Archive of Our Own

Sanji’s POV —

He leaned back against his shut door, looking down at the staircase, cigarette in hand and his other arm crossing over his chest, balancing an ashtray on top of it. 

He was listening to the light footsteps climbing the stairs, one foot after the other, a steady rhythm leaving no room for breaks. 

They got closer, and before Sanji could blink, a man carrying one singular box that looked heavier than one should carry emerged on the bottom step. 

Sanji breathed out smoke from his cigarette as he watched the man move carefully, watched as he looked up, eyes meeting steel grey ones. 

He blinked, and the man stopped in his tracks, a strand of green hair falling softly across his eye. 

And just as brief as that moment was, it broke. The man nodded his way, and Sanji nodded back and watched as he continued his climb up the stairs. 

He listened as the door of the apartment above was unlocked, heard the heavy thud of the box falling on the ground, heard the man shut the door behind him.

Apartment 5A, empty for almost a year now, breathed new life. 

Sanji stubbed his cigarette in the ashtray, held it in his hand properly, and turned around to enter his own apartment. 

The view from the stairwell, anywhere outside of his apartment, really, didn’t reflect the inside of Sanji’s apartment fairly. He was there, after all, due to choice and not need. He chose to stay in a rundown building opposite of what he’d lived in 2 years ago.

Inside, the walls were filled with different paintings, lights shone brightly, illuminating a kitchen that didn’t belong in a building like this. Expensive utensils colored the shelves, and ingredients, the best really, filled every crevice of the kitchen. 

It was his safe space, after all, despite having run away from a life full of kitchens and cooking and Michelin stars.

He put his apron on and began chopping vegetables, his hands working flawlessly as he added ingredient after another in a pot. 

He ate his share, and debated filling the remaining food in a container, leaving it on the doorsteps above. He knew that the dip in his cheeks, the way his jaw protruded, were signs of hunger. He filled it to the brim, extra carefully.

A welcome gift, he reasoned, he’d do this with anyone. 

And his curiosity? Only natural, there was nothing special about the man from 5A.

He held it in his hand as he made his way to the top floor, debated knocking, and decided against it, leaving the food on the doorstep for him to find later. 

He left a little note with it, a simple Eat written in his perfect handwriting. 

He smiled when, later that day, the container showed back up on the man’s doorstep, empty and washed. 

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Weeks passed and Sanji fell into a rhythm with his neighbor above him. He couldn’t help but notice how late he’d return, way past midnight, heavy footsteps dragging into the middle of the apartment and disappearing. Or how early they began echoing across the thin wall above him. 

He’d notice how silent the apartment grew after his return, alone. No visitors, or no time for them. No music, no sound, nothing. 

Only the man and his echoing footsteps giving Sanji any sign that there’s someone living above him.

Sanji began subconsciously memorizing his routine, and prepared his food accordingly. 

He’d cook enough portions for two meals at once, one for him, and one for the man in 5A. 

He’d leave them outside the door right before his return, so they wouldn’t go cold, so he’d have a warm meal waiting for him.

He hoped the man looked forward to them. 

It wasn’t any different this evening. 

Sanji had prepared the man’s container and, without second thought, made his way up the staircase.

His eyes met those steel grey eyes again. 

He froze in his place, a deer caught in headlights, and stared.

The man looked at him, eyebrow raised. 

“So, it was you,” His voice came out rough, as if it hadn't been used all day long.

Sanji smiled softly at him, “You’re back early.”

The man’s face flashed confusion, but he ignored his comment. 

“Why are you giving me free food?” 

Sanji shrugged and, taking a few more steps up, said, “Why not? They’re good, and I like sharing.”

“I don’t know you.” The man’s arms crossed over his chest. “You don’t owe me any pity. I won’t let you.”

Sanji looked at him. Really looked. 

The man was in his early twenties, at most. He had muscles, but he could tell from his experience that, underneath, his body was malnutritioned. 

His hair was the softest green, short and styled haphazardly, as if it were the last thing he cared about. 

And his eyes. 

They were tired. Years of sleepless nights etched under them, and walls appeared to enclose them from people on the outside. 

He tilted his head and said nothing.

“What? What are you looking at?”

Sanji hummed softly and placed the container on the floor between them.

“Eat. Or don’t. I’m not in the business of pitying people, darling. If you’re hungry, there’s no reason for you not to eat when I’m around.”

The man’s jaw tightened briefly, and Sanji could swear shame flashed across his face, there momentarily and gone as quick as it came, converted into a feeble attempt at appearing angry. 

Sanji wanted to say more, to explain, to ease the man’s discomfort. 

He did nothing, opting to leave him with a soft smile and make his way back to his own apartment. 

It was his choice to eat or not, Sanji couldn’t force him. 

And if the man wanted to take this act as pity, then so be it. Sanji knew it wasn’t, he had no right to pity a man he didn’t know, for circumstances outside of his grasp. But he wasn’t going to let someone starve when he was there, when he could do something about it. 

The next morning, and after Sanji’s light sleep was cut short by a door slamming above him, he went to see if the container was empty or if it was sitting there, full and forgotten.

He smiled to himself.

The container was placed at his own doorstep, clean, empty.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Zoro’s POV —

Zoro climbed the stairs without a break, passing the fourth floor and, despite himself, glancing at the door to the blond man’s apartment. 

He saw the container as soon as he turned the stairs to climb the last flight, and a feeling in him stirred that he had no name for, and frankly couldn’t be bothered naming.

He just knew it was warm and new and uncomfortable, twirling in his stomach and making him want to double over and thrash out. 

He got to his doorsteps and looked down. The same container, full to the brim.

He considered kicking it, he considered storming down to his apartment and demanding him to stop pitying him. He considered just leaving it there. 

His stomach growled and he bent down, resigned, and picked it up.

His living room was cold and empty, and he flicked on the only working light that dimly illuminated the only couch in the middle. He had no bed, no pillows, nothing to his name but the clothes on his back and a picture frame he still had not unpacked. 

If it weren’t for the old tenants leaving a couch behind, he would have had to sleep on the floor.

Although, that did occur to him when he saw the state of the couch itself, neglected for god knows how long. 

He took in a shaky breath and sat cross legged on the floor near the door, container carefully resting on his knee. 

He swallowed. 

He felt shameful eating food he didn’t earn.

But it was warm, and the smell escaping the container made his stomach growl. 

He opened it with trembling hands, held the chopsticks the man always added, and took his first bite. 

It was 1 AM. 

This was his breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

He sighed as his tastebuds lit up, as the food rested on his tongue, at the feeling of having something to chew on. 

It took every morsel of strength in him not to wolf down every last bite.

He ate carefully, eyes brimming with tears he didn’t care for, a warmth spreading through his chest. 

He ate until he was full, he ate until the container was empty. 

And then, fell into the routine he’d begun to pick up after meals. 

Wash everything carefully, dry them right, make his way to his apartment, and leave the container there for the blond man to find whenever he finds it.

He told himself, on his way back to his own place, that it was going to be the last time, that he won’t accept any more of his food, that he was done with the man’s care.

The next night, he picked up the container and repeated his routine again, eating every last bite, and trying hard not to cry.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

He was having a relatively fucked up day, to put it lightly. He was counting coins in his head, how much further he needed to work in order to secure this month’s rent, and briefly considered taking up a graveyard shift in some third establishment. 

He was frustrated, climbing up the stairs with the heavy thud, thud, thud of his worn out boots. 

He was greeted by the same container, a note, and a feeling that spread in his chest that he still failed to name. 

He picked up the food, careful not to let the note fall, and entered the apartment. 

He flicked the light on and placed the container on the countertop in the empty kitchen. 

Zoro carefully opened the letter, his calloused fingers running over the words as he read them.

Enjoy, darling, scribbled in cursive, neat handwriting. 

The feeling that had stirred in his chest earlier escaped to his face, and he was quick to shut it down and crumble the paper, throwing it on the floor behind him. 

Darling.

That old man had no reason to use such a soft word on Zoro. 

He shook his head and looked back at the container in front of him. He swallowed and lifted the lid up.

His heart clenched in his chest. 

Onigiri.

How could he possibly have known?

He hadn’t had this since… Zoro quickly shut away that thought. 

He stared, his fingers trembling as he went to pick up one, smelling it, looking at it from all sides, before finally letting it meet his lips and tongue. 

His eyes closed shut involuntarily as his tastebuds lit up again. And again with each bite. 

Something warm fell across his cheek. A tear. 

Zoro wiped it away as quick as it appeared. 

It was then, at the last bite of the last onigiri, that he decided he’d have to show some sort of appreciation towards the blond man.

He had nothing to give, nothing to his name but a few dollars after today’s second shift.

He considered it, considered giving him the money, and shame swallowed him at the thought.

He shoved it out of his mind.

He thought for a while longer and, making up his mind, headed to the convenience store across the street.

He wasn’t going to give him money, but he was going to give him some token of gratitude. 

He bought a six pack of cheap beer, the only he could afford without going bankrupt, and made his way back to his apartment to get the container.

From the corner of his eye, he spotted the crumbled note he threw away and, hesitantly, got a blank piece of paper and scribbled a quick Thanks before shoving it between the bottles.

He made his way down to the old man’s apartment, considered knocking, and, deciding against that, left everything on his doorstep.

He’d see them whenever. Zoro didn’t care. 

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Sanji’s POV —

The light filtered through the window in Sanji’s room, soft rays against the white fabric on his bed. 

His eyes fluttered open, squinting against the light, arms stretching behind his back as he stood up, lazily running a hand through his messy hair. 

The silence from above told him that the man from 5A was already gone for the day.

He grabbed his shirt and put it on, began buttoning it as he made his way to the door to open it, a habit he’d picked up, and almost stumbled on the pack of six beers placed next to the usual container.

He frowned in confusion and looked around aimlessly, before picking both up and heading inside.

He placed them on his countertop, and stared at the bottles in front of him.

They were the cheap kind, the kind one would buy when you had no money to your name and wanted a drink desperately. 

Something tugged in Sanji’s chest as he continued staring.

The white edge of the note finally caught his eyes, wedged between two bottles, like an afterthought. 

He carefully picked it out, unfolding it, and looked at the one word scribbled hurriedly on it.

Thanks. 

He couldn’t help the smile spreading to his lips. 

He must have liked it to manage a reply.

So, he made onigiri again that night, and wrote him a longer note, Enjoy, darling, you seem to like these. 

From that night forward, the notes became longer, more inquisitive, a little more personal.

And the replies came more frequently.

Enjoy, darling. How was your shift?  Sanji would write, and Zoro would reply long.

Eat something that isn’t instant, darling. He’d send, and Zoro would send back You’re not my mother, just to follow it a few days later with a six pack and a note saying The curry was good.

They were simple, like that. They’d built a rhythm of their own, with only a ceiling separating them. 

And Sanji grew to cherish those moments. The give and take, the chance to care for someone again.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

He was smoking on the stairs again, waiting for the familiar thud of the man’s boots, the container already placed where it belongs, when he decided he was bored and wanted a stroll.

He stood up, held the ashtray with one hand, and made his way up the stairs to explore further.

It was a floor he wasn’t usually on, except for when he was dropping off food for the green-haired man. 

A door in the far end of the hallway caught his eye, wedged open slightly, wind rushing in. 

He hadn’t been through this door before in all the years he’d lived there, let alone known it exists.

He made his way towards it, nudged it open, and stepped onto the roof.

He smiled to himself.

The view to the city was beautiful, cars rushing below him on the highway, city lights sprinkling in front of him, the air catching in his hair and breezing by. 

He took an inhale from his cigarette, walking to the far edge and placing the ashtray on top of the half wall there.

He watched the city life buzzing, streetlights illuminating people momentarily before they faded into the dark. 

This was his new favorite place, he decided then and there. He’ll come back again, for sure. 

In his momentarily pleasure at the new discovery, Sanji failed to notice the faint thud of boots coming from inside, or the tired looking man that stepped on the rooftop behind him.

“This is my spot,” a voice said, and it was sudden but sweet, rough and laced with emotions. 

He turned around to be met with those same steel eyes he’d grown fond of.

He smiled at him. 

“You don’t share?” 

The man stood there, holding the container of food between his hands, and looked away with a shrug.

That was enough for Sanji to know it was okay to stay here, it was okay to share this space with him. 

He watched as the man took a hesitant step towards him then stopped, swallowed, and mustered up the courage to take another step forward.

Sanji remained silent, a warm smile spreading across his lips, inviting. 

The man looked away.

After a moment’s silence, Sanji’s voice broke the spell.

“Come here, I won’t bite.” His demand didn’t fall on deaf ears as the man walked slowly towards him.

Sanji watched, unable to wipe the smile off his face.

“Sanji,” He said, after a long stretch of silence.

The man looked at him confused.

“My name, I never told you it. I’m Sanji.”

The man stared at him, unable to control the mass of emotions crossing his face.

“Zoro,” he mumbled out, fidgeting with the chopsticks in his hand. 

“What a pretty name, darling.” Sanji said, the nickname became a habit whenever he remembered Zoro.

What he wasn’t prepared for was the way Zoro reacted, looking away, a tint of red coloring his cheeks.

Sanji smiled triumphantly. 

“Don’t call me that,” Zoro barked the way a wounded puppy would.

Sanji tilted his head to the side, watching him closely. Zoro looked away.

“Oh, but you like it, do you not?”

“Not a chance, old man.” He coughed out, regaining his composure.

Sanji took a drag from his cigarette and stubbed it in his ashtray. 

“Old man?” He challenged.

“Yes, you’re basically decomposing right in front of me.”

Sanji laughed. A real laugh. He hadn’t in years, he genuinely shocked himself by it. 

“Decomposing?” He took a step towards Zoro, he didn’t step back.

“I’ll have you know, I’m in the prime of my life, Zoro, dear. What’s your excuse for being grumpy?” 

Zoro scowled at him, his fingers tightening around the container. 

“I’m not grumpy,” He said definitively, his jaw tightening.

“Really?” Sanji challenged, “Because you’re holding the container like it’s a weapon.”

Zoro’s eyes snapped down to his hands, and finger by finger, loosened his grip on it.

He sighed and looked at Sanji, straight in his eyes.

“I have no excuse,” he murmured, defeated. “ ‘m just tired.”

Sanji raised his head lightly, biting his lip as he took in the sight in front of him. 

The tired eyes, the disheveled hair, the dirty clothes. 

The honesty landed between them, soft and unexpected, and his smile turned into something gentler.

“Eat, darling. There’s no reason for you to be tired alone.”

They stood together near the ledge, silence stretching between them as Zoro ate from the container, slowly but surely finishing every last bite. Sanji watched him, lit cigarette between his fingers, and the man snuck looks his way, his cheeks flashing soft red illuminated by the lights around them. 

Zoro finished his last bite, wiping the side of his mouth with the back of his hand, and Sanji made a mental note to include napkins next time. 

Zoro turned to look at him, lips pursed, making Sanji feel like there was something weighing him down, unable to decide whether he should say his next words or not.

“It was good.” He mumbled, barely above a whisper.

Sanji snorted softly, and simply replied, “I know.”

They settled back into silence that was far from uncomfortable to Sanji. He quite enjoyed it, but he had a feeling it unsettled something deep within Zoro. 

He looked at him, saw him messing with his hair, and chuckled.

Zoro snapped his head around to look at him, eyes alarmed at the sudden noise. 

“Calm down, darling. Why are you so fidgety?”

Zoro shrugged, “Just thinking.”

“Penny for your thoughts?” Sanji prompted.

Zoro looked at him, really looked this time. The way Sanji did the first time he saw him, and Sanji welcomed it, his face playing a tender smile and gentle eyes. 

He saw Zoro swallow, look away, look back at him.

“Why are you here?” He finally managed to say.

Sanji looked around. “On the roof, you mean?”

The man shook his head.

“No, I meant in this building,” he said, “You don’t belong here.”

Sanji licked his lips. 

“Why would you say that?” Zoro shrugged, his eyes remaining on Sanji.

“I don’t know, maybe the way you cook. Your notes, your handwriting. The way you say dar- words. None of you fits here.”

Sanji took a deep breath, taking in what Zoro just said. 

He was quiet for a long moment.

“Maybe I’m hiding,” He finally said, giving Zoro a small smile.

“Hiding? From what?” 

It was Sanji’s turn to shrug. 

“Life, maybe? Who knows.” 

Silence stretched between them again before Zoro broke it.

“I get it. I’m hiding too.” It was a whisper, something Sanji doubted Zoro wanted him to hear, but he did nonetheless. 

And he couldn’t let it slip by.

He didn’t answer immediately. He let the moment stretch between them, let the weight of the words sink in. When he spoke, his voice was careful, low, soft.

“I know you are,” he said, “I’ve known since the day you came in carrying a singular box.”

Zoro’s head snapped his way again, his expression guarded.

But something raw leaked in between the lines on his face, and Sanji picked up on it. 

Zoro’s voice came out sharp, “What do you mean?”

Sanji looked at him, his head tilted, taking him in, finding the right words to use.

“People who aren’t hiding don’t move into buildings like this, not with one box under their name. They don’t work from dawn until dusk.”

Zoro’s jaw tightened as he looked Sanji up and down, and his gaze reminded Sanji of a wounded wild animal ready to attack.

“You don’t know anything about me, old man.”

“No? I know you’re tired,” he said, “I know you’re hungry. I know you gave me the one pack of beer you could afford because you felt like you owed me something.” He paused. “And I know you’re hiding from something, but what, I don’t know.”

Zoro was silent for a long minute before he spoke up again, his voice raw, the edge of vulnerability laced to it.

“Then you know I can’t pay you back.”

Sanji smiled at him softly, “I’m not asking you to, darling.”

Sanji watched him for a minute, watching as his tense shoulders relaxed softly at the confirmation of no expectations. 

“You know,” Sanji said after a moment. He felt chatty this evening. “I used to be a chef, a real one, Michelin stars and all.”

Zoro looked at him, eyebrows furrowing together as he tried to grasp the connection.

“Yeah?” He asked, “What happened?”

“I got tired, like humans do. Life was…” Sanji sighed, “It was tiring. Demanding. I’m here hiding from it, from the constant expectations. 

He looked upwards, towards the sky, and heard Zoro shuffle next to him.

“So you came here.”

“So I came here.”

Zoro didn’t say anything. He just stepped closer, Sanji could feel the warmth emanating from his body now. 

He smiled and stayed silent. 

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

The next time Sanji saw Zoro, something had changed. His footsteps were heavier, the container sat at his door for two days without being picked up. Something had happened. 

He found him one night standing next to the ledge on the rooftop, eyes damp and a folded letter in his hand. 

Sanji came close carefully, making sure his footsteps were loud enough as to not scare Zoro by his sudden appearance. 

“Darling,” he said delicately, “Zoro?” 

Zoro wiped at his eyes before turning his head slightly, chin hidden behind his shoulder as he stared at the ground Sanji was standing on.

“What’s wrong?” Sanji had to do everything in him not to rush to Zoro’s side, not to cradle him, to care for him. 

Zoro took in a shuddered breath, and shook his head.

“Nothin’,” he said, collecting himself.

Sanji’s eyebrows furrowed lightly. He reached out with his hand and grabbed Zoro’s chin softly, pulling it up so he’d look at him.

Zoro looked away, tried to shove Sanji away but failed, instead involuntarily melting into his touch. 

Sanji rubbed his chin with his finger gently and cooed out his name urging him to look at him.

Zoro did. 

“What happened, darling?”

Zoro frowned at the nickname, and Sanji realized he still hadn’t accepted it fully despite knowing he liked it.

“I got fired.” His voice came out choked, pained, the weight of ten million burning suns wedged between his words.

“They’ve kept me around so far out of pity, but they couldn’t afford it anymore. They let me go.” Zoro tugged his chin away from Sanji’s grip and the blond let him. 

Sanji didn’t attempt to touch him again, instead opting to make his presence known by standing next to him, close enough to feel, far enough for space to breathe. 

He stood there silently, watched the tremble in Zoro’s hands, the way he shoved them and the paper in his pockets, the redness of his face. 

His eyes were threatening to let go of tears anew.

Sanji watched, not sure if he would be able to handle such a sight without falling into him.

The silence stretched between them.

Zoro finally broke it.

“Aren’t you gonna say anything?”

Sanji shrugged, tilting his head slightly to the right, looking at Zoro with deep, gentle eyes.

“What’s there to say?”

“I don’t know, that it’s gonna be alright? That I’ll figure something out?” 

“You will figure something out, but that’s not what you want to hear right now.”

“Then what is?”

“That you’re not alone, that you won’t go hungry while I’m here. That I’m not going anywhere.”

“Why you- Why?” Zoro’s voice strained against his vocal chords.

“Because I wish someone would have done that for me.” Sanji replied, letting go of a secret he’d held so close to his heart for so long. 

They didn’t talk any more that evening, just stayed in each other’s space, each occasionally daring a glance towards the other.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Weeks after their talk on the rooftop, there was a power outage in the entire building, very late into the night. 

Flashlight in hand, Sanji made his way to the top floor, the light shining on the different jagged steps under him, his mind buzzing with a decision he hadn’t made yet.

He knocked on his door and waited.

He heard shuffling from inside, the sound of a lock clicking, and was soon met with the face of Zoro, head and body covered by a blanket that couldn’t have possibly been enough.

Sanji looked at him, at the visible breath he was taking, and made up his mind.

“Come on, you’re coming with me.”

Zoro scowled at him. “Like hell I am, go away old man.”

Sanji rubbed the bridge of his nose, shining the light into his apartment. 

He hesitated at the bareness of it all, at the innate coldness it held, amplified by the power outage and the cold January night.

“Move, Zoro, I’m not asking. You’re not staying here.” 

Zoro scoffed and went to close the door in Sanji’s face, who wedged his foot inside before he could.

“Get lost, cook, why would I even come with you.”

Sanji breathed in, the cold getting to him, too. 

“I have heat, I have food. Come.” He demanded.

“No,” Zoro said, leaving the door and shuffling to the couch in the back, taking a seat on it and pulling his knees to his chest.

“You’re gonna get sick, darling.” Sanji’s voice echoed from the hallway.

“So be it,” Zoro shrugged, “I’m not your charity case.”

Sanji sighed. So, that was what it was all about. Feeling like charity.

“Zoro, dear, it’s not charity. It’s food, it’s warmth, it's…” Sanji weighed his next words carefully before saying them, “It’s me, asking you to come with me so I don’t have to worry about your ass freezing to death. Please, darling, come with me.”

He could see Zoro’s hesitation from across the room, and his heart rejoiced at the sight of him untangling from underneath his blanket and slowly making his way towards Sanji.

Sanji smiled gently towards him, making room for him to pass and closing the door behind them.

Their footsteps echoed down the stairway. Zoro waited for Sanji at the end of the steps right in front of his door.

For a second, Sanji hesitated. 

He unlocked the door and it opened into a room lit by candles, the dim light of a gas heater, and the smell of tasty food.

He looked at Zoro, who had taken two steps in and had paused, looking around.

“What…” he mumbled, his eyes darting from one edge to the other.

“What is the meaning of this?” His voice was laced with anger, dipped in disgust.

Sanji licked his lips carefully. 

“My apartment.”

Zoro scoffed, “Yeah, no shit. What is it doing in this shitty building, in this shitty neighborhood?” His voice was raised, and he was now looking at Sanji incredulously. 

Sanji stared at him, his anger that he’d worked his entire life to stave off, suddenly boiling in the pit of his stomach.

“I rented it, what’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong? I knew you didn’t belong here. I knew you were an imposter, too good to be true. What, did you want me to worship you for the food you sent when you’re living like this? You’re flaunting your wealth and you expect me to be okay with it?”

“Zoro, careful.” Sanji warned, his body heating up, his leg itching. 

“What? This was charity for you, I was your charity case, a feel good about yourself ticket with a good for nothing man you could flaunt your wealth on. Wasn’t I? You listened to me as I talked about my struggles, made me believe you understood them, that you lived them–”

“I did live them.” Sanji cut him off.

“Bullshit, look at this. You’re hiding here? I should have known it was a rich man thing coming from you.”

“Zoro,” Sanji’s voice boomed, “Behave.”

Zoro squinted his eyes at him, taking two steps forward, until he was face to face with Sanji.

“Or else, what?”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about, Zoro.”

“Bullshit,” Zoro spat out, glaring at Sanji, fury evident on his face, in his eyes.

Sanji’s leg was itching, his hands trembling beside him, that oh so familiar feeling from years and years ago resurfacing again, boiling his insides, choking his throat. 

Zoro was standing in his apartment, in the place he’s built from scratch to run from a monster he once was, and calling him a liar, a fraud, a good for nothing charity giver.

He erased all the work he had done with his words, simple and harrowing.

“You don’t know anything,” Sanji could hear his voice laced with pain, “You don’t have a clue what I left behind to come here, what I ran away from, what I built here.”

Zoro frowned at him, didn’t step back when Sanji stepped closer.

“Tell me, then, how do you explain all of this?”

“I’m trying,” Sanji was close to him, a couple steps away from each other. 

“I brought you here, not because you’re a charity case, not because I pitied you, not to flaunt my wealth, I don’t even care about that.”

“Then why?” Zoro’s voice was careful, still angry, still on edge.

“Because…” Sanji took a deep breath. “Because ever since I saw you, ever since I saw how you carried yourself, how you’d work yourself to the bone, ever since that first time, I knew that I wanted to–” He breathed a sigh, “To take care of you. I wanted you to know you weren’t alone, I wanted to be there, I wanted you to know you had me.”

Zoro looked at him, Sanji stepped closer, daring him to step back.

He didn’t.

“So what, you wanted to play savior today? Saw me shivering in my apartment and wanted to be the hero?”

“No,” Sanji’s voice was strict, shutting Zoro up immediately. 

“I told you, I wanted to take care of you.”

Sanji looked at Zoro, Zoro stared back. 

“Is that so hard to believe? That someone would want to take care of you like this? To feed you, to be there for you?” He watched Zoro’s jaw clench and unclench, his fists untightening next to his sides. 

“People don’t do that.” His voice came out a soft, pained whisper.

It melted Sanji’s heart.

“I do, darling. I do it because I want to. Because I saw you and couldn’t stop thinking about you. I do. I’ve been doing it for months, leaving you food, bringing you here, taking care of you. Because I want to, because you’re…” He trailed off, hesitant, “You’re you.”

Zoro’s glare softened, blinking, taking in Sanji’s words.

Sanji, in a fit of courage, reached up with his hand to grab Zoro’s chin softly, his thumb resting on his lower lip. Zoro didn’t move.

“I did it because you were hungry, because you were alone, because you remind me of myself, because I wished someone would do this for me when I needed it.”

And just like that, Zoro’s shoulders softened along with his gaze. He looked down at Sanji, who was now dangerously close to him, and blinked gently, swallowing hard. 

“Why are you here?” Zoro asked, his voice rough, but the edge was gone. 

“Really, why are you here, in this shitty building, when you could be anywhere you want?”

Sanji smiled softly, looking up at him, the hand that was on his chin tucking a strand of green hair behind his ear. 

“Because I got tired, darling. Of trying to be someone I wasn’t, of running away from who I actually was. I had to learn how to be me again, how to calm down the anger, the itch to fight, the boiling in my stomach. I had to learn how to be someone I could love.” He paused, his palm caressing Zoro’s cheek and watching him basically melt into his touch.

“I found that here. I found myself. What more, I found you, a purpose to wake up every morning. Through you, I found my love to cook for others again. You don’t know how much you’ve affected me, darling.”

Zoro’s eyes were completely soft now, and Sanji watched as he struggled to swallow, as he inched ever so close. 

Sanji didn’t close the distance, he didn’t initiate. He waited for Zoro to do so, to take what he wanted from him, so that he could give him what he wanted.

And Zoro did lean in, his hand fisting in Sanji’s shirt, bringing him even closer, his lips brushing against Sanji’s.

Sanji watched him, watched his half open eyes, his eyelashes curling upwards, long and beautiful. He felt his shuddered breath on his lip, his hesitation, or maybe its nerves?

“I– I don’t really know how to.” Zoro mumbled against his lips, and Sanji smiled.

“You don’t have to know,” Sanji said, “You just have to let me know.”

And Zoro nodded, pressing his lips softly against Sanji’s and letting Sanji take control.

Sanji pressed softly, gently, undemanding, his hand wrapping around Zoro’s waist slowly, careful not to overstep. 

Zoro melted into the kiss, into the touch, into Sanji. 

He parted his lips, letting Sanji in with his tongue, letting him roam freely in his mouth, and Sanji cherished what Zoro was slowly giving him.

He pulled back, earning him the softest whine from Zoro who was quick to mask it with a fake cough.

Sanji looked at him with gentle eyes, and Zoro looked back with eyes that betrayed his inner fear. Sanji noticed that, like everything Zoro does, and asked him softly.

“Do you trust me?”

Zoro’s voice hitched in his throat as he looked down at Sanji, who was looking up at him with his head slightly tilted, expecting an answer.

Zoro hesitated at first, something akin to fear flashing across his features.

Sanji had the feeling he never trusted anyone before, not with the way he was desperately searching Sanji’s eyes.

Sanji hummed, urging him on. The flicker of the candle illuminating his face showed a blush creeping up on it. 

He nodded.

“Use your words, darling.” Sanji demanded softly, and listened as Zoro struggled to articulate his words.

“Y–yes, I trust you.” Sanji smiled warmly, running a hand down the side of Zoro’s head.

“Good, say it again.”

Zoro’s breath hitched in his throat, and his voice cracked on the words, “I trust you.”

“Good job, darling.” Sanji’s smile turned even more tender, one he had not given anyone in ages, he almost forgot what it felt like.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Zoro’s POV —

Sanji carefully led him by his hand towards the couch on the opposite end of the room. Zoro tried everything he could not to let the fear consume him, his hand trembling slightly from everything happening all at once.

The anger he felt seeing the apartment, the anger in Sanji’s voice, the softness that followed, their kiss, the way he asked him if he trusted him.

Do you trust me?

And he did, for some reason, despite all his past weighing down on him, he did. He trusted this man who was holding his hand, soft fingers between calloused ones, guiding him towards a fate he wasn’t sure he knew the details of.

All his life, the world took from him, over and over again.

But somehow, in the dim light of the room illuminated by candles, the warmth spreading through Zoro from the heater, the hand in his, Zoro could confidently say he trusted the 40 year old man with all he got to give, which Zoro was scared wasn’t enough.

He followed after Sanji. 

“Sit.” His voice demanded, softly, firmly, and Zoro’s legs almost gave underneath him at the command. 

He feared learning the magnitude of what just happened to his body.

He did as he was told, sitting in the middle of the couch, watching Sanji with big eyes. 

His soft blues settle on him, that same soft smile painting his lips. 

Zoro could drown in his eyes. They were as mesmerizing as the day they met, walking up the stairs just to have them locked on him.

Who was he to deserve so much care?

All the meals he had because of him, all the softness he bestowed Zoro, the safety of standing next to him on the rooftop those many times, what did Zoro do to deserve them.

Nothing. Nothing.

So, why was Sanji kneeling between his legs now, his hands on his thighs, grounding him, calming him down, looking at him with so much sincerity, so much softness.

Zoro realized the position Sanji was in, on his knees, and quickly moved to help him up.

But the man was there on purpose.

“Stay still, darling. Let me do this.” His soft voice firm, his hands moving up his legs.

Zoro sat back, looked away, a blush creeping up his neck.

Sanji leaned forward, reached up and grabbed Zoro’s face gently, turning it so that steel grey eyes locked on blue. 

“Look at me. I want you to keep looking at me. Can you do that? For me?” The way Sanji asked tugged at something in Zoro’s heart.

What was it? He still didn’t have a name for it. But he knew it was safe, warm, cherishing. 

Zoro nodded in response, but that wasn’t enough for Sanji, who asked him words, and Zoro struggled against the lump forming in his throat to choke out a yes, I can. 

“Good boy,” Sanji murmured, as his hands trailed up Zoro’s legs, fingers sneaking under his shirt. 

He looked at him, and Zoro heard the silent question, can I? And Zoro mumbled out a yes, feeling Sanji’s hand on his skin, pulling the shirt up with him, until it was over Zoro’s head. 

Taken off, Zoro lay there bare and vulnerable, under the soft gaze of Sanji, who began kissing him. 

He pressed a kiss on his left knee, sending shivers down Zoro’s spine, Sanji’s lips not stopping there. 

He began pressing kisses up Zoro’s inner thigh, and right when his lips almost reached the warmth boiling in Zoro’s body, he moved to the other leg and did the same, trailing kisses up and down his legs. 

Zoro watched him, his eyes following his every move, his lips leaving phantom burns where they touched. 

Sanji leaned up slightly, kissed his left hipbone, then his right, protruding less than when he came here, but there nonetheless. 

He kissed, mumbled, “Never hungry,” kissed, “with me around,” kissed, “ever again.”

Zoro fought tears. He was breaking apart a bit more after each kiss, surrendering to the force that was Sanji, kissing his body, almost worshipping him and he didn’t understand why it was happening, why someone like Sanji would be promising him so much care and kindness.

His head buzzed from the feeling of Sanji touching him, his hands trailing across his skin as he moved his lips from his hips to his stomach, to his sides, to the edge of the big scar running across Zoro’s torso. 

He kissed the hollow of his chest, trailed kisses to his Adam's apple, the warmth of Zoro pressing against Sanji’s chest. 

Zoro’s hands went to Sanji’s shoulders, grabbed them, his eyes dangerously close to shedding tears. The man looked at him, blue eyes piercing into his own, softness like no other Zoro had known dancing between them.

“Why–” Zoro choked out, “Why are you doing this?”

Sanji sat up, reaching up to cup Zoro’s cheek with his hand, and leaned in, their lips brushing.

“Because I want to, because you’re worth it. Because you deserve to know how precious you are. It’s only fair, after the world brought you down so horribly.”

There it was again, Sanji saying words that contradicted the essence of Zoro’s being.

Worth it? Precious? And Sanji wanted to? Without any sacrifice from his part? 

Zoro felt his world view cracking. 

Zoro leaned into Sanji’s lips and kissed him shyly, a stark difference in how he usually portrayed himself. He felt Sanji’s tongue licking his lower lip, so Zoro parted, let him in, let someone else, someone he trusted, take control. The blond deepened the kiss, all the while handling Zoro with the utmost care, the back of his hand softly running down his arms, a tickle. His lips holding Zoro’s with old care, the kind you only learn through growing older, through experience, a stark difference, again, than how he usually appeared, hasty, tired, on edge.

The kiss was gentle and slow, a borderline prayer to a god Zoro didn’t believe in, and it took his breath away so much that when Sanji pulled back, Zoro was left panting, needing more.

He could feel the lightheadedness cloud him, he could feel his body tingling, his mind slipping under Sanji’s caress, under his lips and through his soft words.

“I don’t know how to do this,” Zoro managed a soft whisper, almost inaudible, “I don’t know how to let someone in.”

Sanji pressed a kiss on his forehead, then one on his lips.

“You don’t have to know,” he said, “You just have to let me.”

Zoro’s eyes fluttered shut, his hands slipping into Sanji’s blond locks, holding on softly. 

He nodded slightly, and his voice came out raw when he spoke.

“Okay. Okay.”

Sanji smiled softly, “Look at me,” He demanded softly, and Zoro’s eyes fluttered back open.

Sanji took Zoro’s left hand and began kissing it, worshipping it, leaving a trail of kisses from his palm up to his wrist, his elbow, kissing over his shoulder and along the column of his throat. Zoro could feel his lips on his pulse, and he could feel his pulse pick up speed. 

“Breathe, darling,” and Zoro let go of a breath he didn’t know he was holding, his chest heaving. 

Sanji pulled himself up from the floor and went to straddle Zoro’s waist, his knees caging Zoro’s sides, and Zoro welcomed it, welcoming the feeling of his body pressed against Sanji’s. 

Sanji cupped Zoro’s face between his palm and began kissing his face softly, mumbling soft words, telling him just how enough he was, just how good he’d done so far, that he was worth it. 

Zoro wanted to cry, and so he did, tears streaming down his cheeks captured by Sanji’s lips, soft as silk on his red, cold skin. 

He felt Sanji’s arm wrap around his neck, pulling his head towards his chest, he could hear Sanji’s heart beat under his ear, feel the breath he was inhaling then exhaling. 

He felt himself shatter in his arms, the weight of ten million burning suns evaporating inside of this space Sanji had provided for him.

“It’s okay,” he’d hear him murmur, “I’ve got you.” Sanji’s words echoed through the chambers of his heart, taking refuge in his veins, pumping throughout his whole body.

“I’ve got you, darling.”

Zoro wept until there was nothing to weep about, until he was one with Sanji, until he felt his body morph into the man sitting on him. 

He looked up, tears drying on his cheek, and pleaded for a kiss with his eyes.

Sanji listened, he smiled, he obeyed. 

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

They stayed like that for hours, Zoro drifting off inside of Sanji’s arms, until Sanji knew Zoro had to leave for work.

He woke him up gently, pressed a kiss on his temple, watched the blush spread across his face as memories of a few hours ago flashed through his brain.

Sanji let Zoro kiss him, shyly, timidly, needily, and Sanji kissed back softly, gently, tenderly. 

Before he left, Zoro looked back to meet soft blue eyes looking back at him. 

He hesitated, weighing his words carefully, before finally asking, “Stay, please?”

Sanji smiled that velvety smile Zoro has grown so accustomed to already.

“I’ll be right here, darling. Come back to me.”