirty while cooking, cleaning the kitchen counters while at it. The crew talk amongst themselves, eating and praising Sanji for the food, and for the most part he answers and preens at the attention, especially from the girls, but remains away, busying himself with cleaning and organizing things that don't really need to be organized.

"Aren't you going to sit down to eat, Sanji?" Luffy asks, his mouth full, and Sanji grunts at the question, knowing Luffy would most likely try to eat his food if he sat down. 

But his mouth tastes like ash, his own name ringing in his ears with all the wrongness it carries and that he feels. 

"I ate something earlier, I'm not very hungry," he lies, or at least half lies. He hasn't eaten, but he's not hungry either. "If I feel like it, I'll just make something quick later."

The subject dies after the explanation, but Sanji notices how Zoro stares at him for a second more before eating his food a little slower. 

He takes the first watch that night, hiding himself from the others at the crow's nest as soon as everyone goes to bed and sighing once he's alone again. He's wearing only a button down, his suit jacket discarded for the day with how uncomfortable he felt, and even that feels uncomfortable now, touching his skin and keeping him aware of every part of his torso, pants doing the same with his lower body. 

He leans over a window, jaw clenched as he looks at the dark waters in the horizon as the Sunny sails smoothly through the calm waves. He lights a cigarette, and blows the smoke into the night after holding it for a few seconds, hoping the nicotine will do something to calm his nerves and push down that awful feeling. The pack he has is almost empty, he realizes, despite it being almost completely full in the morning. Nicotine might not be enough.

His body jolts when he hears the sound of the latch opening, turning around to see Zoro climbing into the crow's nest with something in hand before closing the door behind himself again. Their eyes meet, and Sanji doesn't really know what to feel at the gaze that meets him. Blue eyes fall to the thing on Zoro's hand, frowning as he sees the plate filled with rice and some leftovers from Zoro's side dish.

"You know you can just eat in the kitchen, right, mosshead?" Sanji questions, hearing Zoro grunt as he places the plate on the ground and sits down. "No need to bring the food here and make the crow's nest all disgusting."

"That's not for me," Zoro says, making Sanji frown again. "You didn't eat anything earlier, Cook. Eat."

Sanji's lips press together tightly. 

"I'm not hungry."

"Don't care," Zoro spits out, pushing the plate a little bit further and crossing his arms, daring Sanji to ignore him. "Eat."

"Who are you? My mother?"

"You're the one who always rants about eating all the meals and eating properly," Zoro shrugs, and Sanji groans at the attitude. "And unless you eat, I won't hear it again from you whenever I miss my meals because I was training."

Sanji glares at the other man, seeing him glare back, and he gives up without much of a fight, really. He knows Zoro's threat is not empty, and the bastard knows Sanji would always put the crew's wellbeing above his own personal problems, especially if it involved food in any way. 

He sits in front of the swordsman, pulling the plate towards himself and accepts the cutlery he's offered, putting off his cigarette. He gives the food a quiet look before taking the first bite. The food is to Zoro's tastes, it had been made specifically for him, but he can at least appreciate how he seasoned the meat and the sauce well. It would probably taste better, he thinks, if he didn't feel so disconnected from his body as he does. 

Zoro watches for a while, before seemingly deciding he doesn't want to look at Sanji anymore and looks at anything that isn't the cook. The blonde ignores it, eating in complete silence, before said silence is broken by a quiet and unsure voice.

"Vinsmoke," he says, and Sanji has the sudden urge to throw up at the name. "Germa. Your highness. I'd think that woman was just spitting weird random words out if they hadn't affected you this much, Curly."

Sanji remains quiet, and the food tastes like ash in his mouth now, and yet he keeps eating. It'll go to waste if he doesn't.

"They are weird, aren't they?" Is all Sanji says back, voice barely audible. Zoro presses his lips together.

"She called you Vinsmoke, and told you to die," Zoro points out, and Sanji feels a headache creeping in. He wishes he still had his cigarette. "She asked you to have mercy and to not take her back to Germa, whatever that is. And then you talked about brothers."

"What, are you going to give me a retelling, Marimo?" Sanji asks angrily, snapping at the other man. "I remember it well, it happened only hours ago."

"The hate in her eyes," Zoro keeps going, despite how clearly close Sanji seems to lose it and start a physical fight. "It was the same I see in yours whenever someone calls you by your name."

Sanji stops and stares, visible eye wide as he watches the man in front of him. And there he is again, noticing something he shouldn't, reading Sanji like an open book, so clearly that it makes him uneasy.

"Was your family this awful, Curly?" The words are asked quietly, and Zoro's eyes are softer than they usually are as they look at Sanji. "So much that you hate hearing your own name?"

Sanji stays still for a moment, and suddenly he feels as if a thousand bugs are crawling through his skin, making him uneasy and wanting to rip himself apart to feel better, although he doesn't move to do anything about the disgusting feeling. 

He shoves the rest of the food into his mouth, barely able to swallow anything now but pushing it down anyway, and puts the plate down harshly, the sound of porcelain against wood filling the crow's nest as he slides it closer to the swordsman.

"Thank you for the food," Sanji grunts, standing up and going back to the window again, knowing he'd need a new box of cigarettes soon. "Time for you to go."

"Cook-"

"Please," Sanji almost yells, hands going to his own hair to pull at it for a moment. "Leave me alone."

"I don't know if I should."

"Oh, fuck off," he turns around again, seeing Zoro standing up now, looking at Sanji carefully. "I'm not weak! I'm not gonna break!"

"I never said you were weak, Cook, don't put words in my mouth again," Zoro grunts, and Sanji only huffs at him. "Do I have to repeat myself and remind you I care about you?"

"I don't want your care," Sanji says, and his throat tightens at the words. Liar, he thinks to himself. "I want you to leave!"

Zoro's jaw clenches and unclenches, his eyes looking at Sanji for a moment more before he sighs, and the cook realizes the man is relenting. For a quick second, Sanji wants to reach to him, to tell him to wait, but he holds himself back. It's pathetic that he wishes Zoro had fought harder, although he knows he wouldn't budge and change his mind about being cared for.

"I'll go," Zoro mutters, and he doesn't seem happy about it. "But I'll be around, I'm not going to the men's quarters today. If you need company- and I'm not saying you need it or that you're weak, shit-cook- you know where to find me."

Zoro moves like he's about to turn to leave, but stops and gives Sanji a look before a quiet smile comes to his lips and he adds, "But let's try with less biting this time, eh?"

The words seem to calm Sanji down a little, the clear try for a joke and the smile on the swordsman's lips that is rare to appear normally pushing back some of the ugly feelings surrounding his head. He remembers the box with spices still untouched in the kitchen, and the quiet moments of company they shared. It makes a tiredness settle on his bones, but he just watches as Zoro picks the now empty plate from the ground and leaves the crow's nest.

He watches the closed door for a moment, as if Zoro will change his mind at any second and come back, barging in and overwhelming the cook with his perceptive gaze and truths Sanji isn't sure he's ready for others but himself to be aware of. But the swordsman seems to keep his word, and Sanji is left alone with his thoughts and an offer to… to what? What would Zoro even do in a situation like this. Last time it was a fight until Sanji had been unable to move before he had been held softer than anyone has ever held him in his life. The mere idea is overwhelming, and he pulls his cigarette back from the ground where he had left it, lighting the end again and taking a nervous drag as he moves to a window again, watching the dark waters in the horizon, the moon not doing much to light the darkness that surrounds them.

His hands shake a little, and he feels restless as he stands there. His skin still fits uncomfortably over his body, his ears still ring with that old name that should've been forgotten forever, revived by someone who seemingly felt the violence Sanji once had experienced as well from the ones who carried that name like him. Even the smoke of the cigarette seems to taste off, not enough.

He paces around the crow's nest, suddenly unable to stand still, feeling the need to move, to do something. If he wasn't on watch, he'd be in the kitchen. There are still things to put away, he could even start preparing for breakfast, cook something comforting despite knowing that food would taste like shit at the moment in his mouth; he'd keep his body busy with moving around, his mind focused on something other than the feeling of the clothes chafing against skin or the trembling that came with the memory of violence.

If Zoro had stayed, Sanji could've fought him, because despite everything, violence still remained in his blood, running through his veins and in his name, as much as he tries to forget it. It's controlled violence with Zoro — they push and pull, balanced in their power and ready to push the other to the limit, ready to take each other's violence like it's welcome. He remembers their last fight, the swings of the sword and the kicks of his legs; remembers the press of a body and the taste of cloth in his mouth, the pressure of the bite. He remembers the softness of the hold and the words that came from Zoro's mouth, and can't stop thinking that no punch or cut had been more brutal than that softness, than the promise of being cared for. 

His mom had cared, his sister had cared; both left him alone at the end. Zeff had cared too, and just like his mother he had lost something — his leg, his life as well in a way, his dreams gone when he decided to care for Sanji. Violence is easy, while care is dangerous.

He finishes his cigarette, seeing his hands trembling non-stop, and presses them together; he counts from one to two, to three, to four… counts until he loses count and his breathing remains broken and his hands shake more than they had been shaking before. Violence, he thinks, is easier.

He walks towards the exit, opens the door with a hard swing, and looks down at the deck. Zoro is there, resting against the mast with his eyes closed. Sanji makes a decision, climbing down the crow's nest and landing with a heavy thump near the swordsman. Golden eyes open, looking at Sanji with some curiosity behind them, and Sanji only bares his teeth.

"Fight me," he demands, and sees how the swordsman frowns. 

"What?"

"Take out your swords, mosshead," Sanji grunts, and gives Zoro no more warnings before launching himself towards the other man and aiming a kick right at his face.

Zoro, to his credit, reacts fast, rolling away and escaping the blow that would most certainly break his nose and maybe some of the bones on his face had it landed as intended. Once again, Sanji watches as Zoro's hands brush over the other two swords before it lands on the white handle of Wado, pulling it out of its sheath and getting ready for whatever the cook throws his way.

Only one sword, as if Sanji isn't worth all three of them. It makes the cook growl and swing at him again, kick blocked by the blunt side of the blade. And, with the first impact, their fight turns into the familiar rhythm that slows down the trembling of Sanji's hands, but that leaves him hollow although he doesn't understand why. As he stretches his body to land his kicks, his skin stretches uncomfortably, still wrong.  

The fight doesn't last long, and there's not much destruction in their wake like it had happened when they had fought in the kitchen thankfully, but Sanji has to admit he loses far too quickly, body suddenly pressed to the mast as Wado's blade presses against his throat dangerously, Zoro's golden eyes staring at him with something tamer than the usual anger that usually stains the color whenever they fight. He breathes carefully, trying not to cut himself against the sharp blade, and looks at Zoro and waits.  

A last word, a last hit, anything, so that Sanji could scream and cuss and let that feeling out of his system once and for all. Maybe, if he lashes out, if he acts this way, he'll feel more like himself again, like the skin he wears is his and not something he'd rather pull off. Vinsmoke rings in his mind, and he acts like it. He wonders how alike to his brothers he looks right then and there, if the mirror would show them to him if he looked at one now. 

But no word or hit comes, and Sanji only has the chance to widen his eyes when he feels the sword leaving his throat and being sheathed again before he's being pulled close, a warm body against his own. There's a hand on his nape, holding his head in place to keep his chin resting over Zoro's shoulder, another hand keeping him close by his waist, and Sanji stills completely, arms dangling useless by his sides as Zoro's warmth reaches him through the barriers of their clothes. Like this, he can hear the soft sound of Zoro's earrings chiming as they move, as well as the swordsman's quiet breathing. The way that Zoro denies him violence and forces the softness again breaks something, drags a pained sound from Sanji's lips. 

He clenches his jaw, teeth bared, as the tears start to flow. Stupid, pathetic crybaby. 

"Fuck," Sanji spits out, and hates himself from sobbing. "Fuck! Fuck you."

"You sure have a way with words, Cook," Zoro replies calmly, and Sanji lets out an angry scream, arms wrapping around Zoro as he hides his face against the swordsman's shoulder. "There you go. Do we really need to fight every time you need a hug?"

"Shut the fuck up."

"You can just ask," and Zoro's voice is quieter then, almost embarrassed for a moment. "If you need this, Curly."

"I don't need anything from you," Sanji rasps out.

"Then let go of me, then," Sanji's hands grab at Zoro's shirt tighter, body pressing a little closer, and he feels his face heating up as he realizes what he's done. "See? I'm right, as always."

"Insufferable," Sanji mumbles. 

"Right back at you, Curly," Zoro mumbles back.

Slowly, Sanji's breathing evens out, the tears going away, and, as Zoro moves his hands in a comforting gesture against Sanji's back, he feels his skin feeling right again, put into place by the warmth of someone else's hands. He doesn't think about how they mold him back into the familiar shape he's used to, the comfortable shape he's learned to enjoy being — not Vinsmoke, not Sanji, but the Strawhats' cook, Zoro's rival, and the man whose dream is reaching the All Blue; a version of himself he likes, that needs no proper name to define, and the version that Zoro holds in his arms with so much care that it's difficult to imagine they had ever fought before. 

Quietly, Zoro softens his edges, pulls away the violence he's been reminded of with the return of a name he swore he'd forget, and takes it away from him once more. He's once again simply Cook, or Curly. Nothing else needed of him, expected of him, and he can breathe again. 

He doesn't know why, isn't sure what leads him to move when he does, but he leans back and presses his lips to Zoro's cheek, a calm kiss placed there as a thank you he'd never be able to voice, feeling the soft skin against his lips as he does. As quick as he has moved close, he moves away, aware of his actions and regretting acting so mindlessly. He leans back, Zoro's arms still around him and keeping him close, and looks at the swordsman's face. Golden eyes are open wide, surprise all over his face, and said face has a dark flush to it as he stares at Sanji. 

For a moment, the thought of Zoro reacting negatively brings back some of the uncomfortable feelings back, and Sanji is ready to pull back and run away before he can see the look in Zoro's eyes change, but he doesn't get the chance to do so. The swordsman leans forward, placing a kiss against the cook's lips — and it's gentle, so gentle, like the hands that hold him or the look in golden eyes when Zoro pulls back to look at him again, face now completely flushed with red as he looks back at wide blue eyes.

"You-" Sanji starts, but doesn't know how to continue.

You kissed me. You're still holding me.

You, you, you.

"Cook," Zoro says, and his voice seems to make Sanji melt. "You look like you're going to pass out."

Sanji feels like he's going to pass out, Zoro's arms holding him up and keeping him tethered. He can feel his face burning, can hear his thoughts going a thousand miles an hour, whatever feelings left from earlier gone in order to deal with the problem at hand.

"You kissed me," Sanji points out, and Zoro presses his lips together. He looks embarrassed.

"You kissed me first."

"Not on the lips!"

"If you're so bothered then fine," Zoro groans, his tone showing his growing anger, and the blonde feels when the swordsman is about to take his arms from around him. "I just- I thought-"

Sanji doesn't let him finish, holding his face with both hands and taking a surprised look from the other man at the gesture. His cheeks are smushed, lips slightly parted with the pressure, and Sanji only stares at him with a serious look in his face, despite how red he feels he is, face burning.

"Don't think too much," the cook mutters. "Let's not fry your brain like that, Marimo."

Zoro glares, and Sanji snorts, the snort slowly turning into a small  laugh, that in turn turns into a full bellied laughter while he keeps Zoro's face in his hands. He doesn't know why he's laughing, or why he suddenly feels lighter as the laughter leaves his lips and he watches the quiet look of amazement in Zoro's eyes at the sound. He barely notices when the laughter turns into crying, tears streaming down his face and sobs leaving his lips. 

This time, the falling or tears seem to make him feel lighter. Zoro doesn't let go of him, freeing himself from Sanji's hands to pull him close again. This time, a kiss is pressed to blonde locks, and Sanji presses himself as close as possible to the other man, and he finds it hard to breathe with the sudden urge to be closer, to never let go of the softness he finds in Zoro's arms.

They sleep in the crow's nest that night, tangled together. Even when he wakes up alone, he can still feel the softness of Zoro's touch on him, the way it has shaped him into something softer himself. When they meet on the deck, when Zoro utters his name quietly, a soft-spoken Curly, Sanji knows no name will ever matter as much as that one, or whatever other name that falls from the swordsman's lips to refer to him. It's who he is, it's the name of the version of him he likes, softer and kinder, despite the violence. 

As he makes breakfast, he realizes slowly that even his name said in that soft tone, with the care that he now knew had more feelings tied to it than he imagined before, could be bearable. Sanji could exist, as long as Zoro is the one naming him, over and over again.

It's terrifying, and peaceful at the same time.