Archive of Our Own

In addition to being some of the unluckiest bastards alive, the fleet of Marines currently ruining Sanji’s evening have shit timing.

Pivoting to kick a weedy sailor over the side of the Sunny, Sanji shakes his wet hair out of his eyes. His cigarette refuses to stay lit and he’s soaked through to his socks, so he’s only too happy to take his ire out on any Marine stupid enough to come within kicking range.

Rain pours down in heavy sheets around him, limiting visibility and leaving pools of water collecting on the Sunny’s wooden deck. The storm they'd been expecting all afternoon hit just as the Marines arrived, and it’s exactly as intense as Nami warned them it would be.

Sanji can see just far enough to keep an eye on Nami and Jinbe at the helm and not much further. The roar of the stormy sea and howling winds block out most of the sound of battle around him aside from his own shoe rubber connecting with flesh. Not knowing how the others are faring makes Sanji’s stomach knot, but it’s his job to ensure their navigator and helmsman can concentrate on guiding them through the storm without being bothered. He just needs to trust the others to handle their own business.

Planting his hands on the soaked deck, Sanji does a quick spinning kick to launch three hulking officers into the sea at once. It feels a little nostalgic to fight without Infrit Jambe, but igniting his legs now would only cause plumes of steam to erupt off him and fuck up everyone’s visibility even worse. Besides, he hardly needs to bring his A-game for these idiots.

The Sunny pitches and bobs on the angry sea, the storm worsening as the fight wears on.

Thankfully, the battle doesn’t seem destined to last for long.

Sanji is in the process of kicking some mustachioed jackass’s nose through the back of his skull when a massive explosion erupts from the direction of the Marine vessel. Before he has time to worry, he hears Luffy’s familiar cackle overhead followed by the heavy thud of boots on wood as Zoro lands nearby, clearly done wreaking havoc on the enemy ship. Sanji spares the swordsman a quick glance, unsurprised to find him covered in blood despite the rain. The smirk on his face suggests very little of it is his own.

“Bet I’ve taken out more Marines than you, dartbrow,” Zoro shouts around Wado’s hilt when he spots him, wasting no time sending the Marine closest to him to the deck in multiple pieces.

Sanji snarls and kicks a nearby sailor so hard that he flies past Zoro and into the ocean with a satisfying splash.

“Not a chance, shit swordsman!”

“Stop bickering and get this over with so we can get out of here!” Nami shouts from her spot by Jinbe’s shoulder. She looks beautiful and fiery even soaked to the bone.

“Of course, Nami-san! Right away!” Sanji calls before shooting Zoro a dirty look for upsetting their lovely navigator.

The indignant look on the idiot’s face is hilarious.

“What are you looking at me for? What about–“

Everything erupts into chaos in a split second.

In a stroke of spectacular bad luck, two things happen at that exact moment.

First, a bolt of lightning tears out of the sky and strikes the deck near where Zoro is standing, blasting the swordsman off his feet with shocking force.

Second, a massive wave crashes into the side of the ship, sending them pitching hard to one side.

Sanji barely keeps his own footing and can only watch in horror as Zoro collides hard with the banister with a sickening thump. He manages to hang onto Kitetsu and Enma, but Wado is sent flying in the opposite direction, spinning wildly through the air before plummeting off the side of the ship.

Time freezes as Sanji watches the white sword vanish from view.

He doesn’t have time to stop and think and make a rational decision. Sanji only has a split second to register Zoro groaning and stirring against the banister—charred but alive—and the familiar haki signatures of Robin, Luffy, Chopper and Brook all still firmly planted on the ship before he’s sprinting across the deck.

“Jinbe!” he calls through the storm as he runs.

“Go!” Jinbe responds immediately, clearly understanding that Sanji is handing the responsibility to protect Nami and now Zoro over to him.

Before Sanji fully realizes what he’s doing, he’s hurdling over the Sunny’s railing and diving straight into the angry sea below. He’s pretty sure he hears Nami scream his name a split second before he hits the water, but it’s too late to turn back.

The ocean is frigid and furious, immediately tossing him violently towards the side of the ship. Sanji barely manages to kick his legs hard enough to propel himself away from the pitching hull, narrowly avoiding being dashed against the wood and cracking his skull like a raw egg. He only gives himself a few seconds to swim away from the Sunny before taking a deep breath and descending into the depths.

He already lost precious seconds, and the ocean is completely opaque from the storm when he opens his eyes in the stinging seawater. Continuing to kick down deeper into the depths, he desperately tries to center himself despite the chaos of the stormy sea around him.

Calling heavily on his observation haki, Sanji searches the roiling darkness below for anything familiar.

Most objects don’t have haki signatures of their own—weapons can carry the intentions of their wielder in battle, but the signature vanishes as soon as they’re set down—but sometimes Sanji can catch a slight impression from items of particular power or significance. He noticed it first with Luffy’s straw hat and later with the poneglyphs.

Thankfully, Zoro’s swords were among the first objects he learned to recognize.

Kicking hard and searching desperately through the vast sea around him, Sanji finally feels a tiny pinprick of something familiar below.

Haki signatures for objects are vague, more suggestions than anything tangible. Luffy’s hat feels like the distant sound of mischievous laughter. Zoro’s swords all feel a bit like the swordsman himself but also have distinct signatures of their own. Even sheathed, Kitetsu gives off the impression of a viper in tall grass, coiled and ready to strike. It’s unsettling, but Sanji still prefers Kitetsu’s familiar deviousness to the newest sword; Enma feels like a yawning chasm or the gaping maw of a beast. Something dark and hungry.

Wado is different. Not only is the white sword clearly special to Zoro, carrying by far the strongest sense of the swordsman himself, but her haki signature is also the least threatening of the three. She still feels dangerous, like any powerful weapon should, but it’s a serene sort of strength—something like a still, deep body of water or Zoro’s powerful form held still in meditation.

Sanji chases that familiar sensation deep into the ocean, even as his lungs start to burn and the pressure from the water above threatens to crush him. Wado has been with the Straw Hats even longer than Sanji, and she travels with Zoro from room to room like he can’t bear to part from her for more than a moment. Sanji refuses to let the ocean have her.

The pressure of the water is almost unbearable by the time Sanji reaches out and closes his fingers around sharp steel. His heart soars even as he has no choice but to hang onto the blade tightly lest he lose her again in the turbulent water. His palm stings even after he shifts to grip her hilt, but he doesn’t have time to worry about that. He’s a strong swimmer, but he’s no fishman. The cold is soaking into his bones and his lungs can only tolerate so long without air.

This deep, it’s impossible to tell exactly which direction is up, so he reaches out his haki again, this time to locate the Sunny. Once he finds the familiar signatures of his nakama—alarmingly far away, but no point worrying about that now—he puts everything he has left into a furious bluewalk towards the surface.

It takes longer than he expects, and the ocean becomes angrier and angrier the higher he ascends. Sending quiet thanks to Iva for working him so hard back on Kamabakka, Sanji pushes his legs long past the point they should give out.

His lungs scream for oxygen and his head throbs from the rapid ascent by the time Sanji finally bursts out of the water. Gasping raggedly for air and clinging to Wado’s hilt, he treads water for just a moment, trying to calm his hammering heart and woozy head.

The storm has calmed slightly since he went under, so he’s able to hear it when Usopp yells his name. Glancing up, he sees Usopp pointing frantically towards him from the deck of the Sunny nearby. Sanji waves the sword triumphantly at him and gets an enthusiastic cheer in response.

A rubbery arm appears out of the rain a split second later to haul him out of the water and back up onto the deck.

Landing with a wet thud, Sanji allows himself to sprawl tiredly on the Sunny’s familiar deck, gasping for air. He only rests there for a few seconds, registering the fact that the fight with the Marines seems to be over before he forces himself to sit up. It’s a wasted effort, though, because he’s immediately knocked back down by Luffy hurling himself into his arms and winding his limbs around him like an affectionate boa constrictor.

“Sanjiiiii,” he whines, mashing his face into Sanji’s wet hair and rubbing like a cat.

“Get off me,” Sanji wheezes even as he uses his free hand to thump Luffy on the back. It’s half reassurance and half retribution.

“Come on, buddy. You’re strangling him,” Usopp says, cementing his place as Sanji’s current favorite crewmate (of the men, of course) by stretching Luffy’s ear until their captain whines and reluctantly releases Sanji from his tight grip.

Desperately trying to catch up on oxygen, Sanji doesn’t notice Nami’s arrival until she’s bonking him on the head with her climatact just hard enough to hurt.

“What were you thinking, you absolute moron?” she asks angrily. “Don’t ever do that again!”

Sanji looks up to ask what he’s done to upset her and is horrified to find her glaring at him with watery eyes. He wilts like a scolded dog.

“I never meant to make you upset, mellorine,” he pleads from his place sprawled miserably at her feet. “I’ll never do it again. If I could only ask what exactly I’ve done to upset you–”

Nami throws her hands up in the air with a disgusted “ugh!” and stomps back towards the helm where Jinbe is still steering them through the remnants of the storm. When Jinbe spots Sanji looking, he gives him a toothy grin and a supportive thumbs-up.

Sanji looks around helplessly to see if Luffy or Usopp know what upset Nami.

Luffy picks his nose and Usopp just stares at him like he is, in fact, a moron.

Sanji opens his mouth, but Usopp’s eyes suddenly go wide and his face goes a little pale.

“Sanji, man… your hand,” he says weakly.

Glancing down, it takes Sanji a moment to realize what Usopp means. His free hand is perfectly fine, of course, but the hand still wrapped around Wado’s hilt is dripping copious amounts of blood and seawater all over the deck. The sight makes Sanji’s vision swim a little and the pain in his palm and fingers suddenly registers.

“Oh.”

Wado really must be a special blade to cut through his freakish exoskeleton.

“Chopper will fix it,” Luffy says, suddenly serious. “Don’t worry, Sanji. I’ll get him.”

“Wait!” Sanji says, scrambling to his feet to make a grab for Luffy with his good hand. Unfortunately their captain slingshots himself towards the infirmary before Sanji can even make contact, and Sanji is left standing there with an empty hand and a swimming head.

Sanji turns his gaze to Usopp who looks a little green around the gills.

“Zoro,” Sanji says insistently. “Chopper must be with Zoro, right? We shouldn’t bother him with this.”

As unsettling as the sight of his bloody hand is, the sickening thump of Zoro’s charred body colliding with the railing is still fresh in his mind. He’s alarmingly lightheaded and his hand stings, but Sanji can still stand and hold onto Wado without too much trouble. Whatever damage he took can wait.

“Zoro is fine,” Usopp reassures him. He reaches for Sanji’s wounded hand but relents when Sanji pulls it away protectively. Still, he hovers near Sanji’s shoulder, glancing nervously in the direction of the infirmary, “Well, fine by Zoro’s standards, anyway. He freaked out when he realized what happened, though.”

Before Sanji can ask what Zoro freaking out even looks like, there’s a burst of noise and movement from the direction of the infirmary. Chopper emerges with Luffy hot on his heels, gaze immediately locking on to Sanji’s bloody hand.

“Oh no! Someone call a doctor!” Chopper wails.

“We did! It’s you!!” Usopp shouts back.

Sanji sighs in relief listening to the usual refrain. If they’re acting stupid, Zoro must really be fine.

When Chopper and Luffy reach them, Sanji holds Wado out to Luffy. He finds himself reluctant to hand the sword to anyone other than Zoro, but his hand does need to be looked at and Luffy is the person Zoro trusts the most in the world. Wado should be with him until she can be returned to Zoro. Luffy takes the bloody sword with uncharacteristically careful hands and gives him a nod in response to the unspoken request.

Mission accomplished, Sanji gives Chopper what he hopes is a reassuring smile and promptly passes out.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

He wakes up in the infirmary a few hours later with an oxygen mask over his mouth and possibly the worst headache he’s ever had in his life.

Chopper helps him sit up and take a few sips of water before pushing the mask firmly over his mouth again and giving him a lengthy and incredibly detailed lecture about the threat of something called decompression sickness. Sanji does his best to listen and nod along despite his brain feeling like it’s about to explode. He hates being responsible for the fearful wobble he can hear in the little reindeer’s voice.

“I’ll be more careful next time,” he lies when Chopper finally finishes, ruffling the particularly soft tuft of fur the reindeer often hides under his hat with his good hand.

“That doesn’t make me feel better, you bastard!” Chopper protests, wiggling adorably.

Sanji’s gaze is drawn to his bandaged hand, the sight making something heavy lodge in his throat. He can practically hear Zeff yelling at him all the way from the East Blue.

Chopper’s wiggling stops and he rests his little hooves on Sanji’s arm.

“Your hand is going to be okay,” he promises in an embarrassingly gentle voice. “I had to put a few stitches in the cut on your palm, but none of the wounds are too deep. With your accelerated healing, you should be totally back to normal in a few days.”

Should be.

Sanji gives Chopper a smile he hopes looks less wobbly than it feels.

“Of course I will be. I have the best doctor in the world.”

Chopper protests and wiggles even harder than before, and Sanji takes the opportunity to lie back down, drained already. There’s an IV in his arm that he suspects is full of something more than saline. His body feels heavy and there’s a suspicious lack of pain coming from his damaged hand.

“Get some rest,” Chopper says once he’s done dancing. “You can get out of here in the morning if you promise to take it easy.”

Already fighting the pull of sleep, Sanji glances around the infirmary one more time and spots a pile of familiar, charred clothing in a heap in the far corner. His heart lurches.

“Zoro?” he asks sleepily, barely able to keep his eyes open but needing to know.

Chopper looks torn between annoyed and fond.

“He’ll be okay. Some bruising and minor eletrical burns, but nothing nearly as bad as when we were all dealing with Enel. He should be resting, but… it’s Zoro,” he says with a resigned sigh. He hesitates and then adds, “I think he’s more worried about you than anything.”

Sanji wants to ask him what he means, but he’s asleep between one breath and the next.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

Sanji feels both better and worse the next time he wakes up. His body aches all over and his wounded hand throbs, but he’s lucid and his head no longer feels like it’s about to explode. When he sits up, he’s pleased to find that both his oxygen mask and IV have already been removed.

It’s the middle of the night and the infirmary is empty when he glances around. Hopefully that means Chopper is comfy in his bunk and getting some well-deserved rest.

Without the oxygen mask or IV, Sanji figures he might as well do the same. The infirmary bed isn’t the most comfortable, and the idea of spending the rest of the night in his own bunk surrounded by his nakama is appealing enough to be worth the trek.

Chopper changed him into clean, dry pajamas at some point—he sincerely hopes it was just Chopper—but his feet are bare when he places them on the ground. Wrinkling his nose in distaste, he briefly considers putting his socks and shoes back on for the walk back to the bunkroom but quickly decides against it when he sees how damp his clothes still look.

His legs feel weak but steady enough when he stands. Resolving to come back in the morning to collect his things, Sanji lets himself out through his galley. It’s pitch black inside this time of night, but he knows the room well enough to maneuver easily by memory alone. Once he steps out onto the balcony overlooking the Sunny’s lawn deck, the lights dotted around the Sunny and glow from the nearly full moon make it much easier to see where he’s going.

It's a testament to how tired he is that he doesn’t notice Zoro until he’s most of the way down the stairs. The swordsman is leaning his elbows on the railing on the far side of the lawn, gazing out at the ocean with a pilfered bottle of sake dangling from one hand. He’s dressed in cleaner clothes and far less singed than the last time Sanji saw him, but he’s also covered in significantly more bandages. For once, he seems to have left Chopper’s handiwork alone for at least a few hours.

Sanji’s heart squeezes at the sight of him.

Rubbing his chest, Sanji hesitates for only a moment before taking the last few steps down onto the lawn. The grass is still wet beneath his feet, but he minds it less than he would have thought. At some point while he was sleeping, they’d sailed into a summery stretch of the Grand Line, and the damp blades feel refreshingly cool on his feet.

Zoro doesn’t acknowledge his approach, simply gazing out at the dark ocean stretched out in front of them. He’s undoubtedly aware of his presence all the same. They've never been able to sneak up on each other.

Coming up to lean against the railing beside him, Sanji thinks longingly of the pack of cigarettes he ruined diving into the ocean earlier. He’d kill for a smoke.

Sanji turns his head to observe Zoro’s sharp profile, admiring the glint of moonlight in his lone eye.

“Cook,” Zoro finally greets, voice flat. He doesn’t turn to look at him, simply taking a swig of his drink and continuing to gaze out over the water.

Zoro is hard to read on a good day, and in the dim moonlight, Sanji can’t make sense of the expression on his face at all.

“Marimo,” Sanji replies for lack of anything better to say.

They stand together quietly for a few minutes, the silence only broken by the sound of wind rustling through sails and the occasional slosh of sake as Zoro brings the bottle up to his lips to drink. After a beat, Zoro’s free hand drops to rest on Wado’s hilt where she’s strapped to his hip. It’s a familiar habit, but the sight of his tan fingers curling loosely over the white bindings warms Sanji’s heart. It’s good to see Wado back where she belongs.

It calms something inside Sanji, a tension he hadn’t realized he’d been carrying evaporating off his shoulders.

Taking a deep breath, he stretches his arms over his head, working a few kinks out of his sore body before rocking back on his heels.

“Well, you’re a riveting conversationalist as always, marimo,” he says dryly. “But it’s late, and we should probably get some rest for Chopper’s sake if nothing else.”

Already thinking longingly of his bunk, Sanji starts to take a step back and is stopped by Zoro’s hand darting out to grab his wrist.

“What–”

Zoro finally turns towards him, holding him in place. His palm is warm and calloused against Sanji’s skin, but Sanji barely notices it. He’s too distracted by the sudden intensity in Zoro’s gaze. His expression is serious and a little wild around the edges, and Sanji finds himself pinned in place by the force of it.

“I’m not going to thank you,” Zoro says.

Sanji bristles. Since when do the two of them thank each other for anything? Especially when it’s just doing their job. They protect the crew together. They’ve always been perfectly aligned on that, if nothing else. Wado is a part of the crew, so of course Sanji would keep her safe when Zoro couldn’t.

Insulted, Sanji tries to pull his arm out of Zoro’s grip and is annoyed when the other man doesn’t budge.

“Yeah, well, who’s asking?” Sanji snaps. “I don’t want your shitty thanks.”

If anything, Zoro looks more aggravated, brow furrowing and muscles in his jaw twitching. Sanji has no idea where his frustration is coming from; Sanji is the one who’s being scolded over nothing.

“You don’t get it,” Zoro grits out.

Sanji throws his free hand in the air in exasperation.

“Clearly not! Though I don’t know how you can expect me to understand shit when you’re being even more monosyllabic than usual this evening.”

Zoro’s brow furrows, forehead wrinkling.

“It means you’re being even more of an uncommunicative lump than normal,” Sanji clarifies, sounding bitchy even to his own ears.

“I know what it means!” Zoro snaps.

Even in the faint moonlight, Sanji can tell Zoro’s face is turning red.

Sanji smirks and Zoro sighs noisily through his nose, closing his eye in a visible attempt to regain his composure. He maintains a firm grip on Sanji’s wrist, so Sanji has no choice but to wait him out.

His own temper cools as he watches Zoro gather himself. He’s being a real pain in Sanji’s ass, but Sanji knows Zoro sometimes needs time to put his thoughts in order before he speaks. Words don’t come naturally to him. If he’s trying this hard, obviously there’s something he genuinely wants Sanji to understand here.

Sanji ignores the insidious voice in the back of his head whispering that he knows exactly what this is about. After the mess he made of everything in Zou and Whole Cake Island, how can he expect to still be trusted as an equal partner in looking after their crew? How can he expect Zoro, of all people, to just accept him back like nothing’s changed?

Sanji’s stomach twists unpleasantly, palms clammy.

Finally, Zoro’s eye reopens. There’s steady resolve on his face as he tugs Sanji’s wrist up until his bandaged hand hovers between them. Sanji blinks at it in confusion.

“I’m not going to thank you,” Zoro repeats, quiet but firm. “Do you understand me, cook? I’m never going to thank you for this.”

Sanji blinks.

Oh.

Oh, he should have realized. They protect the crew together, yes, but Zoro shoulders the responsibility for the Straw Hats’ safety beyond the point of reason. Any damage they take is his own personal failure as their protector. Even when it’s something he can’t possibly have prevented. Even when the one injured is Sanji.

At first, Sanji took it as a slight to his pride when Zoro acted responsible for his well-being—he’s just as strong as the shitty swordsman and perfectly capable of taking care of himself and the others, thank you very much—but since Thriller Bark, he understands it better. Zoro’s need to keep him safe isn’t about Sanji at all. It’s about Zoro. Neither of them is great at verbalizing their affection for their nakama, so instead Sanji keeps them fed and Zoro keeps them safe.

The idea of any of his nakama going to bed hungry is unthinkable to Sanji, so he may not like Zoro’s overprotectiveness being directed towards him, but he does understand it.

The little seed of warmth he feels in his chest when he’s near Zoro first took root around Thriller Bark as well. Sanji knows nothing will ever come of that particular impossible dream, but it’s as precious to him as the All Blue all the same.  

The warmth he feels for Zoro glows in his heart now, softening his annoyance into fond exasperation.

“This,” Sanji says, wiggling his sore fingers between them, “was my decision to make. I don’t want you to thank me for jack shit, but don’t expect me to apologize either.”

Zoro frowns harder, expression turning thunderous.

“Cook–“

“Are you honestly going to try to tell me I should have let Wado sink?” Sanji asks, cocking an eyebrow at him.

Zoro’s frown turns petulant and he doesn’t respond.

“That’s what I thought,” Sanji crows. “Now, next time–”

“There won’t be a next time,” Zoro hisses, dead serious.

Sanji can tell he means it, the fool.

“Oh? Are you a clairvoyant moss now?”

Zoro’s hand tightens around Sanji’s wrist as he steps further into his space. The warmth radiating off his body soaks straight through Sanji’s thin pajamas and into his skin, making his heart skip a beat.

“I will never lose my grip on Wado again,” Zoro declares fiercely, like that’s a pledge he can reasonably make.

“It wasn’t exactly in your control, marimo. You got hit by lightning,” Sanji points out.

“No I didn’t,” Zoro says stubbornly.

Sanji’s eyebrows climb towards his hairline.

“It hit near me–“ Zoro starts to say, and Sanji can’t help himself. He’s so tired and so warm from Zoro’s proximity, and before he knows it, he’s throwing his head back and laughing right in his face.

Zoro looks confused and a little insulted by his reaction which only makes Sanji laugh harder. It feels like it’s been ages since Sanji laughed this hard—since before the New World, before Marineford, before even Thriller Bark, maybe—and it feels amazing even when it makes him cough a bit at the end.

Maybe Chopper’s right about cutting back on the cigarettes.

Sanji has tears in his eyes by the time he manages to pull himself back together, and he’s still snickering when he meets Zoro’s gaze again.

Zoro is watching him with a lopsided slant to his mouth, like a smile aborted halfway through.

Sanji swallows, snickers tapering off. There’s a strange, melancholy look in Zoro’s gaze he doesn’t understand.

They’re frozen in time for a moment, just staring at each other.

“Cook, listen…” Zoro tries, but trails off, openly frustrated.

Sanji raises his eyebrow.

Zoro lets out an aggravated breath and steps away from the banister, wordlessly tugging Sanji by the wrist.

“Don’t yank me around like a dog, shithead,” Sanji grumbles, but allows himself to be guided across the lawn anyway.

Releasing his wrist when he reaches the stairs up to the ladies’ quarters, Zoro sets the sake bottle down before unhooking his swords from around his waist. He sets the other two swords aside before taking a seat on one of the steps with Wado resting across his lap. After a beat, he glances up at Sanji with a serious set to his mouth.

Understanding the wordless invitation, Sanji sits down next to him, grateful to be off his feet. He usually wouldn’t let Zoro get away with bossing him around, even nonverbally, but he’s exhausted and whatever is happening here feels tenuous and important.

There’s a small light on the staircase, so he can see Zoro more clearly than before. The hollows under the swordsman’s eyes are dark and there’s a bruise peeking out of the bandages covering his neck. Still, his good eye is soft when he gazes back down at the sword in his lap.

Any hint of blood has been meticulously scrubbed from Wado’s white bindings, Sanji notices with a pang of fondness.

“Wado has been with me since I was ten,” Zoro finally says, not looking up from the sword in his lap. “Before that…”

Zoro hesitates again, and Sanji’s heart squeezes beneath his breastbone.

Of all the Straw Hats, Zoro talks about his past the least. Even Sanji has his years with Zeff to share. Zoro just… doesn’t. Sanji knows he grew up at a dojo in a place called Shimotsuki Village somewhere in the East Blue. Beyond that, Zoro could have sprung out of the dirt fully formed where Luffy found him in Shells Town for all he knows.

“You don’t…“ Sanji starts, but Zoro shakes his head so he stops. If Zoro wants to tell him, he wants to know.

After a beat, Zoro takes a breath, visually sets his shoulders, and starts again.

“Before that, Wado belonged to my best friend.”

Zoro is an unsurprisingly sparse storyteller, but Sanji listens intently as the swordsman explains how Wado Ichimonji came to be in his possession. He sits silently at the swordsman’s side as Zoro tells him about the dojo where he was raised, about the rural village surrounding it, and about the rice fields he used to practice in. Sanji listens as Zoro tells him about his sensei—a descendant of the Shimotsuki clan from Wano, it turns out—and about his sensei’s daughter, whose name he speaks with such reverence that it makes Sanji’s heart ache.

Kuina, from what Sanji can tell, was the closest thing Zoro had to family before the Straw Hats.

Zoro never looks up from Wado as he talks, and by the time he finishes the story, Sanji is glad the swordsman refuses to look at him. Tears prickle his eyes, and he worries Zoro might mistake the emotion for pity.

In truth, Sanji knows what it’s like to be a child who’s alone in the world. Imagining a little Zoro facing that vast, terrifying loneliness too tears at his heart.

Pulling himself together with some effort, Sanji swallows around the ache in his throat. He wants to lay a hand on Zoro’s arm, but he’s not sure that would be welcome. Instead, he remains a steady presence at Zoro’s side after he trails off and hopes that it's worth something.

The silence stretches for long enough that Sanji eventually decides the best thing he can do for Zoro is ease them out of the heaviness of the moment. He doesn’t want to make light of anything Zoro just shared with him, so he considers what he wants to say carefully before settling on something simple and true.

“I wish I could have met her,” he says softly.

There’s a beat as Zoro considers this before his mouth does something funny.

“She would have hated you,” Zoro admits, his mouth settling into a small, lopsided grin.

The humor on his rugged face soothes the ache in Sanji's throat even as he sputters indignantly.

“What? Why?” he asks.

Zoro lifts his head and smirks, crooked and amused.

“All your frou-frou lovecook shit would have pissed her off so bad,” he says, sounding delighted by the idea. “All she wanted was to be treated like any other swordsman. The minute you tried to fawn over her, she would have whooped your ass.”

Kicking lightly—but not too lightly—at Zoro’s ankle with his bare foot, Sanji tries not to look too pleased about Zoro laughing at his expense. Usually it would piss him off and he would be forced to try to dropkick some manners into his thick skull, but at the moment he’s just glad Zoro looks a bit less lost in old hurts.

“Just because I believe women deserve to be pampered doesn’t mean I don’t think they can be anything they want to be!” Sanji says with a haughty sniff. “I bet Kuina-san would be a way better swordsman than your grubby ass by now.”

Zoro’s grin widens enough to show his handsome dimples and sharp canines before it fades back into something smaller and tinged with sadness.

“Yeah, she would be,” he agrees.

It’s such an uncharacteristic admission that it shocks Sanji into silence. He’s never known Zoro to admit anyone could be a better swordsman than him. Even with Mihawk, Zoro talks about him like it’s a given that his days as the world’s best are numbered.

Sanji usually finds Zoro’s pigheaded over-confidence grating—especially when it leads the idiot headfirst into danger or bodily harm—but the uncharacteristic humility settles uncomfortably in his stomach.

Refusing to let it linger too long, Sanji kicks at Zoro’s ankle again.

“Well, that won’t do,” he declares, “You swore that one of you would be the greatest in the world. You made a promise to a lady, marimo, and I expect you to keep it.”

Zoro looks baffled, but Sanji ignores it, picking up steam.

“As the person filling in for Kuina-san as your chief rival, I’ll just have to fight you every day until you get there. Stop gawking at me! I mean it, you oaf. I’m not going to go easy on you anymore. If I have to fight you 2,000 times–“

Zoro headbutts him.

Well, it’s maybe not a headbutt in the purest sense, but Zoro does grab the back of Sanji’s head and lean forward to knock their foreheads together. It’s hard enough to startle a yelp out of the cook mid-sentence. Sanji expects Zoro to snarl the way he does when he’s looking for a fight or tell him to shut up, but instead he squeezes his good eye shut and presses their heads together with a strange urgency. Sanji can hear his ragged breathing and smell the sake on his breath.

Zoro’s calloused fingers catch in his hair, tugging the strands lightly, and the intimacy of the sensation paralyzes Sanji.

Their noses brush as Zoro rubs against his temple, and for a brief, breathless moment, Sanji’s stupid heart leaps. The seed of warmth nestled beneath his breastbone blooms into a staggering mess of hope and longing that nearly suffocates him.

Then Zoro inhales sharply, and the moment ends as abruptly as it began.

In a heartbeat, Zoro leans back and grabs Wado from his lap, standing before Sanji can even process what just happened. Sanji’s face feels like it’s on fire and he suspects his mouth is hanging open stupidly, but his heart hammers too fast for him to catch his breath.

Zoro quickly collects his other swords and doesn’t even bother strapping them back on before he’s starting down the stairs.

“Night,” he grunts, flapping a hand in Sanji’s direction.

Sanji wants to yell at him to come back and explain himself this instant. He wants to race down the stairs and kick Zoro into the sea for being so confusing and making his heart race and just generally being a pain in Sanji’s ass. He wants to scramble after him and press their foreheads together again to see if Zoro will let him. He wants, as always, far too much. Far more than he deserves.

But Zoro passes under a light, and Sanji can see the rigid set of his shoulders and the tomato-red color of his ears, and Sanji knows he won't get the answers he wants tonight.

So instead, he waits until Zoro disappears in the direction of the crow’s nest before whispering “goodnight” to no one at all. His body feels heavy when he forces himself back onto his feet, and he takes a moment to steady himself before robotically finishing the trek to the boys’ quarters.

His mind races as he finally climbs into his bunk, but his body is so exhausted he’s asleep almost before his head hits the pillow.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

Sanji is summarily banned from making breakfast. He only accepts this state of affairs because Nami looks miserably guilty about hitting him with her climatact the day before and swears she’ll only feel better if he lets her handle it. Sanji knows he’s being manipulated, but he melts when she looks at him with big, sad brown eyes anyway. He ends up curled up on the galley couch with a mug of tea, happily chatting with her and Brook while she puts together a simple spread instead.

Chopper insists on looking him over before breakfast is served, pleased with both his vitals and the appearance of the stitches in his palm. His unbandaged hand is a little hard for Sanji to look at, but at least the smaller cuts along his fingers have already closed. He manages to convince Chopper to only rebandage his palm so his fingers are free to wield a knife later. The little reindeer looks long-suffering but agrees once Sanji promises to wear gloves.

“I guess I have to choose my battles,” Chopper sighs as he finishes securing the fresh gauze. “At least you didn’t rip all your bandages off already.”

Sanji doesn’t even have to ask who that comment is about.

He only gets one glimpse of Zoro throughout the morning. Their miraculously unbandaged first mate joins everyone for breakfast, but he eats quickly and disappears up to the crow’s nest without saying anything afterwards. He stays up there the rest of the morning, though Sanji can hear the thud of his absurd weights and Chopper’s increasingly resigned protests as he sneaks a smoke out on the deck while the little doctor is distracted.

By lunchtime, Sanji is finally allowed back into his kitchen. He was only banished for a few hours, but he still runs his hands over the counters with a faint smile, reacquainting himself with his domain. It feels even better a few minutes later when he curls his wounded hand around a knife and is able to brunoise vegetables for a mirepoix. The knife handle is uncomfortable against his damaged palm even through his gloves, but the pain doesn’t affect the quality of his work which is all that matters.

Sanji smokes through three cigarettes in a row and prepares an especially lavish lunch to celebrate.

Zoro appears with the rest of the crew when Sanji calls and eats with the same enthusiasm as always. Still, he doesn’t rise to the bait when Sanji needles him about his terrible table manners and disappears again immediately afterward without ever meeting Sanji’s eyes. Sanji watches him go with rising irritation, puffing angrily on his cigarette as he collects dirty dishes to wash.

“Our esteemed swordsman doesn’t seem quite recovered from yesterday’s events, does he?” Robin muses from the table, her many hands helping Sanji shuttle dishes towards the sink. The rest of the crew have followed Zoro out of the galley to resume their afternoon activities, but she lingers, sipping an iced coffee Sanji prepared for her.

“You know I can’t bear to see a goddess such as yourself exert herself on mundane chores, Robin-chan,” Sanji reminds her even as he accepts a stack full of plates from her elegant hands.

He can’t resist the urge to protest, but he’s trying to be better about allowing Robin and Nami to make their own decisions about these sorts of things. It’s hard, but it pleases the ladies, which makes it a worthwhile endeavor.

“And of course that idiot is even more of a mess than usual,” Sanji grumbles. “He got hit by lightning less than 24 hours ago! He can’t just ignore Chopper and all good sense and continue to push himself like he’s indestructible. Even his body has limits.”

Robin hums vaguely, and when Sanji glances over at her, her dark eyes glitter in a way that makes him feel distinctly cornered.

“Yes, who would try to push through that sort of injury?” she asks dryly.

Sanji turns his attention back to the sink full of dishes and manfully resists the urge to squirm as he pulls on his best dishwashing gloves.

Skypiea was different. They were in imminent danger, and Sanji was simply doing what needed to be done to protect their crew.  Zoro’s just being pigheaded for no good reason. It’s not the same.

“Though truthfully, I was commenting more on Zoro’s emotional state than his physical one,” Robin remarks, interrupting his train of thought.

The memory of Zoro’s uncharacteristically vulnerable expression the night before as he bumped their foreheads together flashes through Sanji’s mind. It makes his skin itchy and his chest feel uncomfortably cracked open, so he snorts derisively to hide his discomfort.

“Are we sure that meathead even has an emotional state?” he asks, scrubbing viciously at the plate in his hands.

“Sanji,” Robin scolds, and Sanji immediately feels guilty.

She doesn’t need to say anything else. As much as Zoro drives him nuts with his stubborn, stoic bullshit, Sanji does know the swordsman feels things just as deeply as the rest of them. It isn’t fair for him to pretend otherwise.

“Sorry. Sorry, I know,” Sanji says, letting the plate sink back into the water. “I just…”

He trails off, unsure how to begin picking apart the tangled knot in his chest well enough to explain it. Unsure if he even dares to try.

Robin walks over to join him by the sink, gracing him with her lovely presence and the light scent of flowers that follows her everywhere. Her expression is still warm and gentle when Sanji meets her eyes, gaze far kinder than he deserves.

“I do understand why this is difficult for you,” she says. Sanji furrows his brow, but before he can ask her to clarify, she adds, “Still, you shouldn’t make light. I know you weren’t there to see it, but when Zoro came to his senses yesterday… I’m not sure I’ve ever seen our swordsman so frantic.”

Sanji blinks and considers her words carefully. He resumes scrubbing dishes to give his hands something to do while he thinks, and Robin allows him time, simply sipping her coffee and using her extra hands to dry dishes as he finishes with them.

“I suppose it makes sense,” Sanji finally allows after some reflection. “Zoro does hate being taken out of commission, even for a few minutes, and almost losing Wado in the process must have been awful for him.” 

Robin hums lightly then surprises Sanji by resting one of her real hands gently on his shoulder. He looks up immediately, so surprised by the touch that he forgets to blow smoke hearts or twirl in pleasure. Robin’s expression is knowing and almost sad as she gazes back at him.

“After all we’ve been through together, do you really think Wado Ichimonji is what Zoro fears losing most?” she asks.

Sanji opens his mouth, though truly he has no idea how he means to respond. Robin squeezes his shoulder and steps away before he has a chance to find out.

“Just think about it,” she says and then swans out of the room, leaving nothing but confusion and the scent of flowers in her wake.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

The problem is once Sanji starts thinking about it, he can’t stop.

He finishes the dishes on autopilot and then immediately starts preparing afternoon refreshments to keep his hands busy as his mind spirals.

Despite what certain long-nosed people like to imply, Sanji isn’t actually oblivious to his male crewmates’ emotions. He may elect to ignore them most of the time, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t notice things. It doesn’t mean he doesn’t file away important bits of information about all of his nakama, Zoro included.

As tempting as it is to shy away from the thought, as soon as he allows himself to consider Robin’s question, he knows exactly what she’s implying.

As hard as it is to admit, even to himself, he knows Zoro cares about him.

Puffing on his cigarette, Sanji aggressively muddles mint from Usopp’s herb garden for afternoon drinks. The mint may end up a little more mashed than necessary, but Sanji needs to release the jittery feeling under his skin somehow. He doubts Franky would appreciate it if he burst into flames and scorched the floors again.

The squirming anxiety in his gut isn’t because any of this is new information to him. As much as they both might like to pretend otherwise, Sanji knows Zoro’s dedication to their crew includes him too. He may not have chosen Sanji or been particularly happy when Luffy had, but Sanji is a Straw Hat. In Zoro’s straightforward worldview, that’s enough to include him in the small circle of people Zoro deems worth caring about.

That loyalty manifests differently between them. Zoro doesn’t need to protect him in battle like Nami or Usopp or soften his rough edges around him the way he does with Chopper. Still, his steadfastness is impossible to miss when Sanji allows himself to notice it. There is Thriller Bark and the familiar reassurance of his presence at Sanji’s side during battle, of course, but there’s also countless mundane supply runs, meandering through new islands and bickering just enough to keep them both entertained. There’s the way Zoro always seems to show up in the galley after one of their feasts, long after the others have all passed out or retired to bed, silently helping Sanji package leftovers and clean the mountain of dishes left behind. There’s the warm press of Zoro’s forehead against his own before they spar or after they share a moment in the middle of the night.

No, it’s not news to Sanji that Zoro cares about his well-being, and it would be a disservice to the swordsman to pretend otherwise.

Filling each of the ten glasses in front of him with fresh squeezes of lemon juice, Sanji admits to himself that the problem isn’t Zoro at all. It is, as always, Sanji himself.

It’s that stupid seed of warmth in his heart that refuses to die no matter how desperately he tries to starve it of light and nourishment.

It’s easier to pretend Zoro was only worried about Wado when they plunged into the sea together because Sanji doesn’t want to face the truth—that Zoro gives a shit if he lives or dies, and that it’s both more than Sanji deserves and less than he wants.

Sighing, Sanji finishes adding simple syrup and crushed ice to nine of the ten drinks and stares at the last glass for a long moment.

Closing his eyes, he swallows around the lump in his throat and stuffs all his useless longing back down where it belongs. His foolish, greedy heart isn’t what’s important here.

By the time he opens his eyes again, Sanji is determined to fix whatever is unsettled between them. Zoro clearly feels raw after a rough day and a moment of uncharacteristic vulnerability the night before. Sanji just needs to bury his own stupid issues down deep and set things right for everyone’s sake.

Resolved, Sanji finishes the last drink with a generous pour of rum instead of sweet syrup before adding extravagant mint and lemon garnishes to the ladies’ drinks. Balancing everything on a large platter, he snuffs what’s left of his cigarette and sets out to deliver everyone their afternoon refreshments.

Delivering treats to the Straw Hats is always an adventure, but the mint lemonade is met with rewarding enthusiasm. The ladies seem delighted, even if Robin looks even more alarmingly all-knowing than usual as she takes her glass from the tray, and he only has to kick Luffy away once to keep his grubby mitts from stealing everyone else’s glasses on top of his own. Chopper looks particularly delighted when Sanji delivers his extra-sweet drink to him on his swing. His cute little wiggle of pleasure as he takes the first sip makes Sanji’s chest fill with warmth.

The simple pleasure of it all is almost enough to settle Sanji’s nerves before he turns to the crow’s nest with two drinks left on his platter.

He longs for another cigarette but refuses to let himself stall like some shitty coward. Balancing the tray on one hand, he skywalks up to the crow’s nest and pulls himself through the hatch with practiced ease.

It’s quiet once he’s inside, and a quick glance around finds Zoro seated in the middle of the floor, legs crossed and eyes closed.

It’s not unusual to find Zoro meditating around the ship—it’s probably his fourth favorite activity after training, sleeping, and drinking—but Sanji always finds the sight mesmerizing. There’s something fascinating about the contrast between Zoro’s muscular, heavily-scarred body and the peaceful stillness of meditation. Sanji is reminded again of the quiet sense of power he chased deep into the ocean, familiar and serene. Beautiful.

It doesn’t hurt that Zoro’s bare from the waist up either. Even his haramaki has been cast aside, for once, leaving even more sunkissed skin on display than usual.

Setting the drinks down, Sanji peels his eyes away and gives himself a mental kick in the head. He’s here to make things better, not indulge his worst impulses. Besides, if he gets a nosebleed now, he might as well throw himself right back into the ocean and start swimming back to the East Blue.

Zoro doesn’t react to his arrival, so Sanji gives himself a moment to remove his coat and tie and carefully roll up his shirt sleeves. That taken care of, he ensures the bandage on his palm is secure and checks one more time to make sure the drinks are safely tucked off to the side.

Satisfied, he turns and aims a vicious kick for Zoro’s head.

Zoro’s eye flies open and he raises an armament haki-covered arm just in time to prevent his head from being kicked off his shoulders. The resounding impact is so intense that it knocks them both back, forcing Sanji to do a quick one-handed cartwheel to maintain his balance.

“What the fuck, curls?” Zoro snarls, quickly gaining his own feet and drawing Kitetsu in one fluid motion. He looks equal parts pissed, confused, and bloodthirsty, all of which are expressions Sanji is accustomed to receiving from him. Getting all three at once feels like a win, though.

Fishing his pack and lighter out of his trousers, Sanji lights himself the cigarette he’s been craving and takes a deep drag. At the same time, he lets his legs ignite, flames licking up his calves.

“I told you last night,” he says. “You have a promise to keep, so I’m not going to go easy on you anymore.”

Zoro’s expression goes blank before a slow, feral grin spreads across his face. His sharp canines glint as he draws Enma and Wado, clamping the white sword between his teeth and settling into a familiar stance.

“Please. Someone with such a low bounty is hardly a challenge for me,” he taunts even as he oozes anticipation. “I won’t even need to break a sweat.”

His own blood pumping hotly in anticipation—and maybe a little bit because Zoro's still shirtless and his tits are always spectacular to look at—Sanji exhales a lungful of smoke through his nose and taps his shoe on the floor.

“Big talk for a guy who got taken out by some measly Marines yesterday,” he needles.

Sanji barely has time to raise a flaming leg to defend himself before Zoro is on him, teeth bared.

They’ve been sparring for years and fall into the familiar rhythm of it easily. Zoro swipes at him with deadly blades, and Sanji dances out of reach. Sanji directs a flaming kick towards Zoro’s side—something powerful enough to fell enemies or sink ships with ease—and Zoro blocks it with the edge of Enma without missing a beat. They fight with real fire and the sharp edges of Zoro’s swords, something neither of them would do with anyone else on the ship, and the implied trust makes Sanji’s heart thunder excitedly beneath his breastbone.

He'll never admit it out loud lest he encourage the bloodthirsty fool, but sparring with Zoro has always made Sanji’s blood sing. If he feels a little extra thrill having Zoro’s attention so fully focused on him, gaze hot and hungry for a good fight, well… that’s no one’s business but his own.

If he’s shoved his hand down the front of his pajamas in the middle of the night imagining that look directed at him in a very different context, that’s information he’ll take with him to his grave.

They fight with a little extra fervor this time, the added weight of Sanji’s promise fueling their clash better than their petty arguments ever did. Sanji made the comment about sparring last night offhand—he’d mostly just wanted to distract Zoro from his lingering sadness—but he’s committed now. If Zoro wants to spar every day, they’ll spar every day. Zoro bears all his oaths alone, carries their weight with quiet dedication and unrelenting focus. If Sanji accidentally stumbled over a small way the swordsman will let him help, he’s not going to mess that up.

They trade blows until Zoro breaks one of the windows in the crow’s nest with an errant swipe of Enma and Franky and Nami’s enraged yelling forces them to call it quits for the day.

Zoro flops down on the floor to catch his breath while Sanji calls down his apologies from the shattered window.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t stop the idiot from making such a mess, Nami-san! I promise I’ll make it up to you!”

“Hey,” Zoro says indignantly behind him. Sanji ignores him.

“You aren’t off the hook either, mister!” Nami yells back before Sanji can continue. Meanwhile, Franky looks positively murderous as he stomps below deck to presumably start working on a replacement window. Sanji does feel bad even if his blood is still singing.

Sanji resolves to make a burger and cola-heavy menu for dinner along with something spectacularly tangerine-based for dessert.

Turning back to the inside of the crow’s nest, Sanji grabs his abandoned tray of drinks and walks over to kick Zoro lightly where he’s still sprawled out on the floor. The swordsman grunts, looking satisfyingly fatigued. Truthfully, Sanji suspects it’s a testament to his lingering injuries from the day before that he looks so wiped from a simple spar, no matter how vigorous. Thankfully, he’s already healed most of his bruises and burns, and his tan skin looks healthy and glowing with sweat.

“Sit up, you lump,” Sanji demands, refusing to be affected by the sight.

A contrary bastard to his core, Zoro folds his arms behind his head and glares up at him.

“You don’t tell me what to do, curlybrows.”

Sighing, Sanji plucks the rum drink off his tray and holds it in Zoro’s view.

“I guess I’ll just have to enjoy this one myself…“

Zoro visually perks up, probably smelling the booze like a freak before Sanji can even mention it. He sits up and reaches for the drink with an endearingly eager look that he can’t quite disguise.

Sanji hands it over, refusing to look pleased as the swordsman takes a deep sip and hums low in his throat. He never tells Sanji when he especially enjoys something, but he doesn’t particularly hide it anymore either.

After a brief debate with himself, Sanji takes his own drink, sets the tray aside, and sits down next to the swordsman on the floor.

They drink in comfortable silence for a while, catching their breath and cooling down after the particularly intense spar. If Zoro minds Sanji lingering in his space, he doesn’t let on. The fact that Sanji brought him booze and an excuse for some light violence probably doesn’t hurt.

Playing with the cool condensation on the side of his glass, Sanji organizes his thoughts and takes a deep breath.

“Are we good now?” he asks through gritted teeth. He hates talking about this shit, but Zoro’s even worse at it than he is. They need to be on the same page for the sake of the rest of the crew, if nothing else, so one of them needs to be the adult here. He doesn’t want Robin to feel like she has to waste her precious energy checking on them again.

To his credit, Zoro doesn’t pretend to misunderstand. Instead, he just takes a long sip of his drink and scratches the back of his neck. If he didn’t know Zoro better, Sanji might think he’s purposefully avoiding his gaze.

“We’re fine,” he grunts before tilting his head back to finish off his drink in one deep gulp.

Sanji sighs and sets his lemonade down. He’s going to need another cigarette for this conversation. Lighting one, he takes a drag and leans back on his uninjured palm.

“Are you going to stop hiding up here like a coward then?” he asks.

That gets Zoro to look at him, if only to glare in his direction.

“Watch it, curlybrow. I’m no coward,” Zoro says, a thread of genuine anger in his words.

“I know that, you oaf,” Sanji says, rolling his eyes. Zoro has his flaws, but that’s certainly not one of them. “I didn’t say you were a coward. I said you were acting like a coward, which you are. It’s annoying.”

Zoro frowns, deep furrows appearing between his eyebrows. He’s going to develop fine lines there before long, Sanji muses with a strange, vague pang of longing.

It takes him a moment to realize the emotion is born of the fact that he wants to see those lines. He wants to see where Zoro’s face wrinkles as he ages and if he ends up with sun damage on his skin or a beer belly from all the booze. He wants to know if the swordsman’s ridiculous green hair will recede from his already prominent forehead or just go silver around the temples. He wants to find out if Zoro will let time soften him, if he’ll develop wrinkles where his face creases when he smiles as well where he frowns.

He'll still be handsome regardless, Sanji thinks. At least to him.

Embarrassed by the thought, Sanji turns his head away to ash his cigarette and take another bracing sip of his mint lemonade.

“I’m not hiding,” Zoro insists, thankfully unaware of the direction Sanji’s thoughts have taken him.

Reigning in his soft, foolish heart, Sanji makes sure his expression is under control before turning back to give Zoro an unimpressed look.

“Oh? Are you going to try to convince me every time you fled my presence today was a tactical retreat?” he asks.

Zoro blows out a harsh breath and tilts his head back to stare at the crow’s nest’s ceiling like Sanji is the one being exasperating here.

“For fuck’s sake, curls. You’re impossible, do you know that?” he asks, having the audacity to sound long-suffering about it. “I told you, everything is fine.”

“Sure, right. Excuse me for trying to have an actual conversation,” Sanji responds tartly, annoyance bubbling up in his chest. He knows Zoro is allergic to acknowledging his feelings out loud, but he’d hoped the swordsman’s usual blunt honesty would win out here. Unfortunately, whatever inspired the swordsman to open up the night before doesn’t seem to have survived long enough for them to clear the air between them in the light of day.

Finishing his lemonade, Sanji snuffs out his cigarette and starts to gather his things so he can beat a speedy retreat to the galley. There’s no point in continuing to bang his head on this particular brick wall. They’re just going to end up yelling at each other, and he finds himself feeling too annoyingly tender about Zoro’s dismissiveness to enjoy the prospect.

He goes to stand, but a hand on his wrist stops him.

Zoro’s jaw looks tense again when Sanji glances over. His expression is conflicted enough that Sanji freezes even as his impatience with Zoro’s uncommunicative bullshit spikes.

Still, Zoro’s fingers remain wrapped around his wrist, warm and calloused, and Sanji can’t bring himself to pull away.

“Is this going to become a thing?” Sanji asks, glancing down at Zoro’s hand pointedly. It’s wrapped around the same wrist he grabbed the night before.

Zoro snatches his hand back and looks away, jaw working like he's grinding his teeth. His ears are red, Sanji notices with fascination, clashing harshly with his green hair.

“Give me a second, you impatient bastard,” Zoro mumbles. His voice lacks any real bite, though, so Sanji settles back on the floor and decides to be magnanimous for once in his life. It’s been a hard 24 hours for the ridiculous oaf, after all. Getting hit by lightning, almost losing his precious sword, and having to have two actual conversations in one day might be too much for his poor mossy brain.

They sit in tense silence for a few beats, and Sanji can tell the moment Zoro makes a decision. His spine straightens, and he takes a deep breath, expression settling into something determined. When he returns his gaze to Sanji, he looks like he’s bracing himself for a fight he isn't sure he can win but plans to see through to the end anyway.

Sanji’s face warms. The expression is quintessentially Zoro, but he's unsure what to do with having it suddenly directed towards him.

“You’re impossible,” Zoro says, repeating himself from earlier. “I’ve sailed all over the East Blue and the Grand Line, and you’re the most infuriating person I’ve ever met. You worry way too much about all the wrong shit, and if I never have to watch you simper around after some woman like a pathetic dog again, it’ll be too soon.”

Sanji’s spine stiffens, a burst of hurt pricking through his heart. They sling insults at each other all the time, of course, but this doesn’t feel like their usual bickering. Zoro’s gaze is intense and his words are pointed. He’s dead serious, and he wants Sanji to hear this.

“Hey–“ Sanji tries, voice strained.

“No, listen to me for once, dammit,” Zoro snaps.

Sanji doesn’t mean to obey, but his protest shrivels up on his tongue. All he can do is meet Zoro’s gaze with wide eyes and a tense set to his mouth.

“You drive me nuts,” Zoro says. “And now you’re making me spell out shit that’s obvious to everyone else but you. You’re so fucking difficult.”

Sanji inhales sharply, feeling like he’s taken a blow to the gut.

The thing is, Sanji knows he’s difficult. He’s always known he’s too much, even from his earliest memories. He’s hot-tempered and overly emotional; he smokes and curses too much, has a sharp tongue he often fails to reign in, and only knows how to show affection through food. He’s not an easy person, no matter how desperately he tries to please.

It’s part of the reason he’s so grateful to Zeff and so loyal to the Straw Hats. For some inexplicable reason, his family looked at him with all his glaring flaws and decided to keep him anyway. He knows how lucky that makes him and does his best to repay them every way he knows how.

Zoro isn’t telling Sanji anything he doesn’t already know, but that doesn’t mean his heart doesn’t shrivel in his chest hearing it directly from his mouth all the same.

He wants to flee back to the relative safety of the galley, but he can’t. He pushed Zoro to talk to him, and now he has no choice but to listen and bear the sharp edge of Zoro’s honesty until it’s over.

For all his flaws, Sanji’s no coward either.

Zoro’s brows pinch together slightly as he holds his gaze, seemingly displeased by something he sees in Sanji’s expression. He still looks frustrated, and Sanji doesn’t understand what the swordsman wants from him.

“You drive me nuts,” Zoro repeats, quieter now. His tone is still urgent in a way that makes no sense to Sanji. “You drive me nuts, cook, and I…”

Zoro visibly swallows and his hands clench and unclench on his knees.

“I don’t want to have to find your damn sea for you,” he finally says in a rush, so low Sanji barely hears it.

Sanji blinks.

“What?”

Zoro holds his gaze even as the red from his ears bleeds into his cheeks and down his neck. His jaw works as he visibly struggles to find more words, hands curling in his lap. After a tense moment, he sags, shoulders drooping and head finally dropping so he can rub the back of his red neck.

“Come on, cook, do you really need me to spell it out for you?” Zoro asks, sounding exhausted.

“I don’t… I don’t understand,” Sanji finally manages to rasp.

His sea? Surely Zoro can’t mean…

Zoro glances back up at him and looks so wretched that Sanji’s breath sticks in his throat. It’s like the hard shell Zoro usually maintains between himself and the world has finally cracked open, letting Sanji glimpse something tender and vulnerable inside. There’s longing in his usually closed-off gaze, and it lances through Sanji like lightning.

“I would, you know. If I had to,” Zoro says, awkward but achingly sincere. “It’d kill me to have to do it, but I’d find your All Blue for you.”

Sanji can’t breathe. The devotion in Zoro’s words is too big, too precious to bear, and the implication behind it is something Sanji can’t even begin to wrap his head around.

“Don’t make me,” Zoro requests quietly, sounding gutted.

Sounding like a man making a confession.

Zoro looks back down, and when Sanji follows his gaze, he’s shocked to find his broad, capable hands shaking slightly in his lap. Zoro is always steady. Sanji’s seen him bear impossible amounts of pain and fear and exhaustion without wavering, but he’s finally found something that rattles their unflappable first mate enough to make his hands tremble.

Before Sanji can think about what he’s doing, he leans across the distance between them to bump his forehead clumsily against Zoro’s, just like Zoro had the night before. He hears the swordsman’s breath hitch at the contact, but he lets Sanji wrap a hand around the back of his neck and hold them together. Zoro smells like sweat and steel and rum, and it only makes Sanji’s already racing heart thunder even louder in his chest.

“Okay,” Sanji says, willing to do anything to soothe the open ache in Zoro’s gaze. “Okay, marimo, I’ll try not to.”

Zoro hums a rough, agreeable noise and leans heavily into him, his nose bumping against Sanji’s own. Any attempt to convince himself Zoro’s devotion is simply platonic—simply something he’d offer to any of his nakama—dies as the swordsman nuzzles their faces together before flinching away like he hadn't intended to do it.

“I’m shit with swords, so you can’t die on me either, okay?” Sanji chokes out, thinking of Thriller Bark and Onigashima and hundred small terrors in between. Zoro breathes out a chuckle. It’s small and ragged, but it makes Sanji’s heart glow like the fucking sun in his chest.

Zoro doesn’t make him any promises, but a large, calloused hand settles tentatively on his neck, mirroring Sanji’s own. Sanji sinks into it. 

His eyes slip closed as he tries to absorb everything about this moment into his memory for safe keeping. However long he gets to stay on this earth, Sanji wants to remember the press of Zoro’s forehead against his own, the warmth radiating off his body, the soft prickle of his hair against Sanji’s fingertips. He wants to remember the smell of Zoro’s skin and the uneven sound of his breathing as they cling to each other on the hard wooden floor of the Sunny. Most of all, he wants to remember the incandescent surge of adoration pouring through him, overwhelming and terrifying and wonderful.

Love is a swell on the ocean, Sanji thinks, carrying him into uncharted waters.

Zoro’s thumb sweeps shyly against his jaw as he nudges his nose against Sanji’s again like he’s helpless to stop himself.

When Sanji opens his eyes, Zoro is gazing back at him with such open longing that Sanji feels the last of his doubts slip out of his grasp. He doesn’t understand why Zoro would want him, but it radiates off the swordsman all the same. It’s written all over his scarred face and the reverent way he touches Sanji’s neck and jaw. It practically oozes off of him.

Overwhelmed but unwilling to let the moment slip through his fingers, Sanji gathers his courage and tilts his head forward to brush his mouth over the corner of Zoro’s lips. The feather-light contact makes his breath hitch and his skin tingle.

“Zoro?” he asks.

Zoro groans and buries his hand in Sanji’s hair, reeling him in for a real kiss. Warmth unfurls in Sanji’s chest as he’s hauled close, Zoro’s mouth hot and needy when it seals over his own. Zoro kisses the same way he fights—fierce and hungry—and Sanji matches his intensity as all the pent-up longing he’s been trying to repress for so long finally bursts free. Licking into Zoro’s mouth, Sanji pushes closer as Zoro winds a strong arm around his back. He ends up hauled halfway into the swordsman’s lap, held against his chest as Zoro devours his mouth with feverish intensity.

Sanji’s never been kissed with such single-minded desperation before, and it sends heat flooding through his body. Zoro clutches him close and breathes raggedly between kisses so he doesn’t have to release him for more than a second. The blatant hunger in his touch makes Sanji’s head spin, and he can’t help but whine softly into his mouth.

“Come ’ere,” Zoro gasps between kisses, arm tightening around Sanji’s back like he isn’t already pressed against him. Sanji settles deliciously into Zoro’s bare torso, the heat from the other man’s skin soaking through his thin shirt and warming him to his core.

Sanji opens his mouth to deepen the kiss, and Zoro hums appreciatively, a deep, masculine noise that hits Sanji low in the belly.

Time goes hazy after that. Sanji spends long, syrupy minutes being kissed within an inch of his life, the heat between them building to a consuming blaze. Zoro’s usual stoicism abandons him as he licks into Sanji’s mouth like he’s starving, his hands hot and frantic. They clutch at Sanji’s waist, stroke his back, and tangle in his hair, like Zoro can’t decide which part of Sanji he needs to touch the most.

“Cook,” Zoro gasps, mouth leaving Sanji’s only to kiss hungrily down his throat.

Holding Zoro’s head against his neck, Sanji shifts to straddle his hips and burrow even more fully into Zoro’s broad chest. He’s never felt the desire to climb into anyone’s lap before, but Sanji wants to bury himself entirely in Zoro’s heat, to touch him everywhere.

Zoro only holds him tighter, arms crushing them together as his chest heaves against Sanji’s own. If Sanji were a normal man, Zoro might risk cracking his ribs with the strength of his grip.

Thankfully, they’re both freaks here.

“I’m here,” Sanji breathes, raking his fingers through Zoro’s ridiculous hair. “I’m right here.”

Zoro groans and scrapes his sharp canines against Sanji’s pulse, sending a bright pulse of sensation spiraling through him.

Sanji’s whole body is alight, and suddenly he can’t bear Zoro’s mouth being so far from his own. Fisting his good hand in Zoro’s hair, he yanks the swordsman away from his neck and gets a brief view of his flushed face and blown pupil before crushing their mouths back together.

Zoro kisses him back with equal fervor, tongue sweeping into Sanji’s mouth as his hands sneak under his shirt. They’re hot and rough against Sanji’s sides, gripping him tight enough to bruise.

Feeling completely out of control, Sanji runs his thumb through Zoro’s earrings to hear their familiar chime before sliding his good hand between them to touch Zoro’s bare chest. Zoro’s skin is hot and slick with sweat, and his nipple pebbles tantalizingly against Sanji’s palm as he strokes over his pectoral muscle. An embarrassing whimper escapes Sanji’s throat as he splays his fingers over the bulging muscle and squeezes, reveling in the way the firm, hot flesh fills his grasp.

God, he’s wanted to touch him like this for ages, and somehow it’s even better than he imagined. His tit fills Sanji’s palm perfectly, and Zoro flexes beneath his touch, groaning appreciatively into his mouth.

Shoving his tongue sloppily into Zoro’s mouth, Sanji kneads his fingers hard into the plush muscle and squirms helplessly in his lap. His brain feels like it’s liquifying in his skull, all his blood rushing abruptly south.

Sanji registers the familiar burning sensation in his sinuses a split-second too late. Their kiss suddenly turns slick and coppery before Sanji jerks his head back.

Zoro doesn’t let him go far, hands clinging to his waist when Sanji tries to lean back. He looks dazed when he meets Sanji’s wide gaze, pupil blown so wide there’s barely any gray visible at all.

Horrifyingly, there's a vibrant red streak of blood smeared across his cheek and mouth.

Frozen, Sanji feels blood drip over his lips and down his chin as he stares back in complete mortification.

Zoro blinks, seemingly coming back to himself and noticing the blood dribbling from Sanji’s nose. Sanji abruptly realizes his fingers are still squeezing Zoro’s pec and snatches his hand back like he’s been scalded.

Tensing from head to toe, Sanji opens his mouth, unsure if he’s about to apologize or scream and try to kick Zoro in the face before fleeing the scene altogether, but before he can do any of that, Zoro’s expression turns contemplative. After a tense beat, his tongue darts out to taste the blood on his upper lip.

“Don’t do that!” Sanji shrieks, feeling like he’s about to spontaneously incinerate them both.

Zoro, the absolute freak, grins wolfishly.

“Good to know you’re into this, pervert cook,” he laughs, releasing his grip on Sanji’s sides only to wind both arms tightly around his waist again. Held snugly against Zoro’s stupid, gorgeous chest, Sanji tries to angle his head away and cover his nose to stem the blood dripping off his chin, but Zoro just leans forward and nuzzles his feral smile against Sanji’s cheek.

“That’s disgusting! Stop it,” Sanji squawks, voice nasal, and Zoro only laughs harder. Sanji can feel Zoro’s body shaking with mirth where they’re pressed together, his laughter a delicious rumble in his chest. It’s bright and easy and full of joy in a way Sanji isn’t sure he’s heard since their days on the Going Merry.

Mortified and still hopelessly endeared, Sanji admits defeat and buries his wet face in Zoro’s shoulder, groaning miserably. Still chuckling, Zoro seems content to let him hide there and bleed all over his shoulder. When his chuckles finally taper off, Sanji feels Zoro rest his cheek against his hair, heavy and comforting. He still seems reluctant to loosen his hold, so Sanji resigns himself to staying wrapped up in his lap even as the roaring heat between them settles into something warm and steady underneath his embarrassment.

Sanji lets himself hide until the burning in his sinuses tapers off and he feels slightly less like incinerating himself out of humiliation. Reluctantly leaning back, he looks at the blood smeared over Zoro’s shoulder and chest and wonders if this is bad karma coming back to bite him for his past sins.

Before he can figure out how to even begin to apologize for so thoroughly ruining the moment, Zoro unwinds one of his arms to reach up to scrub at the blood on Sanji’s face with his thumb.

“What are you doing, you neanderthal?” Sanji protests, trying to lean back and bat his hand away. “Stop, that’s not sanitary.”

Zoro ignores him stubbornly. He wipes at Sanji’s face with his calloused fingers, swiping away the blood under his nose and down his chin.

“There,” he says when he’s done, looking pleased with himself. He wipes his hand on his pant leg and ignores the disgusted noise Sanji makes.

“That… you…!” Sanji sputters, completely at a loss what to do with the absolute fool he’s in love with.

One arm still looped around Sanji’s waist, Zoro leans back on his poorly cleaned hand, smirking. There’s still blood smeared on his face and chest and his hair sticks up wildly where Sanji raked his hands through it earlier. His mouth is pink and kiss-swollen, and it only makes his scarred face look even more roguish.

He looks wild and gorgeous, like some sort of debauched warrior god.

Best of all, Zoro’s gaze is still warm and faintly awed beneath the teasing glint in his eye. Despite everything, his fingers splay possessively over the small of Sanji’s back like he’s someone worth holding onto rather than a complete disaster who just dripped nose blood all over him.

Overcome with emotion, Sanji tilts forward and leans their heads together again, closing his eyes. They rest together lightly this time, just breathing and sharing warmth and space.

“You’re an idiot,” Sanji finally chokes out.

Zoro huffs and tips his head up to kiss the curly end of Sanji’s eyebrow before resting their temples back together.

“Yeah, and you drive me nuts, cook,” he replies.

Swallowing compulsively, Sanji finally hears the warmth between Zoro’s words.

He’s such a fool.

His eyes sting with gratitude, and affection that feels too big for his body to contain swells in his chest. The little seed of warmth in his heart unfurls and spreads inside him like sunlight peeking over the horizon, coloring the whole world golden. It’s terrifying and wonderful and as vital to Sanji as the ocean stretched out around them.

Reaching up to cup Zoro’s face carefully in both hands, Sanji strokes his thumbs lightly over his cheekbones. One cheek is smooth and the other is cut through by a ridge of scar tissue and smeared with blood. They’re both perfect.

Sanji wants to tell him everything—wants to be honest and poetic and put the sun-bright warmth in his chest into words so Zoro can truly understand how important he is to Sanji—but he doesn’t know how to crack himself open that way.

Not yet, anyway.

So instead, Sanji leans forward and presses a tender kiss to Zoro’s mouth, hoping the swordsman can feel the promise in it.

He’ll find the words someday. He won’t leave Zoro waiting forever.

The kiss still tastes faintly metallic. Zoro leans into it eagerly anyway, so Sanji decides not to care.

When they part, Zoro looks charmingly dazed and nearly as happy as Sanji feels. The sight makes Sanji feel a thousand feet tall.

His shirt is already stained, so Sanji reluctantly rolls his sleeve down and uses it to scrub his blood off Zoro’s cheek and shoulder. The swordsman’s face pinches and he grumbles in annoyance, but Sanji can’t help but notice that he makes no real effort to move away. If anything, he leans into the touch, arm curling tighter around Sanji's waist.

“Prissy cook,” Zoro gripes. “You picked the wrong guy if you expect me to be uptight about a little blood.”

Sanji wonders if he’s imagining the uncharacteristic hint of uncertainty in Zoro’s voice. Too soft-hearted to risk it, he winds his arms around Zoro’s neck when he’s done and strokes his thumb through the short hairs at the base of his neck.

“I suppose that’s true,” he muses as the big, bad Demon of the East melts into his touch like a spoiled house cat. It’s almost surreal, how lucky Sanji feels as he runs his fingers through his surprisingly soft hair. It’s hard to keep his tone faux-casual when his heart feels so swollen and tender like an overripe fruit in his chest. “You are a brute, after all.”

“Fuck off,” Zoro grumbles, but the protest falls a little flat when Sanji scratches his scalp and his eyelid droops contentedly.

Privately, Sanji always wondered if he left behind some small part of his soul in that cold, dark cell underneath Germa's castle. No matter how much he grew from that scared, weak little boy or how far he traveled from the hellhole where he was born, there was always a part of him that felt weak and wilted, like a plant deprived of sun for too long.

Sitting on the floor of his home, wrapped in the arms of someone he loves, and surrounded by the familiar haki signatures of his family nearby, Sanji feels for the first time like there’s not a bit of his soul that light cannot reach. It feels like surfacing from the dark, cold depths of the water into a world full of sunlight and fresh ocean air.

Maybe he’ll always be a little stunted, but suddenly that feels forgivable. Maybe he’ll always be a little bit too much, but if Zoro can hold him like he’s someone worthwhile, maybe Sanji can be that too.

“Nah,” he finally says, voice soft. “I think I’ll stay right here.”

Zoro’s mouth curves faintly at the corners.

“Good,” he says simply.

Later, Zoro will roll them onto the floor, his hand cupping the back of Sanji’s head to keep it from knocking against the wood like the overprotective idiot he is. He’ll peel Sanji’s bloody shirt off to press their bare chests together and laugh when Sanji pinches his nose for a few seconds just to be safe. The sight of his face scrunched up in laughter will make Sanji’s chest glow and the tide of feeling inside him carry him even further out to sea.

Later, he’ll kiss Sanji until he forgets to be nervous and touch him until he feels like he’s something precious and golden. Sanji will map Zoro’s lingering burns and bruises with gentle fingers and Zoro will kiss the bandages over Sanji’s wounded palm with heartbreaking tenderness.

Later, Sanji will learn that whatever lingering reservations he had about touching and being touched by another man dissolve like a sandcastle in the rising tide when he’s with someone he trusts. He’ll learn that the parts involved hardly matter to him at all when it’s someone he loves whom he’s sharing pleasure with.

Much later, Sanji will find the words to tell Zoro what he needs him to know, and he’ll treasure the quiet, ocean-deep devotion Zoro offers in return. He’ll make the swordsman promise to find the All Blue with him after they find Luffy's One Piece and Zoro takes his rightful place as the world's greatest, and he’ll pretend not to taste salt when he’s kissed breathless in response.

But that’s all later.

For now, Sanji just rests in the warm circle of Zoro’s arms and lets the ocean carry them onward.