Archive of Our Own

The Strawhats were a lively bunch, Sanji was quick to realize. The way their captain had crashed the Baratie really should’ve been the first red flag and not a simple one-off thing that had accidentally happened.

Somehow, he had ended up fighting back-to-back with a swordsman who should’ve been dead and who was oozing so much blood that he surely wouldn’t live to see Arlong defeated. The swordsman had Sanji bristling like a cat, snarling and rising to the challenge.

And then they had Nami back and a whole island was liberated, and after a party – which would soon become the norm – they set sail again. Then there had been the rush of Logue Town; the almost-execution that had stolen his captain before their adventure truly began, the unnatural storm that followed, the reverse mountain, the enormous whale that swallowed them, and all the chaos of the crew in the calm – but never quiet – moments in-between.

Of course, Sanji wouldn’t have seen the sixth member of their crew in all that chaos. It was only when they had left Whiskey Peak, with a gorgeous princess to escort and a kingdom to save, that Sanji noticed the little creature.

Or rather, the creature found him.

With a rat in its mouth.

In his kitchen.

For a moment, Sanji was completely frozen, staring at the black cat as it snapped the rat’s neck before spitting it out on the floor at Sanji’s feet. The cat gave a slow blink, sitting back on its haunches, and started cleaning its bloody paw without a care in the world.

“Uh,” Sanji said elegantly before experiencing a whole minute of panic as he tried to find the proper tools to clean up the gruesome cadaver. He couldn’t have a dead rat contaminating his kitchen!

The cat seemed undisturbed by the chef’s flailing about, didn’t even bat an ear when he started cursing at the bloodstains. It continued grooming its shiny fur, paw dragging over its face while it squinted its steely grey eyes.

Only when Sanji had scrubbed the floor a third time and washed his hands in a healthy layer of soap, did he turn back to find the cat still sitting there. As though waiting for something.

And Sanji wasn’t stupid, despite what a certain swordsman might say about him. He knew that the cat had done him a favor. Pests in their food storage was the last thing they needed, and there were few hunters better up for the task than cats.

There hadn’t been any cats, or any pets at all for that matter, on Germa. But the Baratie had been home to Old Gustavo, a long-haired orange cat who’d loved to laze about in the sun and who might’ve gained a bit too much weight after Sanji discovered the cat’s love of salmon. No piece of food was wasted, even the tiny scraps.

So, Sanji knew that praise was in order. He was surprised that the cat hadn’t ran off already, opting to patiently wait for Sanji to clean up its mess.

“Thank you, li’l buddy,” Sanji said, crouching down to let the cat sniff at his hand with a twitch of its whiskers. When the cat didn’t react further, Sanji reached up to scratch its small, soft head.

The cat closed its eyes, stretching to bump its head into Sanji’s hand, and there was the tiniest of purr rumbling in the small chest.

“You did a good job,” Sanji continued, voice lowered into a murmur and the cat tilted its head just so, directing the hand to scratch under its chin instead. And who was Sanji to deny this magnificent hunter?

And then the door to the galley was thrown open with a bang, startling the cat into a hissy fit before fleeing the room, as their dear captain leapt in with a loud yell for meat. As though the bottomless pit hadn’t eaten half an hour ago. Sanji could only chase him out half-heartedly – which he was sure Luffy noticed and that would definitely come back to bite his ass later.

But Sanji had yet another, albeit tiny, mouth to feed. He’d have to add that to his calculations.

The cat didn’t seem to have a name.

When asked, the rest of the crew gave him funny looks. Chopper, their newly acquired doctor and resident blue-nosed reindeer, even jokingly called it Zoro once. It was an insult to the cat, Sanji had grumpily scolded him. For a gorgeous feline to be compared to that brute of a swordsman – HAH!

And so, Sanji did the only logical thing and gave the cat a name that would piss off Zoro the most.

“Don’t touch the fish,” the chef snapped, once again, at the brute’s wandering hands. He angled his knife – sharp enough to cut through bone with ease – at the swordsman. At least the two of them had that in common – which, ew – and he knew that Zoro could appreciate a sharp blade and the respect that came with it.

“But why,” the swordsman with a singular braincell shot back, eyebrows furrowed and teeth bared in a snarl. “It’s for me anyway!”

“No,” Sanji repeated, for the fifth time that evening (three of those times directed towards Luffy), “it’s for Vice-Captain.”

It only made Zoro’s frown deepen. “Yeah? So lemme have it.”

With a sharp motion, the large fish’s head was separated from its body. Luffy and Usopp had done a good job fishing that afternoon, and who had known that their lively captain could enjoy such a quiet moment of peace and patience?

“Do you look like a fucking cat, marimo?!”

Zoro blinked. Then he looked down at himself. Raised an arm. Lowered it.

“No?”

“Then you’re not getting the fish!” Sanji snarled back, aiming a kick at the swordsman who shouted at him all the way out of the kitchen. Then he twirled around, directing a smile at the lovely Nami who was watching the both of them with a curious look on her face. “Sorry for the disturbance, my dear Nami! Dinner will be ready in a bit, but can I get you something sweet to drink in the meantime?”

Nami gave him a sharp smile – and oh, Sanji could die happily with that smile directed at him, the sweet Nami who was the best Nami and the smartest navigator – and accepted the drink. She watched him closely as he turned back to the food-prep, chin in one hand and the other playing with the pink straw of her drink. Golden-brown eyes following every movement the chef made, narrowing further when half an hour later, a black cat slunk into the kitchen with a tiny meow.

“Hello Vice-Captain,” Sanji greeted softly, bending down to give the cat a welcoming scratch under its chin, before putting down a small plate he’d prepared earlier. It contained some of the fattiest and tastiest parts of the fish, a decently sized portion for an active ship’s cat.

Vice-Captain gave a happy little chirp, the sound turning into wet munching as it dug into the fish on the plate without hesitation. And Sanji couldn’t help but smile, soft and warm and happy. His fingers trailed over the cat’s impossibly soft fur – still warm from the sinking sun outside – watching as the tail flickered up at the gentle pets.

Hiding a grin behind a hand, Nami got up from her seat. She had a while before dinner was ready and she’d seen all she’d needed to.

Now, she had a bet to make.

Alabasta was warm and hot and dry and all-together a minor hell. Mix in a civil war, a warlord made out of sand, and you’d successfully conjured one of Sanji’s absolute nightmares.

At least it could be worse, he thought bitterly, the phantom weight of a cage on his head ever present.

There were only two positive things with this whole mess; Luffy’s older brother Ace who was hotter than the desert of Alabasta itself (and who had grinned at Sanji with such a softness, such a clear invitation, and who had eaten and praised his food with such bright eyes, who had all but broken his heart when he left, and it made him question everything about himself and Sanji did not have time to unpack all of that in a desert), and the ladies who wore thin, breathable fabric that hugged their curves just right and Sanji would melt on the spot if they so much as commanded him to.

And, he reminded himself. A third positive thing. Vice-Captain was back on the ship.

He’d never seen the cat leave the ship before, and so he simply assumed that the cat wouldn’t leave now either. Not that the sweltering hot desert would be fit for a cat. He hoped Vice-Captain would be safe when they returned.

After that, there weren’t a lot of time left to think. Only when the rain began and the beautiful Vivi had arrived with a gravely injured Luffy, did Sanji allow himself to relax. With a cigarette in hand and nicotine in his lungs, he stood on one of the many balconies of the palace. Rain was still falling, a soft pitter-patter on the overhang above him, and between puffs of the cigarette, Sanji forced himself to breathe the way Zeff had taught him all those years ago.

In and out. Slow and steady.

He was alive. He was free. Everything would be alright.

A soft, questioning mrr-eow had him turning and there, sitting with perfectly dry fur and with wide, grey eyes, was Vice-Captain. How he’d made it to the palace from the ship, Sanji couldn’t figure out and didn’t much care to at the moment.

“You’re worried too, huh?” he whispered instead, sliding down to sit. His back to the railing, legs spread out before him. Chopper would have his head if he found him like this; out and about and smoking, putting unnecessary strain on his fresh injuries. As though Luffy hadn’t taken the worst for all of them.

(Luffy still hadn’t woken up.)

Vice-Captain gave a small chirp, trotting over to Sanji and bumping its head against his calf. Then the cat climbed on top of Sanji’s leg, walking the stretch of his limb with all the grace of a feline, coming to a stop in his lap. There, it sat down, its long tail curling around its paws.

Paws that were making slow biscuits in the soft material of Sanji’s sweatpants. It tore a wet chuckle out of the chef and he snubbed out the cigarette before reaching over to drag his fingers gently between the large ears. Vice-Captain began to purr in clear satisfaction, eyes closing in slow blinks.

“He’ll wake up,” Sanji whispered, more to himself than to the cat that wouldn’t be able to answer anyway. “And when he does, I’ll cook him everything he asks for. No matter how ridiculous it might be.”

The cat made a small sound at that, a huff more than anything, but didn’t move away or even pause its kneading. It simply blinked and purred louder when Sanji leaned over it, fingers buried in its soft, soft, impossibly soft fur. It bumped its head against his chin, and for the moment, he wasn’t so lonely anymore.

Luffy woke up three days later, demanding meat with a loud voice as though it was just a regular day and not one where he had eased the worry of every single one of his crew.

The ship’s cat had vanished again, as though it had never been there in the first place. And Sanji had started to learn that it did just like every other cat, following no rules and agreeing to no limitations, coming and going as it saw fit. A shadow, a hunter, as ghost amongst the living.

But in a world with Devil Fruits, there were surely weirder things than that.

Their moment of happiness and relief only lasted so long. A message was passed along from the former Mr. Two, something with marines and defending their ship, and they were on the move again with the order to set sail at dawn.

Princess Vivi – beautiful, smart, brilliant and amazing Vivi – was given an ultimatum. They wouldn’t be able to wait for her. They had their own adventure to continue. And the grandest of adventures waited for no one.

They all cried the following morning, when the sun slowly rose over the horizon and Vivi still hadn’t arrived to take her rightful place on Going Merry’s deck. Hands lifted in the air, their promise painted black on their skin, because Luffy, their captain, made the decision that Vivi was a part of their crew – princess or separated or not.

The only one who didn’t shed a single tear was Zoro. Heartless and a brute and a barbarian who couldn’t even find his way in a straight line.

Sanji was too hurt, too sad, to care too much about the swordsman. He sought refuge in the kitchen instead, keeping his hands and mind busy with cooking and baking. He couldn’t – didn’t want to – think about all they had lost in the desert. The new discoveries they had made. The things they’d been forced to sacrifice.

“It’ll be alright, you know,” came a grumpy voice behind him that he’d recognize anywhere. And wasn’t that a sad thought. “Vivi will join up with us when she can.”

“I know,” Sanji snarled back, whipping the cream just a bit more aggressively. “I don’t need you to tell me that, mosshead!”

A moment of silence, and then the heaviness and warmth of a hand settled on top of his head. Fingers treading into his hair, an insulting mimicry of a pat. Sanji stood frozen, eyes wide and staring at the half-whipped cream in the bowl. His fingers clutched the bowl too tightly.

When Zoro didn’t say anything, standing way too close – and he was so warm, holy shit he was warm and had his shoulders always been so wide – Sanji forced himself to snap out of it. He met the cold-grey of Zoro’s eyes, unable to read anything in the strange look he received.

“What. The. Fuck.” Sanji spoke each word slowly, clearly. There couldn’t be any misunderstandings here. “The hell you think you’re doing?!”

Zoro blinked, his one braincell working on overdrive as he frowned. The hand on Sanji’s head stilled. Sanji wanted to bite him, prove himself just as feral as their cat.

“Uh-“ the swordsman said with all the grace the brute could possess. “Comforting you…?”

Alright.

What the actual fuck?

Since when had the two of them comforted each other?! What were they – friends?! Was this a fucking prank, a try to get a rouse out of him? Did someone set him up to this, like a “haha wouldn’t it be fun to see how Sanji reacted if the idiot marimo patted his head”?

If there were money somehow involved, he swore he would-

“Fuck off!” Sanji snarled, lashing out with an arm to bat Zoro away. Anything to hide his own flinch at the contact. “Get out of my fucking kitchen, you shitty fucking moss-for-brains!”

He lashed out with a kick to punctuate his point, and the swordsman flinched away, putting a safe distance between them.

“The hell is up with you?!” Zoro shot back, radiating an anger that was as bright as it was confusing to Sanji. And the chef chose to ignore that part, push it away for later – always everything for later.

“The hell is up with me?!” Sanji hadn’t meant to shriek. It just came out that way. “Out! Out, out, out!”

A frustrated sigh, accompanied with a loud “argh, you’re fucking impossible!”, left Zoro as he dodged all of Sanji’s kicks and was pushed towards the door nonetheless. With a last, angry and confused look, Zoro left the kitchen. Left Sanji alone.

And a good thing at that; no would have to see the furious warmth that had taken over his cheeks.

Fucking hell.

They gained a new crewmember. She was tall and tanned and gorgeous and graceful and had the best little smirk that always bordered on sly, and Sanji was heads-over-heels for her. No one could fault him for that!

Except, of course, Zoro.

Sanji hadn’t spoken to him since that incident, avoiding the brute like the plague, snarling at him whenever he called the crew to their meals and daring him to try some stupid shit like touching Sanji again. They didn’t do that shit. It was too tender, too soft, for the likes of them.

No, they spoke in kicks and drawn swords, in insults and challenges. And if there was a compliment veiled as an insult, then that was no one’s business but their own. They knew subtlety.

What Zoro had done in the kitchen when they’d left Alabasta had not been anything near that! Sanji wouldn’t forgive him that easily.

Sanji’s one and only problem however – because Zoro’s weird behavior wasn’t Sanji’s problem! – was that Vice-Captain had started to avoid him as well. Which was strange.

The cat didn’t join him in the kitchen, those minutes before the food was really done and he was finishing up and he’d set some fine slices of fish or meat aside for the feline. The cat always came and begged for scraps, especially in the evening when the ocean was painted a deep indigo and Sanji was deboning that day’s catch.

Vice-Captain’s absence echoed too loud in the silence of the kitchen.

Now, the cat wasn’t gone. He still saw it here and there; snoozing on the deck in a patch of sun or curled up in Luffy’s lap while their captain was fishing – the only time their captain was still enough for a cat to sleep comfortably on him.

But every time Sanji approached Vice-Captain, the cat gave him the feline version of a glare, stood up, and moved away from the chef with a flickering tail. It ignored all of Sanji’s tries to get its attention, didn’t even bother to look at him when he offered some thinly sliced fish that he knew the cat enjoyed, and it left him feeling silly where he’d sat crouched down with his hand outstretched in an offering of peace.

Luffy ate the fish, so nothing was wasted, but it didn’t exactly help Sanji’s case.

On the third of many attempts, just before a great whirlpool would bring them into the skies, Robin had joined his side briefly as he picked up the plate of untouched fish.

“Quite curious, is it not?” The woman’s voice was a low murmur, soft in the way it made Sanji’s bones tremble.

And ever the ladies’ man, Sanji answered with a “huh?”

But Robin didn’t answer. She gave him a quick once-over, something critical – playful – in her eyes, before her lips parted in a small smile that made Sanji’s heart beat at double the speed.

“I see,” she murmured and before Sanji could ask her what she meant by that, the woman was gone.

Later, just moments after the ship had landed safely amongst the clouds, he spotted Robin talking quietly with Nami. Whatever the two beautiful ladies schemed, it made Nami’s eyes shine up in a gorgeous way. He was too busy fussing over her beauty to notice the steely-grey eyes watching him.

There was nothing their captain couldn’t do.

This was an objective truth.

Sanji experienced it firsthand, hearing the ring of the bell as Luffy struck a false god down with all the might of a non-believer. He watched his captain grin so wide his cheeks stretched like the rubber he was, happy despite his exhaustion and wounds. A victory, despite everything.

And then the Going Merry was falling down towards a familiar blue of an endless ocean. She was falling apart. The crew fell with her.

Robin was the first to vanish. Stolen the way those who had nothing left to live for were taken.

Next was Usopp. No lies could hide the hurt in his voice as he cried for the Going Merry, refusing to leave her, forcing their beloved captain to come to a difficult decision.

But there was nothing their captain couldn’t do.

So they left, three crewmembers lighter because Vice-Captain hadn’t shown up and Sanji refused to miss the feline, refused to show any kind of weakness like that. Their captain had decided to get Robin back and that was what they were going to do.

On their captain’s orders, they fought. They set fire to a flag, declaring war on the world government, fighting and fighting and fighting the whole way. All the bones in Sanji’s body were aching and he was sure some were snapped, and yet none of it mattered once Luffy smiled at them, Robin at his side.

And because his captain had decided it to be, because there was nothing he couldn’t do, the Strawhats left Water 7 with all of their crewmembers – old and new and one feline – on a ship just as sunny as their captain.

The cat was sleeping in the galley, curled up on the new sofa that Franky had installed along the wall. Sanji could see himself falling asleep on that couch, naps between meals on days when the water was calm and the winds were gentle.

But now, Vice-Captain had taken up the spot, front paws stretched out in front of itself and eyes closed in deep slumber.

Sanji reached out without thought.

Fingers brushed gently over a small, soft head. An ear flicked, whiskers trembling. His thumb rubbed over that one spot perfectly in-between the ears and the cat stretched out, a small sound escaping it. Slowly, it relaxed under Sanji’s touch, grey eyes blinking open to watch him.

“It’s good to see you again,” Sanji whispered. Speaking louder than that would be to scream in this soft, tender moment.

The cat blinked at him. Waiting with the patience only a hunter could possess.

“We got the crew back,” Sanji continued because the cat was a good listener. It wouldn’t judge him. He would have to give it some fish, later. “It was difficult, but we did it.”

Vice-Captain made a soft, pleased little “mrrrp” stretching its whole body before slowly standing up. It gave Sanji a stern stare before pawing at his chest. Sanji blinked back.

“Am I forgiven?” he jokingly asked, his smile a bit wobbly, and he didn’t really know what he would be forgiven for. But the cat gave him that slow blink, claws out as its pawing became more insistent. And with a wet chuckle, Sanji gave in to the whims of a small feline with impossibly soft fur, and laid down on the couch.

Vice-Captain settled on his chest the moment his back hit the cushions, a steady purr rumbling in its chest as it folded its paws underneath itself. Grey eyes kept watching him and Sanji gave it a tiny little smile, resting a hand on its back and burying his fingers in that soft fur.

Somewhere along the way, he must’ve fallen asleep. The sun had begun to set outside and he should probably start on dinner soon. But the cat was a pleasant weight on his chest and didn’t so much as stir when Sanji picked up his petting. It purred, even in its sleep, completely relaxed.

And oh, what was a few more minutes?

The very next day, Zoro was back to normal.

No, apologies. Correction; as normal as the mosshead could be. In this case, it meant that he stormed into the galley in the early morning, hair ruffled with sleep and hand scratching his bared chest. There was some dried drool at the corner of his mouth.

Sanji did not think it charming.

“Mornin’ marimo,” Sanji greeted because he was a pleasant human being who had learnt some manners from Zeff. “Breakfast’s not ready yet. Come back later.”

Completely ignoring Sanji, the mosshead grumbled something that sounded like nonsense. So, Sanji did the logical thing and ignored him in turn.

Turning back to the counter, Sanji continued his food-prep for the first – and most important – meal of the day. And for a moment, there was a comfortable silence in the kitchen as the chef did what he knew best. Chopping and slicing and whisking and tasting-

Arms wrapped around him from behind.

Warm and secure, completely embracing his waist. Hands calloused from years of handling swords, resting at the bottom of his ribs, fingers splayed over the apron Sanji wore and even through the layers of fabric, even through his own heated skin, could he feel Zoro’s persistent warmth.

A shaky breath Sanji had no control over, left his lips.

This was bad. Bad, bad, bad, bad, bad, bad, bad-

Pressing his whole body against Sanji’s back, Zoro leaned against him. They were about the same height, but Zoro was wider, his muscles more defined, his chest surprisingly soft where it pressed against Sanji’s upper back. A huff of warm breath against his neck, sending a scattering of goosebumps along the chef’s skin and he should pull away, should do something but stand there like an idiot.

With a soft, sleepy sound, Zoro nuzzled into the crook of Sanji’s neck.

And just like that, Sanji’s brain stopped working altogether.

“O-oi,” Sanji stammered, voice weak and shaky and so embarrassing he wanted to perish. “M-marimo. Shitty marimo.”

His cheeks were on fire, his whole body stiff and rigid, and he couldn’t move away, didn’t want to-

No. Not going there.

Not with Zoro wrapped around him like this.

“Food,” Zoro mumbled, lips brushing Sanji’s skin and the chef had to bite his own lip to not embarrass himself further.

“I am making food,” Sanji mumbled back, more a breath than anything. The swordsman’s nose was a bit cold where it brushed against the edge of Sanji’s jaw and he held back a full-body shiver. “S-so just- Sit down.”

Seemingly pleased with the answer, Zoro gave a final squeeze, muscles flexing and Sanji could feel both his breath and his soul leaving him. And then those strong – wonderful – arms retreated, leaving Sanji not only breathless and soulless, but also strangely cold and yet way too hot at the same time. His cheeks were flushed, he knew, could feel the warmth over the very tips of his ears. His heart was beating too fast.

It didn’t make any sense.

Except that it did.

But not really.

Zoro slumped down in a chair by the table, arms pillowing his head and grey eyes steadily watching the chef. And Sanji could feel that gaze, could feel himself tense up under it.

“Mosshead,” Sanji hissed after a moment of composing himself, picking up a knife to slice some fresh fruit with a bit more violence than necessary. “We do not speak of this. Ever.”

He would have to deal with this later, at some point. But later wasn’t now and Sanji was a master at pushing things away and not thinking about them.

For a moment, which dragged on for so long that Sanji started to taste bile on his tongue, Zoro remained silent. Then, the moss-for-brains grumbled out something which sounded a lot like an insult under his breath, grey eyes falling closed.

Sanji dared a look over his shoulder, lips tugging in a snarl he didn’t have the heart to back up. While he wasn’t in the mood to raise to some easy bait – and he didn’t want to make it a habit of fighting in his new kitchen – he wasn’t going to let a clear insult slide.

“Got anything you wanna share with the class, moss?”

Sanji would like to say that he knew Zoro pretty well. They’d been sailing together for quite a while now, and while they didn’t agree on everything, they were still crew. Still nakama. And so Sanji expected Zoro to react like this; standing up, furious, sleep forgotten as he shouted insults at the chef and Sanji would snarl back at him and edging him on, and the breakfast would be delayed as they had a normal morning-spar out on the deck of the Thousand Sunny.

Zoro did not react like that.

No, Zoro didn’t even open his eyes. He smiled, wide and happy and soft. Nothing about him was geared for a fight.

“Nah,” the swordsman answered almost lazily. “Just that you’re really fucking weird. But you already know that.”

Wait.

Sanji was the weird one?!

“You sure you’re feeling alright?” Sanji shot back, biting back the twinge of worry in his voice. Because he might’ve looked at this the wrong way. Zoro was acting strangely; kind and warm and touchy and soft and everything that the first mate was decidedly not. It might not have anything to do with Sanji at all! Zoro could be sick for all that he knew and what kind of crewmate would he be if he hadn’t noticed it earlier? “Should I go get Chopper?”

As an answer, Zoro barked out a laughter, shoulders shaking with it.

Frustrated, flustered, and feeling mocked by the joy in Zoro’s voice, Sanji threw half a strawberry at the man. If he’d had some lower quality knives instead of his precious ones, he would’ve thrown that instead.

The strawberry was caught between sharp teeth, and the grin Zoro shot him was downright illegal. In some strange, incomprehensible way, Sanji knew he had lost whatever game it was that they’d been playing.

And Zoro, being a sea urchin evolution knowingly ignored, didn’t seem to care about the silence that settled between them. Sanji cooked the only way he knew how, throwing glances at the swordsman now and then. Not even once did Zoro snap at him. He seemed blissfully unaware, or perhaps just blissfully pleased.

When the rest of the crew woke up and entered the galley for the small feast of a breakfast that Sanji had prepared, he still wasn’t any closer to figuring out just was the fuck was up with Zoro.

They sailed into darkness a few days later, and because their captain was Luffy and nothing was impossible to him, they gained a new crewmate who was a skeleton.

Then they went on to fight another warlord, ruined a castle – which, in all fairness, was already in ruin and the Strawhats were not to blame for the further damage inflicted – and then everything went to shit. Again.

Their captain was out cold, his breathing labored where he lied on top of a pile of rubble. He couldn’t defend himself against the giant of a man who appeared.

Kuma.

The name, the man, would haunt Sanji for the years to come.

Zoro, ever so loyal and ever so strong, moved before Sanji could. His swords did nothing to the warlord, was batted away like a ragdoll.

When the first mate bowed down low and begged for their captain’s life, Sanji wanted to scream. His body was screaming with pain, his right leg most likely broken, as he forced himself to stand between Zoro and the warlord.

He was swaying on his feet. Too much blood had been lost, he knew quite logically. But their crew needed Zoro. The swordsman was the first mate, the closest one to Luffy, the only one who always had a level head and could see those difficult decisions when they had to be made. He was the supportive hand on a tense shoulder when an enemy was a bit too strong, when he gently pushed their nakama – their family – behind his wide back to face the danger himself in their place.

The crew would be nothing without Zoro.

But Sanji? Sanji was just a chef. A cook. Someone who should’ve been dead already and who only held on by a thin thread. He’d had too many chances already at life.

The least he could do was to die for the family he had chosen.

“Tell Luffy that I’m sorry,” he said, back straight because if he faltered now, he wouldn’t be able to get up again. “And tell him to find another chef.”

But Zoro was nothing if not stubborn. A stupid, stubborn idiot with too much pride in his own position as the first mate. His dream was too important to give up, and yet he would do it for Luffy without a moment of hesitation. Sanji should’ve known he didn’t stand a chance against that resolve.

A heavy punch to already broken ribs had Sanji slipping, wheezing for a pained breath. His fingers trembled where they clutched at Zoro, burying themselves in torn fabric like they would in the soft fur of a cat.

The last thing he told his best friend was a broken insult.

And then the darkness claimed him.

Hours later, he found Zoro in a pool of red.

(Nothing happened.)

Confined to the med-bay on Chopper’s orders, Zoro was covered in bandages. Head to toes. Looking like a man who should’ve died many times over.

But the first mate was nothing if not stubborn. His one braincell didn’t allow anything else.

As the chef of the Thousand Sunny, Sanji took his duties seriously. Even with his leg in a cast, which would soon be removed according to Chopper’s surprised delight, Sanji spent his regular hours in the kitchen making sure that the crew was fed.

Which was also how he found himself outside the door to the med-bay, tray in hand with a bowl of soup. Once Chopper cleared Zoro for food that needn’t be in liquid form, Sanji would make him some onigiri. It was already on his list. His hands were all but itching to shape the warm rice.

There were voices from inside, he noted. Muffled slightly behind the door. But Sanji hadn’t been a failed experiment for nothing.

“-evere blood-loss! You need to promise not to shift-“ came Chopper’s stern voice, rising an octave or two as the small reindeer began to shout, “Don’t pretend to be asleep when I’m talking to you, damn it Zoro!”

Opening the door, Sanji paused in the doorway. Chopper was standing on the edge of Zoro’s bed, slapping his face with tiny hooves. He paused only when he noticed Sanji’s presence, his blue nose twitching at the scent of the soup.

“Bad time?” Sanji joked, voice light in the way that always made the doctor smile. “If mosshead is asleep, I’ll give the soup to Luffy-“

“’m not ‘sleep,” Zoro grumbled out almost immediately, one grey eye cracking open. It settled on Sanji immediately, sending warmth cascading down the chef’s neck. Cold, stormy, steely, unwavering grey.

“Wow, look at that.” Sanji gave Zoro the most deadpanned voice he could muster. Yet another thing he counted himself a master of, thank you very much. “The marimo talks in his sleep.”

Chopper let out a soft giggle, hooves covering his mouth as though that could hide the sound. Zoro, on the other hand, only gave an exasperated sigh and rolled his eyes.

Grinning, and resisting the urge to stick his tongue out at the swordsman – he was a gentleman after all – he went up to the bed and placed down the tray. He took that moment to look Zoro over; a quick and impartial once-over. Not letting his gaze linger anywhere.

He should say something. Really, he should.

But they didn’t do tender. The hug from behind in the kitchen those weeks ago had been a fluke; they hadn’t talked about it and it hadn’t happened again. Sanji refused to acknowledge the twinge of longing at the thought.

He had been silent too long, perhaps looked too lost, because the first mate jumped in and rescued him the way he always leapt in front of danger for the crew.

“Not sure I can lift my arms that high yet,” Zoro said, sounding drugged-out from the good medication Chopper had forced into him.

“Too bad! I’m not feeding you, shitty marimo.” Crossing his arms over his chest, Sanji pointedly glared at the wall behind Zoro instead. “That service is reserved for beautiful women only!”

“And felines,” Zoro mumbled, voice low and tired. But Chopper was a good doctor and had already scooped up the spoon to help Zoro out where he needed it. Sanji wouldn’t judge. “Don’t see the problem here.”

“Yeah, well, I should dump Vice-Captain on your chest, see how you like it,” Sanji said, looking around the room, searching for that familiar blob of black that hadn’t been seen since Thriller Bark. “I heard a cat’s purr can help healing, or whatever.”

Strangely, Zoro laughed at that. Hard and sudden and probably pulling a stitch based on the wince he broke it off with.

“Oh?” Chopper tilted his head slightly to the side, adorable eyes large and wide and oh so innocent. He looked at Sanji for a moment, then back at Zoro who was catching his breath, and then he shone up with realization. “Oh! I see! This is what Nami was talking about!”

“The wonderful Nami has graced us with her thoughts?” Sanji all but sang, feeling like he could walk on clouds. To think that the wonderful, beautiful, bestest Nami had talked about him! She was such a good person!

Chopper looked a bit flustered, like he always did when he’d said something he shouldn’t. His hooves waved in front of him, eyes wide and shifty with panic. “Ah, ah! It’s a secret though! I can’t tell you what she said!”

And Sanji could understand that. He respected Nami’s tendency for secrecy and mysterious schemes. She was their navigator; she would lead them true no matter what.

“I would never betray her trust like that,” Sanji swore, turning on his heels with a goofy smile. They joy almost made him forget the ache in his leg.

He paused at the door, turning slightly to send Zoro a deathly glare he was quite proud of. “Eat. Every. Single. Drop.”

Then he was out of the door, closing it gently behind himself. Almost missing the whisper of “What’s the witch up to now?”

Vice-Captain was still nowhere to be seen.

They’d set sail for Sabaody not too long ago, with the backdrop of Brook’s lovely music and Luffy’s cheery tries of singing along. Zoro had been released from the med-bay, though still wrapped in bandages, and had taken up sleeping on the sofa in the galley on the regular. Which was fairly annoying – not that Sanji would admit it out loud – but that spot was reserved for himselff and for Vice-Captain! Not for mossheads! He would’ve kicked him out if Zoro hadn’t been so injured.

He hoped the cushions hadn’t been polluted with stupidity.

“Have you seen Vice-Captain?” He eventually gave up and asked Robin, who was the smartest and most brilliant on the crew. Along with Nami, of course. “I can’t find him anywhere.”

Robin gave a soft hum and a shrug. She promised to be on the look-out though.

The same question was asked to Franky – who hadn’t seen the cat-bro – but both him and Usopp were too engrossed in some kind of new invention to offer him too much thought. They didn’t seem too concerned however, and neither did Chopper nor Nami. Brook had no idea who he was talking about.

And Sanji was not going to wake up Zoro to ask him for help.

“He’s in the kitchen!” Luffy jumped in, grinning from ear to ear with his usual cheer. He was bouncing on the back of his heels, emitting such a restless energy that Sanji would’ve pitied their captain if he hadn’t known better. As it was, Luffy kept throwing glances over at Usopp and Franky, so Sanji considered himself safe for the time being. His time to entertain their captain would come later. Probably. Unless the invention his crewmates had been working on had been some kind of special energy-draining machine specifically tuned to Luffy.

Huh.

He should suggest that next time they had an open brainstorming session.

“It’s so unfair!” Luffy continued with a whine, his smile turning so incredibly sad. And Sanji had always been weak to that sadness, to those large puppy eyes. The moment he admitted that out loud though, would be the last time he’d know any semblance of peace. “Why’s Zoro allowed in the kitchen so much when I’m not?!”

“Because you’d steal all the meat,” Sanji shot back, not even trying to figure out what Zoro’s presence had to do with the cat. Who knew what went on inside their captain’s head anyway?

The pout Luffy gave him was downright criminal. Sanji distracted himself with lighting up a cigarette, less he’d give in to it. He’d have to keep a close eye on their stock, to make sure that they’d safely make it to Sabaody without going hungry. There was no extra meat to spare.

“So unfair!” As though he was liquid and not rubber, Luffy fell down in a puddle on the deck. Sanji bent down to pat him on his head, straw hat rough and well-loved under his hands.

A moment later, a small explosion followed by a curse from Usopp, drew Luffy’s attention and the boy bounced up like a toy that had been squished and had now been released to inflate back to its original size. Truly horrifying.

As the captain bounded over to Franky and Usopp – and was that smoke rising from the liar’s hair? – Sanji turned his gaze back to the ocean. Inhaling the smoke and nicotine of his cigarette, watching the waves.

Vice-Captain would show up eventually.

The cat was clever like that.

Thriller Bark had been a chaotic nightmare that ended in blood and broken bones. Sabaody was still somehow worse.

They were weak. All of them. So very, very weak.

Not that Sanji would ever regret following his captain – his unfathomably brave and stupid captain who went punching Celestial Dragons without hesitation simply because a friend had been hurt. The knowledge that Luffy would go to those lengths for any one of them-

It was overwhelming sometimes. Sanji still did his best every day to try and deserve it.

There was nothing their captain couldn’t do.

Kuma was set on proving him wrong.

Perhaps they should’ve seen it as a warning, as a wake-up call and a measurement of where their strength currently lied. In a way, Kuma might’ve saved them from being completely obliterated once they exited Paradise.

In the moment, when Zoro vanished before their eyes and Luffy’s desperate cries rang in his ears, it didn’t feel like salvation.

Pop!

Flying through the air in a direction chosen by a warlord who’d spared their crew twice now, Sanji could only curse and scream until his voice was hoarse. No one would hear him anyway.

He hoped Vice-Captain had stayed safe with the ship, that Kuma hadn’t found the small feline. He prayed that the crew was safe.

He couldn’t bare to lose his family.

Whatever Sanji had thought would be a personal hell, didn’t even hold a candle to Kamabakka Kingdom.

Sanji was lost and hurt and separated from his crew, surrounded by strangers who introduced concepts to him that he couldn’t even begin to wrap his head around. For every day that passed, Sanji was losing time. He couldn’t get back to Sabaody, couldn’t get back to his family –

(Please let them be safe, please, please, please-)

And then the Queen arrived in all her glory; tall and gorgeous with legs for days and with purple locks cascading down her back. Sanji would die for her. No questions asked.

Except then the Queen told him of Marineford. Of Ace’s death. Of Luffy who had fought so valiantly before ultimately failing once more. Injured and bleeding and alone, the captain who had believed in Sanji’s dream had lost everything.

Sanji had been unable to help. What a fucking failure he was, that he couldn’t even stand by his captain and face down their enemies together, that he had been weak enough to fall where Luffy had needed him most.

Would things have been different if Sanji had been there with him? To help him into Impel Down, to yell at him to stick to the plan – because they would’ve surely had a plan if Sanji had a say – and perhaps they would’ve made it in time to rescue Ace then. Or perhaps it wouldn’t have changed anything, in the end.

Would Sanji have been quick enough to take the fist of magma instead of his captain’s beloved brother?

Would Sanji’s life had mattered then?

There was nothing their captain couldn’t do, as long as he could stand up to the forces trying to tear him down. Sanji would have to get stronger. To stand by his captain, to pave a clear path for him so that Luffy would never again have to fall.

Never again would he let their dear captain cry out in helpless desperation.

Never again.

And in that grief and earth-shattering realization that were thrust upon Sanji without warning, an argument was made with the Queen. The gorgeous woman had turned into a grumpy man with a large head; their gender fluid in ways Sanji hadn’t known it could be. Hadn’t known was allowed.

Many such new things were learned over the two years that followed.

Ivankov’s distrust was one of them, still insisting that Sanji was the one who couldn’t be trusted because his wanted poster was a drawing – a shitty drawing at that – and not a photograph, and wouldn’t let themself be convinced otherwise despite Sanji’s many tries.

What the Queen was convinced of, however, was that they could beat some sense into the chef while also beat out the “years of misogyny and internalized homophobia” – whatever the hell they meant by that – and the experience was far from pleasant.

Sanji fought against it tooth and nail.

He ran until his legs were burning. Endured the threats from the other inhabitants. Screamed whenever he saw the frilly dresses and he shouted insults that he hadn’t known were in him. Dark, ugly things that tasted like tar on his tongue and sounded too much like a family he’d rejected so many years ago. They followed him even now, no matter how far or how fast he ran; a cloudy reflection of who he might’ve been in a different life. Staring back at him with curled eyebrows and the number three painted on his chest, eyes cold and lifeless and asking “Is this who you want to be?”

So, Sanji learned.

Ivankov’s gender was fluid and Sanji might not fully understand it, but learned enough to know that Iva’s greatness could never be contained in just one form.

The ladies on the island held none of the soft curves Sanji loved; all hard angles and stubby body hair, and makeup applied by hands that had never learnt the basics and yet didn’t tremble as they drew an eyeliner so sharp it could rival Zoro’s swords. They shared what they knew and opened up to show who they were.

And who was Sanji to judge? Beauty or soft curves or timid voices did not make a woman.

In return for his understanding, in his slow unlearning of years spent with older men who had in turn spent their lives out on the seas without seeing any real women, they taught him new words along with the many recipes they shared. Words that helped shape the world around him, put sound and thought to once vague concepts, allowed him to realize in his own time that oh, this is me.

Things were less frightening after that.

The threat of a dress became excited requests – they had been all along – and Sanji was shown how to keep his hands steady, to draw sharp lines and new blending techniques that he knew Nami would love. Frills and makeup and lace and heels could be weapons. It could be power. It could be beauty. It could be weak and strong and ugly and gorgeous and everything and nothing and none of it mattered unless he wished it to. It was a secret, never spoken out loud, yet understood by them all. Never put into words, simply because it didn’t need to.

The man who had landed on Momoiro Island two years ago had been killed; slain by ladies who were gorgeous in their own ways, stomped into the earth six feet down with sharp heels that made his legs look divine.

And the man – because Sanji was still a man even as he had learned not to let it define him – who emerged stood a bit taller, shoulders relaxed and his gaze raised. Confidence was written into every line of his body, power in every graceful movement, pride in every soft word spoken to the ladies and Queen who he had come to regard as friends.

(Even if Ivankov still didn’t believe him to be a Strawhat. Some things took a bit longer to learn.)

When the two years were up, the Queen themself stood by his side on the ship headed for Sabaody.

Finally, he was going home.

The very first thing Sanji thought when he saw Zoro again, was a mess of a jumbled scream, followed by a “Holy shit, he’s hot?!”

In hindsight, he should’ve expected it, really. He hadn’t been the only one training for two years.

But Zoro stood before him, still dripping of seawater from where he’d destroyed a ship with a single swing of a sharp blade. Sanji could clearly see, could clearly follow, the droplets slowly making their way over his exposed pecs, further down over his toned abs, soaked up by that familiar haramaki. His mouth was suddenly dry.

“What happened to your eye?” He blurted out in leu of a greeting, feeling himself flush. His social skills had surely suffered. Not that moss had much of that to begin with, he reminded himself, so he should probably be fine.

Before him, Zoro brightened up like a flower to the sun, grinning sharp and dangerous and so very beautifully. “Good to see you again, cook.”

“Yeah,” he breathed, matching that grin with one of his own, feeling the tension he hadn’t known he’d held leave his body. This was his Zoro. “You too, marimo.”

They didn’t have the time to catch up – not yet, not yet – because their captain arrived with trouble on his heels. Bright and cheerful and their captain. And they fought off the robotic shell of Kuma, a single kick and a single slice and their strength were miles ahead of what it’d been two years ago, and then they were running and bickering and everything felt right again.

The rest of the crew waited for them at the docks, waving from the deck of the Thousand Sunny. They had all grown, had all changed. Longer hair, tanned skin, toned muscles on display and confident smiles on their lips. They’d all grown stronger.

Never again would they leave their captain alone.

The descent to Fishman Island was long and dark. The deep seas were not meant for humans, reindeer or reanimated skeletons, and the infinite darkness around them made Sanji’s skin itch.

With the excuse of looking over their low food stocks, he retreated into the safety of his kitchen. It was just like he’d left it, two years ago. He would have to sharpen his old knives, keep them to the same standard as the new ones he’d brought from Kamabakka Kingdom.

The cat sitting on the counter made him pause.

Vice-Captain looked up at him with one large grey eye. The other was sealed shut, some kind of old injury hindering the feline from opening it.

“Long time no see,” Sanji cooed, reaching out to pick up the cat. It wasn’t as small as it had been before, but just as soft when Sanji burrowed his nose in its dark fur. It gave a small chirp, a greeting, before a steady purr filled the silence around them.

Holding the cat like a lifeline, Sanji sank down to the floor. His back rested against the cupboards, legs pulled up to let him fully curl in on himself and the cat.

He felt small. Safe, but still small. A phantom weight on his head and a heavy darkness outside that would threaten to swallow him if he wasn’t careful enough. If he let his brothers catch him. The cat in his arms was an anchor.

“Sorry, sorry, I’m-“ he mumbled against Vice-Captain’s side. The cat didn’t complain when he squeezed just a bit tighter, only raised a paw to rest on his chin. “I don’t do well in dark places like this, you know. Reminds me too much of-“

No. Not of home. That place had never been home.

“They locked me up. I was too weak, too imperfect. Not like them,” he continued, barely aware of what he was mumbling into the soft fur of a shadow. But the cat wouldn’t judge. It would only purr and slowly blink at him and then beg for fresh salmon. “They always forgot to light the torches. It was so deep underground that no light would reach and there was only me and the rats and sometimes they would visit, but I-“ A sharp breath, a short pause. A desperate gathering of his thoughts. “Sometimes, even now, the darkness is just… too much.”

The cat gave a soft “prrrt”, shifting in Sanji’s arms to forcefully bump its head up into his chin. The surprise gave way to a chuckle, and how could Sanji stay sad or lonely when the cat so clearly loved him?

“Alright, yeah, you’re right,” he said, laughter in his voice. “You’ll protect me against the evil darkness, huh? You can see through it, after all. Spot any enemy before they get close.”

He lifted the cat up a bit, only to meet its steely gaze. The cat licked the tip of his nose, making him scrunch it up with a smile.

“The perfect little hunter.”

The cat seemed pleased with the title, closing its eye and purring even louder, and Sanji hugged it close to his chest where it curled against him. Small head pressed against his chest, where his heart resided.

Sanji lost time of how long they sat like that, the cat soon asleep against him. He only knew that when Luffy started shouting after meat, the darkness outside was no longer as suffocating.

They liberated Fishman Island. Because of course they did.

After the three-day long party, Sanji all but crashed into bed. They’d all been assigned rooms, but Sanji was warm and fuzzy with some quality alcohol and filled with a million thoughts of how to implement that tasty wine into new dishes.

And so Sanji fell into the bed, feeling himself bounce with its springiness. He almost missed the surprised feline sound on the pillow next to his head, but it was such a familiar presence that he didn’t bother to open his eyes. The room was dark as it was, the windows barely letting in the luminescent glow from the outside.

“Didn’t mean to disturb you,” Sanji mumbled. His body was heavy and exhausted and sleep couldn’t come quick enough. “Sorry.”

There was a pause, Vice-Captain didn’t move.

Then there was a heavy weight on the bed, a large body hovering just above him. Only the silhouette was visible when Sanji blinked his eyes open – when had he closed them? – but once more the presence was achingly familiar. Secure. Safe.

“What’re you doin’ in my room, mar’m’?” The words were slurred and slightly hilarious because of this, and he smiled at his own intoxication. Zoro had probably drunk twice, if not thrice, as much as him and still hadn’t shown any signs of getting drunk. Silly swordsman. Even after so many drinks, he could still sneak like a ninja. Sanji hadn’t even heard him in the room.

Zoro hummed, a low rumbling sound that vaguely reminded Sanji of a purr. “Lemme get the light for you.”

“Light?” Sanji blinked, feeling rather than seeing Zoro shift above him. He didn’t make any sense. “Why would we need light?”

They were supposed to sleep, not explore something deeper that Sanji had refused to acknowledge before but had now learnt to accept and even embrace, if the mood struck him. Silly, silly swordsman.

“If you’re into that, sure, go ‘head,” he continued, waving a hand in the air and almost smacking Zoro in the face. The swordsman had too quick reflexes though, catching the hand in his and holding it still. Holding it close. Warm and callused and secure. The hands of a protector, cradling his like a treasure.

Another rumble met him, and Sanji giggled at the annoyed sound. Oh, how he’d missed his Zoro.

“It’s quite dark in here,” Zoro spoke, voice low and rumbling and rough and making goosebumps bloom on Sanji’s skin. “Thought you’d be more comfortable with a little light.”

“Silly,” Sanji snorted, raising his other hand to pat at Zoro’s face. That hand was also caught and Sanji was completely trapped, completely safe. “When did I even tell you that?” A pause and he narrowed his eyes in the darkness, trying to see Zoro a little better. “Have you been spying on me? Shitty mops-moss-molasses… Green. Thing.”

“You’re drunk.”

Another giggle left Sanji, unbidden and free. He felt so light under Zoro, like the world was spinning and he was afloat those waves. “Yup!”

Zoro shifted, moving Sanji’s hands to pin them above his head. When the swordsman sighed, his warm breath ghosted over Sanji’s flushed cheeks – close, close, close, not close enough – and his chest brushed against Sanji’s. A featherlight touch, skin against flushed skin because Sanji had allowed a mermaid – or was it the fishman with the pretty eyes? – to undo the buttons of his shirt earlier and he’d forgotten to button them up again.

The next breath Sanji took was shaky.

His eyes were wide, staring up into darkness and searching it for the face and the grey eye he knew were there somewhere. But Zoro remained one with the shadows around them, a barrier between them and Sanji.

And Sanji was drunk. He couldn’t be blamed for the way he relaxed under that touch, body warm and sluggish and feeling like warm butter. If he hadn’t been drunk, he would’ve kicked at Zoro and shouted at him to get out of the room and let him sleep. He would’ve been embarrassed and felt too vulnerable and two years weren’t enough to change things between them.

Or he would’ve arched up against Zoro’s steady form and sighed into his mouth as he finally allowed himself to be selfish for once.

Instead, Sanji giggled and flailed his legs like a toddler or a lovesick fool. It earned him a heavy sigh and a fond mumble of “stupid cook” before Zoro released his hands and collapsed to the side of the bed.

There was no sound of a squished cat, so Vice-Captain had probably left them a while ago. Smart kitty.

Before Sanji could as much as stretch out his sore limbs, arms wrapped around him and tugged him into a warm, perfect body. Sanji blinked into the darkness, his brain requiring a moment longer to compute the breath warming the nape of his neck with every exhale and tickling the fine hairs there, the hand flexing against his stomach, the legs pressed up against the back of his own. The firm chest pressed against his back, separated only by the thin layer of his shirt.

“Zoro?” Sanji was almost afraid to breathe.

The soft hum rumbled against his back, a nose nuzzling against the crook of his neck and he unconsciously angled his head just so to allow easier access because that felt nice. And it was Zoro. Nothing bad would be allowed to happen.

A shaky breath. He curled his toes. This close, Zoro smelled of warmth and salt and the familiar musk that clung to most men, but underneath were lighter tones. The oil he used for his swords, his favorite sake that Sanji always made sure to keep in stock, the unmistakable scent of wood and ship and ocean and freedom and home.

Sanji could get drunk on that scent alone.

“Spoon,” he mumbled instead, prioritizing more important matters. “You turned me into a spoon.”

Pressed against him like a lover, Zoro groaned. Low and fond and everything Sanji would’ve dreamed about. Too bad Sanji was drunk and that this wasn’t real. His Zoro would never.

“Go to sleep, cook,” Zoro whispered against his skin and Sanji was helpless but to obey.

“Zoro is acting weird,” Sanji said, arms crossed and chewing slowly on his lit cigarette. The smoke was quickly swept up by the wind that Nami was currently reading, her eyes narrowed in concentration.

“Zoro is always weird,” was her simple, yet efficient, reply. That’s what Sanji loved about her.

He glared at the ocean instead, willing Her to give him a reply that would explain more than obvious facts. Not that he could fault Nami – never – but it would make sense that she hadn’t noticed. Zoro had been spending a lot of time around Sanji lately, so he probably saw more than they did.

“Weirder than usual, then,” he corrected.

The wind picked up, a sudden jerk to the side, but their navigator was the best on the Grand Line and the Thousand Sunny leaned with the wind. The sails picked it up, made it its own, letting it guide their home over the waves as smoothly as glass.

“Alright, you’ve piqued my interest.” Nami turned to him, one eyebrow raised and a hand on her hip. Her ponytail was whipping behind her, a stark orange against the deep blue. She truly looked like a goddess, in moments like these; wild and unrestrained. “What weird things have Zoro done that makes him even weirder than normal? Do we need to involve Chopper?”

Ah, Chopper might have some good insight. But the reindeer was also young and innocent, and Sanji would hate to be the one to break things down for him. No, better to wait a couple of years before traumatizing the doctor.

“He’s… clingy,” Sanji settled for.

Nami’s eyebrow sank. “Clingy? You’re calling him weird because he’s clingy?”

With a graceful hand, she swept out towards the crew gathered on the deck. Luffy was wrapped twice over around Usopp, his neck outstretched like an eldritch horror to try and take a bite out of the sniper’s ice cream. Robin sat to the side, smiling at the antics of their captain, hand petting Chopper and untangling any mats in his pelt.

Alright, Sanji admitted. More explanation was needed.

“He wasn’t this clingy before,” he tried, holding his cigarette between two fingers, twirling it slightly. He should put it out, wasn’t feeling the nicotine anymore. “He came into the kitchen earlier and gave me a hug. A distraction to steal more sake, undoubtedly, but he didn’t seem smug about it. He acted like nothing was wrong!”

“And?” The eyebrow was raised again, head tilted slightly to the side. Her eyes had narrowed as she looked him over, studying him like she would weather patterns. “He’s always been clingy. Especially with you.”

Sanji almost dropped the cigarette. “N-no! He hasn’t always been like this!”

“Please, he’s barely been able to leave you alone,” Nami huffed with an elegant roll of her eyes, leaning on the railing next to Sanji. She smelled of fresh tangerines. He should make a tangerine cheesecake for later. “You’re giving him so many mixed signals. It’s a bit sad to watch, honestly. Absolutely hilarious though.”

Mixed signals? What kind of mixed signals could Sanji possibly have given him? They fought like they’d always done, bickering and sparring without drawing blood, concealing compliments in cleverly-worded insults. If anything, Zoro was the one who had given mixed signals! He had been the one to hug Sanji out of the blue all those years ago – the memory imprinted in his brain – and he had been the one to ignore Sanji for days afterwards! And Zoro had been the one to softly smile at him and keep him company in the galley while he cooked and had made a little more of an effort of showering after Sanji had loudly complained about his stench that one time.

Zoro had been the one to curl around him on a drunken, dark night miles under the ocean’s surface.

No, Sanji wasn’t the one who had given mixed signals. He wasn’t the one who had been acting weird.

“Hilarious, huh?” Sanji huffed, stumping out his cigarette on the heel of his shoe. “I’m guessing you won’t tell me how to solve it then, sweet Nami?”

“You are adorable.” Nami grinned back at him, reaching out to pinch his cheek and Sanji let her only because she was so wonderful. “I’ve got too much money hanging on this bet. Figure it out yourself, hun.”

Sanji began to observe the first mate.

He had been watching Zoro for a while already – impossible not to when the man had all his best goods out for open view and Sanji was only human – but now he actually paid attention. A lot of things could be found in the things not said, implications between the lines, undertones of secrets that no one would catch unless they knew the words for it.

Of course, it would be an insult to every human on the seas if he implied Zoro to be smart enough for such subtlety. The man knew his numbers – Sanji would give him that – but when it came to social interactions, the man was a rock.

No, correction; a one-celled marimo.

But Sanji had learned, through the place he had grown up in and the lies woven into the pain lining the castle walls, through the countless adventures with his crew and fighting side-by-side with a woman who’d been a spy since childhood, that sometimes the person wasn’t aware of how much they gave away. Zoro might not intentionally hide anything, but if he was hiding it, there would be signs.

Those were the signs Sanji looked for.

And soon, Sanji had to wonder just how blind he had been.

He watched as Zoro slept on the sofa in the galley like it belonged to him, stretched out and completely relaxed. He listened as Zoro shared small tidbits of information from his past, unprompted and spoken in soft voices in the late evening when the rest of the crew had fallen asleep. (And he learned of Kuina, of a promise made. The value of such a treasure.)

He noticed the way Zoro would make sure to squish any bugs before the scream could even make its way up Sanji’s throat, spiders and centipedes and other crawling things he didn’t wish to know the name of. Never once was this mocked, never once treated as a weakness; Zoro had somehow just known of his fear despite Sanji’s best tries to hide it, and had adapted accordingly without needing to.

And he froze every morning as Zoro joined him in the kitchen. Tired and sweaty after a morning workout, he’d slump down at the table and watch the chef in his duties while dozing off in the warm sunlight. On the rare occasion when Zoro had woken up early or taken the night shift or simply hadn’t opted to train that morning before breakfast, he would greet Sanji with a warm embrace from behind. Clinging to him as though he could siphon Sanji’s energy for himself.

The mosshead should really take up drinking coffee instead.

The suggestion, when voiced out loud in a loud grumble and a half-hearted kick to a firm shin, was only met with a mumbled-out protest against his shoulder that was tender enough to send goosebumps down his skin. Sanji hadn’t suggested it again.

All of these things, summarized and analyzed and categorized into stages of weirdness, didn’t make much sense. But Zoro didn’t seem sick either, and Chopper had giggled a little too high-pitched when asked, wiggling from side to side and covering his mouth lest he let any secrets spill and summon Nami’s wrath.

It annoyed Sanji to no end. To be out of the loop like this. Missing something that seemed obvious to the rest of the crew and yet he couldn’t see it himself.

And so he was forced to come to his own conclusions.

Zoro had been spying on him. It was the only explanation as to why he knew all those things about Sanji that he had never told anyone else, his own secrets that he kept so close to his heart that he doubted he’d ever tell a crewmate about it.

(He’d confess to Luffy if asked. But his captain would never demand such a thing.)

As for the gentle touches, the soft smiles directed his way only when the others couldn’t see, the way he’d curled up around Sanji at Fishman Island and the way he kept stealing hugs when Sanji was relaxed and calm and content and wouldn’t kick him away-

Well. There were a few reasons for that behavior. Many of them were ones Sanji would never dare consider. Which left only two possibilities; either Zoro was a very cuddly person in general – which wasn’t the case because he ever only allowed Chopper and Luffy to cling to him – or Zoro saw Sanji as weaker, someone to be protected. That was the role of the first mate, wasn’t it? Protecting the crew when their captain couldn’t.

And Sanji didn’t know how to feel about that.

Through it all, Vice-Captain would join him in the evenings, curling up on his chest as he took a well-deserved nap before preparing dinner. The cat would listen to his nonsensical ramblings and complaints without batting an eye, watching him curiously with twitching whiskers and loud purrs.

The cat would answer his whispered questions with small chirps and meows. And on those dark nights where the moon was hidden and the ocean was an endless pool of ink, when the itch underneath Sanji’s skin was close to unbearable, the cat would find him without fault.

Small paws kneading biscuits into his leg or stomach or chest or wherever it could reach. One grey eye blinking slowly in affection. It would let Sanji press close, breathing in its scent of salt and warm sunlight, would let him press a soft kiss to an even softer head. And the cat would remain silent and still as Sanji whispered his secrets in the dark kitchen, hiding the words in soft, soft, soft fur made out of shadow.

Where they would be kept safe and secure without judgement.

Punk Hazard happened, an alliance was made with the same pirate they all owed their captain’s life to, and then the liberation of Dressrosa with all its chaos. After, the crew was split up.

But unlike the last time, Sanji wasn’t alone. He knew the others would catch up.

Zou was a heaven of gentle greetings and the minks were lovely in all their different shapes and sizes. Vice-Captain wouldn’t be found, but Sanji didn’t doubt that the cat would’ve loved the living, wandering island.

And then everything was ruined with the call of his name. His true, hidden name, the one he had torn off and abandoned when he was eight and small and afraid.

Now, it was spoken as a demand.

Vinsmoke.

The world crumbled around him and Nami – sweet, smart, gorgeous Nami – was screaming and unable to understand the situation at hand and he knew she hated when that was the case. But he couldn’t explain it. He couldn’t fix it.

He had been stupid. Stupid to think that he could escape his past. Stupid to think that he, the weakest link and useless son, would never have a purpose in his father’s plans. Stupid to think that he could be free.

In the end, the choice was simple.

His freedom in exchange for his crew’s.

Really, it wasn’t a choice at all.

He just wished he could’ve apologized to his captain. And thanked him for the adventures they’d shared. But he was lucky that neither Luffy nor Zoro were there.

They would’ve never let him go.

There is not much to be said about this time in-between.

Shackles were placed on his wrists, threatening everything that defined him as different from the Vinsmokes. His title was restored – prince, spoken with such a disdain that Sanji could feel bile rise every time – and he met his bride-to-be.

Pudding was gorgeous. Young and insecure and forced into this just as he was. All for the enjoyment of their parents.

There was no happiness to be found there. No happiness to be made.

And then Luffy arrived.

Beaten and battle-bruised. Shouting at Sanji to follow him, to return to their crew – their family – and he couldn’t even comprehend that Sanji was doing this willingly. That he was trying to save his captain and family and everything he held dear. Things were never that complicated with Luffy.

And Sanji couldn’t explain it to him in words that the younger could understand. Protecting the crew meant beating up warlords and false gods, not bowing to the will of an unwanted family who’d done nothing but punish him for being born.

It wasn’t that simple.

Sanji’s heart still shattered.

That evening, he learned the truth from Pudding herself. The elaborate plan of killing him and his rejected family as soon as the wedding was done. Politics and betrayal and a world so far removed from the freedom Luffy had taught him.

But if there was one thing Sanji refused, it was to die for the sake of the Vinsmokes.

Luffy, his captain whom he would follow to the end and beyond, was waiting where Sanji had left him. Beaten and bleeding and hungry and still grinning at Sanji without a hint of anger or rejection.

Sanji didn’t deserve him. Didn’t deserve the crew. Didn’t deserve the freedom. Didn’t deserve to live.

(But just this once, couldn’t he be selfish?)

And Luffy wrapped his rubbery, secure arms around him and told him like a truth of the world, that wanting freedom is never selfish, but let’s be – selfish and brave – and take what we are owed.

Not even gods can stand in our way.

Sanji believed him.

There was nothing his captain couldn’t do.

A ruined wedding and an inevitable fight later, the Strawhats were on their way again. Sailing towards an island suffering under oppression and famine.

Wano was everything and nothing Sanji had expected.

Zoro fit in as though he’d been born there.

It rendered Sanji speechless for a moment, when he saw the familiar green hair and steely gaze and the three well-cared-for swords. The first mate didn’t ask if he was alright, could already read all of Sanji’s secrets and untold truths in the line of his shoulders, in the way his lips parted in muted wonder at the swordsman before him.

“You’re not angry?” Sanji asked once they’d rescued a child and found a moment of stillness, a moment to talk undisturbed. “I abandoned the crew, my duties, my captain.”

(I abandoned you.)

Zoro scoffed, a simple shrug of his wide shoulders. “I bet you’re angry on my behalf, so no need for me to bother. ‘sides, you let them off easy. I wouldn’t have been as kind, after everything they’d done.”

In the pause that followed, Sanji watched Zoro, noted his relaxed posture, the power radiating from him like a second skin. The softness of his smile when he noticed Sanji’s stare and turned fully to him.

“I never told you about them. The Vinsmokes.”

“Sure you did,” Zoro huffed back, amusement in his husky voice. “You’re just being silly, cook.”

With that, Zoro turned back to the adventure at hand. Sanji stared at his back for a moment, wondering and wondering and wondering, before running to catch up with the swordsman.

There was an offering made to a god; a simple bowl of rice, the last the family had to spare.

And the god accepted it with warm hands and a bright smile and a determination that would move mountains.

Their god – bright and rubbery and shining like the sun – ordered the liberation of Wano.

And so, it was done.

In the aftermath, all of Sanji was aching. He sat slumped against the wall, watching the party going on around him. The laughter ringing in the air, their captain – the Sun God – in the center of it all.

A soft chirp to his side made him look down, meeting the grey eye of Vice-Captain.

“What’re you doing here,” he mumbled, picking the cat up gently in his arms. The feline immediately began purring, body relaxed and warm. “I thought you were back at the ship.”

A disgruntled sigh answered him and he couldn’t help but laugh, nuzzling the cat closer to his chest. The cat stretched out, covering as much of Sanji as its small body could. Sanji lifted a hand to scratch between its ears.

“I hope you stayed out of the fight,” he jokingly mumbled, watching their captain invite a samurai to a wild dance with flailing limbs and bright laughter. “Don’t know what I’d do if I lost you.”

Spoken like a magical charm, the weight on his chest shifted. Stretched. Grew.

Steady arms wrapped around his waist, a cold nose brushing his jugular, green hair tickling his nose and smelling of soap from a recent bath. And from one moment to the next, Sanji’s lap was filled with the heavy warmth of the swordsman.

“What-“ Sanji began, voice but a croak as the words stuck in his throat like thorns.

“You’re not gonna lose me, shitty cook,” Zoro mumbled against his skin. Intimate and soft. A promise spoken as an unshakable truth. “And I won’t let you go again.”

Sanji blinked.

Zoro hugged him closer. His thick thighs bracketing Sanji in, keeping him pinned against the wall, arms holding him steady against a chest that shouldn’t be so soft.

And everything clicked into place at the same time. A realization so sudden, so clear, that it seemed to shift the world just a tiny bit to the side. A glitch being corrected to finally make sense-

“WHAT THE FUCK!”

Startled, Zoro tensed but didn’t pull back. One grey eye narrowing as he watched out for any danger, a low rumble in his chest that made Sanji’s pulse flutter like a small, living thing.

“No, wait,” Sanji continued in a more reasonable tone. He placed his hands on Zoro’s shoulders – wide and warm and so perfect – and pushed him back. At an arm’s length, Zoro looked a bit lost, confused, slightly annoyed. “Lemme rephrase that.”

A deep breath.

Zoro’s hand clamped over his mouth before he could let out the wordless scream loud enough to wake the dead. And now the swordsman looked truly annoyed, a slight exasperation coloring it warm and fuzzy at the edges.

“Stop screaming,” Zoro muttered, his shoulders relaxing under Sanji’s touch. “What’s gotten into you?”

The hand was removed from his mouth, with the implicit trust the mosshead always showed him.

Well, too bad for him, but Sanji was not done screaming.

“YOU’RE IN MY LAP!” A pause, Sanji batting away the hand raising in a clear threat. “Fucking- ZORO! SHITTY MOSSHEAD!”

“WHAT!” Zoro, like the kindergartener he was, matched his tone. “Stop acting stupid! We’ve done this lots of times before!” A pause, frown deepening. “Is it about the crew? They already know about us.”

Spluttering nonsense at that and unable to form a coherent thought, Sanji flailed under Zoro. Not that he had a good range of movement, still aching from the battle and with Zoro still wrapped around him like he belonged there.

“NO- YOU- SHIT!” A loud groan left Sanji in a rush and he dunked his head back against the wall. Big mistake, Zoro leaned closer to him, worry written in the wrinkle of his brow, his breath ghosting over Sanji’s lips. “You were a cat. Zoro. A CAT! Holy fucking shit, you’re a fucking cat and I-“

“Oh, did Sanji figure it out?” came Usopp’s too cheery voice from the side. He sounded slightly drunk. “Finally!”

Sanji’s brain short-circuited.

“HAH! Pay up, Robin, Usopp! You too, Franky!” Nami gloated somewhere in the dancing and laughing crowd, her brilliant laughter louder than anyone else’s. “Told you Zoro would mess up somewhere!”

“A fair assumption,” Robin chimed in. “I expected it to happen after we’ve found the One Piece, but this is just as well.”

In the middle of attention, Luffy laughed.

Traitors.

They were all traitors.

“Idiot cook,” Zoro had the guts to grumble, settling down against Sanji and tucking his head into the crook of his neck. Getting comfortable in a way that was so, so familiar. “Don’t pretend you didn’t know.”

Sanji felt his soul leave his body. “I didn’t! You’re the idiot, idiot moss.”

Completely ignoring him, Zoro nuzzled closer. Lips brushed Sanji’s pulse, sending his breath into a hitch and causing his face to flame so brightly he felt like combusting and suddenly he was too aware of Zoro against him – his scent and his warmth and every place they were touching which was everywhere and just – Zoro – and it all made no sense except that it did and oh-

Oh.

They were both idiots.

(Sanji could compromise like that.)

Groaning in defeat, he let his head fall down to an inviting shoulder, hoping his hair hid his embarrassment from the rest of their crew, who were currently trading berries like a busy market.

Tentatively, he tried out the waters. Zoro had said they’d been doing this – curled up together, cuddling – for a while and technically he was correct, even if Sanji hadn’t known it at the time. So this should be fine, right? He wouldn’t be pushed away and called disgusting or be ridiculed for this. Right?

He let his hands slide over those wide shoulders, wrapping around a neck that smelled of salt and warmth and freedom. There, he settled. Relaxed and home.

Zoro gave a content little sigh and everything was right in the world.