LOVE ME

Honestly—and as cliché as it sounded—she had imagined a shy girl. The typical nerdy type, maybe, with glasses so thick she could be considered legally blind without them. She’d also pictured someone obsessively organized, very clean, and on top of that, routine-driven—someone who’d get upset over even the smallest detail out of place or a sudden change in schedule.

She wouldn’t have minded. In fact, she needed someone like that in her life.

Lately, everything felt meaningless. She took any chance she could to go out partying and drink herself senseless. Flirting with girls she knew weren’t looking for anything serious and who would end up ignoring her afterward, making her feel foolish for thinking anyone would want something beyond just a good time with her. If she wasn’t doing any of those three things, she smoked an entire pack of cigarettes in a single day.

So maybe a good influence wouldn’t hurt.

Someone who would scold her if she dared to show up past three in the morning.

Someone who made her feel just ashamed enough of herself to want to improve a little...

Even if by force.

Sanji took a deep breath, trying to calm the mess her mind was already forming. Overthinking never led anywhere good; the best thing was just to act spontaneously.

When she finally managed to gather the courage to open the door and was met with a muscular, tanned woman with eyes so sharp they looked like they could slice you apart with a single blink, Sanji had to use all her willpower not to look too surprised.

The last thing she needed was to get off on the wrong foot with the person she’d be sharing four walls with for the rest of her college life.

Though now that she thought about it, maybe she had the wrong room.

“Vinsmoke?” the girl said, raising an eyebrow at the way Sanji froze in the doorway.

Okay, maybe not the wrong room.

This girl had short hair dyed the loudest green Sanji had ever seen in her life. Sweat ran down her neck as she lifted a dumbbell with one hand, trailing over the black fabric of her ripped-sleeve shirt with the logo of a band Sanji didn’t recognize printed in the middle.

Sanji liked to think she wasn’t the type of person who judged others by their appearance, much less someone who assumed what someone should look like based on their major.

But…

Where the hell was the friendly little nerd she’d been expecting?

“Uh… Yeah, that’s me. Call me Sanji, nice to meet you,” she said, with a polite smile and the most casual tone she could muster.

“Mm.” The girl simply nodded and continued with her routine.

Sanji raised an eyebrow at this. “People usually say their name when they introduce themselves,” she said jokingly, trying to keep a friendly tone.

“Eh? Is that so?” She didn’t sound particularly interested.

“Yeah…”

“Roronoa Zoro,” the girl finally said as she set the dumbbell down with a dull thud on the floor.

“…Alright, what should I call you?”

“Whatever you want, blondie,” she said before getting up and disappearing into the shower, the faint clinking of her earrings trailing behind as she walked.

With that first conversation, Sanji realized that living together was going to be harder than she thought.

Settling in was easier than Sanji had expected. After all, Zoro had already been living there for weeks—weeks Sanji hadn’t been able to attend due to… certain problems.

She thought the place would be completely dominated by her roommate’s presence. She imagined she’d find every corner occupied, that she wouldn’t even have the courage to unpack what she’d brought with her. Like the little porcelain figures her mother had left her and that she couldn’t bring herself to leave at her father’s house.

But to her surprise, Zoro barely seemed interested in her presence—much less in how she decorated her side of the room.

Her bed, pushed into the corner by the window, had only a wrinkled sheet, a thin blanket, and a pillow with no cover. She kept her clothes in a sports bag leaning against the wall, like using the closet was too much effort. Her desk was nearly empty, except for a reusable water bottle and a tangled pair of headphones. In the shared bathroom, there was only a toothbrush, a bar of soap, deodorant, and a bottle of all-in-one shampoo that Sanji could swear also doubled as mouthwash.

The only thing Zoro seemed to have paid any real attention to were the posters on her side of the room: pixelated covers of old video games Sanji vaguely recognized from her brothers, logos of bands with unreadable fonts, and a small photo taped to the corner of her desk. It showed her and a couple of friends holding up bottles at what looked like a graduation party.

Oh, and the pull-up bar installed right on the doorway like it was the most normal thing in the world.

Everything else was free space.

Sanji didn’t take long to claim her side of the room.

She strung up some warm lights around her desk—soft enough not to bother. She carefully unpacked her porcelain figures, wrapped in an old T-shirt, and placed them on a shelf she clumsily installed.

There were three, to be exact.

A small angel, with big eyes and blond hair her mother always compared to hers.

A swan.

And the last one—two people sitting side by side, one holding a bouquet in her lap while the other held her hand.

That one had a crack at the base, but Sanji couldn’t bear to leave it behind.

She also brought a diffuser she placed in a corner of the desk. Lavender. Not too strong, and not unpleasant either. She put a white floral comforter on her bed, with a small pink blanket folded neatly at the foot. Her suitcase, on the other hand, remained half-unpacked on the floor for two days. Clothes could wait.

Zoro didn’t say anything. The first two days were pure silence.

She didn’t comment when Sanji laid down a fluffy beige rug at the foot of her bed. Nor when she brought in a small plant in a smiling pot and left it by the window.

Sanji didn’t know if the silence meant approval or plain indifference.

She was too scared of making things awkward to say anything. What if she said the wrong thing, and now the rest of her university life—which she’d barely managed to get into—turned into a constant hell?

No. Absolutely not.

Sanji had learned the hard way that sometimes it was better to just stay quiet.

The first day of classes was just as boring as she expected.

She really wasn’t interested in making friends—at least not yet. First, she needed to adjust. To the schedule, to the campus, to the way professors seemed to speak an entirely different language, even though it was the same as always.

To the anxiety that settled in her chest every time she had to walk into a classroom full of strangers.

She got through the day with coffee, mint gum, and a few secret drags in the bathroom between classes.

One random morning, just as she was rushing out to her Intro to Gastronomy class, she realized she hadn’t watered her plant. She turned back down the hall, frustrated with herself as she dug around in the pocket of her jacket for the key.

I really need to get more organized, she thought.

Sometimes everything feels...

Then she opened the door—and her thoughts stopped.

Zoro was leaning in front of the small pot by the window, carefully pouring water from a plastic cup. Her T-shirt was wrinkled, her eyelids half-shut, and her hair still damp from the shower. She looked freshly rolled out of bed.

Sanji stood there a second too long, unsure if she should say something or not.

“Thanks,” she finally said, stepping inside.

Zoro jumped slightly, like she hadn’t heard her come in. She turned halfway, not quite meeting Sanji’s eyes, and nodded briefly.

“It’s nothing.”

“No, seriously. I completely forgot, and it’s the kind of plant they told me needs to stay really well hydrated. Thanks for taking care of it.”

Zoro seemed to hesitate for a second before replying. “I said it’s nothing,” she repeated. “The poor thing doesn’t deserve to die just because you forgot it.”

Sanji raised an eyebrow.

Was that… a joke?

“You’re right,” she answered with a sarcastic smile. “The poor plant doesn’t deserve it.”

Zoro shrugged and set the cup on the desk. That planted a brief silence in the room—but it didn’t last long.

“You really like them?” Zoro asked, nodding toward the plant. “Plants, I mean.”

Sanji blinked, surprised she kept talking. “A bit. They make me feel… I don’t know. I like the idea of taking care of something,” she said, and then, as if she regretted sounding too emotional, quickly added in a lighter tone, “Though I’m already failing.”

Zoro nodded, like she understood perfectly. She scratched the back of her neck, a little awkward.

“My classes are mostly in the afternoon. I can water it in the mornings. So you don’t have to rush when you leave.”

Sanji looked at her, slightly impressed.

“Really?”

“It’s no big deal,” Zoro said, looking away.

“Well, then… I’ll bring you a cookie from the cafeteria as thanks.”

“No.”

Sanji froze, confused.

“Huh?”

“I… uh… I don’t like sweets,” Zoro said, like she was confessing a crime.

“Oh. Then… I’ll bring you chips?”

Zoro finally met her eyes. Just for a second. A brief glance. But Sanji could swear her lips twitched, like she was holding back a smile.

“Fine.”

Sanji wasn’t exactly sure when she started noticing Zoro’s routines.

Maybe it was a week after the plant thing. Suddenly, she realized Zoro always had breakfast late, sometimes after training, usually with a dry piece of toast or whatever looked easiest to swallow. That sometimes she skipped lunch and fell asleep at her desk. That most of her meals were canned tuna, energy bars, or things Sanji would describe as a direct insult to good taste.

Few things annoyed her more than bad eating habits.

So that afternoon, while cooking for herself—a simple pasta with tomato sauce, basil, and a bit of grated cheese—she made an extra portion.

She was nervous. She didn’t really know what to expect, but the food was done and she wasn’t the kind of person to waste it.

What was the worst that could happen?

Zoro could reject the food and call her a nosy idiot?

That didn’t sound too far-fetched.

Great. Now she was sweating.

She didn’t say anything at first. Just served the plates, set one on Zoro’s desk and the other on her own bed, where she usually ate. Then she sat down and started eating like nothing was out of the ordinary.

Zoro looked at the plate. Then at her.

She didn’t ask, but she also didn’t touch the food right away.

She just stood there, still, like she didn’t know what to do.

“It’s not poisoned,” Sanji said, without looking up.

Zoro snorted. “I didn’t say that.”

Oh, so she could laugh?

“I know you thought it.”

“Can you read minds now?”

“Yep.”

“Wow. So what am I thinking right now?”

“You’re thinking about how good my pasta looks and how badly you want to try it.”

Zoro didn’t answer. She rolled her eyes, but Sanji caught a tiny spark of amusement in them. Just for a moment.

Then she started eating.

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. It was dense, sure, but calm.

Zoro ate with focus, and Sanji tried not to stare too obviously.

Not that she succeeded.

“So?” she finally asked, elbow on the table, wearing a little smirk.

Zoro chewed slowly. Swallowed. Looked up. “Not bad.”

Sanji raised an eyebrow. “Not bad? Seriously?”

“Are you complaining because I didn’t praise you enough?”

“A kneeling ovation would be nice,” he said with a mocking smile, stretching his legs out on the bed.

Zoro shook her head, amused. “Do you usually ask girls you just met to get on their knees?”

Sanji choked on air. She tried to fire back with another joke, not wanting to be fazed by a stupid comment. But her throat clamped shut. She turned her gaze to her empty plate, rubbing the back of her neck like something had suddenly started itching.

“You’re disgusting,” she muttered.

Zoro let out a low, lazy laugh. “It was good, cook.” And after a pause, she added, “Thanks.”

Sanji shrugged, pretending not to care, even though a tiny spark of satisfaction warmed her chest.

“You’re welcome,” she mumbled, and kept eating—smiling with every bite like she hadn’t just tasted her first real friendly conversation.

The first month had passed, and although it hadn’t been planned, Sanji had started taking care of Zoro’s dinners. At least when she could. They were always well received — even if Zoro rarely said it out loud — and they doubled as practice for her culinary classes. So, why not?

Zoro often finished her meal before Sanji did, took both plates, washed them, and cleaned the kitchen, even though Sanji had never asked. She figured it was Zoro’s way of keeping things balanced or something like that.

It wasn’t a surprise to realize Zoro was that kind of person. Quiet, reserved, someone who communicated better through actions. Understanding what she was thinking could be hard. That made Sanji nervous.

Not being able to read someone easily.

Sanji was usually good at that. She adapted naturally, even to more withdrawn people. She always managed to mold herself to what she thought others expected. It was the safest way to be liked.

But with Zoro, she had no idea.

She didn’t know if Zoro expected friendship or just peaceful coexistence. If she enjoyed their small talks or would rather be left alone. Sometimes, Sanji even doubted whether Zoro truly liked her cooking — something she had never questioned before.

She’d always been confident in her skills. She knew she was a good cook, she knew she had talent. Her mother, her sister, and Zeff always told her so.

…

One afternoon, they were sitting at opposite ends of the room. Sanji lay on her bed, flipping through her recipe notebook with her legs crossed and a pencil between her teeth. Zoro, on the other hand, was lightly rocking in her chair, holding a water bottle and still in her workout clothes, her shirt sticking to her body.

She had a slight frown. Sanji figured it could be bad mood, maybe something about classes or personal stuff. Either way, they weren’t close enough yet for her to ask just out of curiosity.

“You got anything for headaches?”

Sanji jumped at the sudden question. She cursed herself for not having bought a painkiller — even if headaches weren’t something she often dealt with.

“I can go grab some. What are your symptoms?”

Zoro shook her head. “Dunno, it just hurts.”

“Since when?”

“Since I finished my arm set.”

“…Did you eat before starting?”

“No? Why?”

“You have to eat well if you’re going to work out for hours.”

“I know, I’m not an idiot.”

“Then?”

“I forgot.”

“You forgot?” Sanji said with a half-smile, not even looking up. “What are you, a little kid that needs supervision?”

Zoro looked at her with a slight frown. “Ugh. You sound like my sister,” she said with a shrug. “So annoying.”

Sanji tilted her head a bit, curious.

“You have a sister?”

“Yeah.”

There was a pause. Sanji sat up straighter, setting the notebook aside.

“What’s she like?”

Zoro rested her elbows on her knees, fiddling with the bottle cap. “Her name’s Perona. She studies graphic design.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out an old wallet, taking out a photo of her and her sister at what looked like a birthday party.

“She’s into dark stuff and loud colors. Like… sparkly goth.”

Sanji chuckled quietly while looking at the photo. The girl with pink hair wore knee-high black boots, dramatic makeup, glitter under her eyes, and purple eyeshadow matching her long fake nails. She had on a short dress with bat prints and a spiked choker. She looked completely out of place at a family party — but oddly right.

Zoro, in contrast, looked like she’d just rolled out of bed. Her hair was messy, she wore a plain black t-shirt, mismatched shoelaces, and a pair of athletic shorts that barely reached her thighs. Her arms were crossed and her expression slightly awkward, like she wasn’t sure how to deal with the camera. Still, there was a small, sheepish smile on her face.

While Perona screamed “Look at me,” Zoro looked one second away from running.

Yet it still looked like a fond memory.

“Wow. You two don’t really look alike.”

“Of course not. We’re adopted. No shared blood.”

The silence that followed wasn’t exactly uncomfortable, but it was heavier. Sanji didn’t think it was a bad thing. Not dramatic, not tragic — just… she didn’t know how to respond to Zoro’s flat tone.

She blinked slowly and looked away for a second, uncertain. “I… well, that explains it,” she finally said, not knowing if it was the right thing.

Zoro squinted slightly, catching the tentative tone. She straightened a bit and spoke bluntly. “Hey, don’t think I feel bad about it or anything.”

“Sorry for assuming.” Sanji murmured, scratching her wrist without realizing — a nervous tic.

Zoro let out a dramatic sigh and set the bottle down. “Huh… Maybe I’ll forgive you if you give me more of those onigiri you made yesterday.”

Sanji scoffed, tossing a pillow from the bed. Zoro caught it effortlessly.

“Hungry idiot.”

“Can you blame me? They were really good.” she added softly, completely casual.

Sanji felt a warm twinge in her chest. “I’ll see if there’s any left,” she said, pretending to sound annoyed.

"Due to a scheduling conflict, I won’t be attending today’s class. I’ll share the materials later and we’ll reschedule."

That was it. Not even an apology.

All Sanji got from that message was that her professor cared so little about his students’ time he couldn’t even bother to warn them earlier. He sent it five minutes before class was supposed to start.

The stress from the past three weeks was starting to wear her down. Her back ached, her jaw was tight, and the pressure in her temples was like a constant drumbeat. She needed a cigarette. Badly.

Sure, she’d been smoking less lately. Not really by choice — she just wasn’t sure if Zoro could stand the smell of smoke in the room. And things between them… well, they were starting to take shape. She wouldn’t say they were friends. Not yet. But they could talk without it feeling weird. That was a lot.

Plus, Zoro had made her smile. Three times now.

Yeah, she’d counted. No idea why.

The point was, she needed something. An outlet. If not cigarettes, then at least a friendly face. She wanted to talk to Nami — her unofficial emotional advisor, wise, impatient, and brutally honest. Or ask Robin what a reasonable person would do in her situation. Even listening to Usopp’s nonsense sounded good. At least he’d make her laugh, and right now, that felt like a luxury.

Lacking nicotine or therapy, venting about her stupid professor would have to be the next best thing. Even if it was childish. She didn’t care.

Before she realized it, she was already at her door.

She sighed deeply, trying to calm down before going in. Maybe cooking would help. Sushi, perhaps. She could offer some to Zoro too — she seemed to really like Japanese food.

She sighed again. Opened the door.

A loud thud against the wall startled her.

She blinked. Then her gaze landed on the bed.

Her porcelain figures were there, carefully wrapped in one of her shirts, aligned neatly in the center like someone had taken the time to place them thoughtfully.

She looked up, confused.

There was Zoro.

Standing by the wall, awkwardly adjusting the shelf Sanji had installed days ago. She held a screwdriver between her teeth, sleeves rolled up, fingers dusty and forehead glistening with sweat.

“Oh,” Zoro mumbled, the screwdriver still in her mouth. “You’re back early.”

“…Class was canceled,” Sanji replied, still watching.

“I see.”

“And you… what are you…?”

“It was crooked,” Zoro shrugged. “Didn’t wanna clean up broken porcelain if it fell.”

“I see.”

Sanji stood still for a moment, feeling something loosen inside her chest.

Then she smiled. A small, inevitable smile she tried to hide by looking away.

Zoro finished tightening the screw, stepped back to inspect the shelf, and nodded, satisfied. Without saying another word, she started picking up the tools, not expecting any acknowledgment.

Sanji didn’t say anything at first.

She just walked to the bed, picked up one of the figures — the blonde angel — and held it for a moment in her hands.

“Thanks,” she said, not looking directly at her.

Zoro grimaced. “It’s nothing,” she replied flatly.

To Sanji, it wasn’t nothing.

She stayed silent for a moment, thinking while she placed the figures back where they belonged.

Had Zoro waited for her to leave to fix the shelf without her noticing?

Without even asking for money?

Was she just going to do it and never mention it?

Zoro had no way of knowing how much those figures meant to her. She had no clue.

So… why?

“And… why did you get here so early?”

Sanji blinked.

Was Zoro… starting a conversation?

“Class was canceled,” she repeated, trying to sound casual. “Five minutes before. Very professional.”

Zoro clicked her tongue and dropped onto her bed, like the comment amused her in a very, very subtle way. “What an asshole,” she said.

“Right?!” Sanji practically burst out. “Not even a sorry! Just a dry, dumb message like we’ve all got nothing better to do.”

Zoro nodded without much energy, but there was something like silent solidarity in her expression. Sanji sat down too, crossing her legs on the bed and letting out a long sigh.

“I haven’t slept well in three weeks. I’m behind on reading, I totally messed up a cooking practical yesterday because I forgot the plating protocol, and now this guy doesn’t even show up. I’m two seconds away from tearing out my nails.”

“At least you didn’t burn the kitchen down,” Zoro said, not moving.

Sanji snorted. “Thanks for your faith in me. Very comforting.”

There was a pause, but this time it was lighter. Sanji felt the pressure in her chest ease, just a bit. Sometimes, talking really was enough. Sometimes, just having someone listen was all she needed.

Zoro stretched like a lazy cat, one arm falling off the bed. “Wanna order food?”

Sanji looked at her sideways. “I can cook.”

“Don’t be an idiot. With the mood you’re in, you’d probably destroy a plate.”

Sanji opened her mouth in mock outrage. “Who’re you calling an idiot, idiot!?”

“Take a wild guess.”

Sanji threw a pillow. Zoro caught it without even lifting her head.

“I’ll pay for the pizza,” Zoro said. “Half with pineapple, and the other half… whatever it is you eat.”

“First of all,” Sanji said, raising a finger, “Pineapple on pizza should be illegal.”

“Do you want it or not?”

Sanji sighed in dramatic defeat. “Fine. But only if my half has mushrooms.”

Zoro grimaced but nodded. “Alright. Though that’s disgusting.”

“Your choice is disgusting,” Sanji muttered, leaning against the wall, a little more at ease.

While Zoro ordered from her phone, Sanji closed her eyes for a moment. She felt tired, yes — but somehow, the stress didn’t weigh quite as much anymore.

Zoro was lying on her bed, one leg bent, the other hanging off the edge, a handheld console in her hands. The faint glow from the screen barely lit up her face—tired eyes, but no sign of sleep. She almost looked like a psychopath with that blank stare. She played in silence. The only sounds were the repetitive clicks of buttons and the ceiling fan spinning overhead.

Sanji was sitting at her desk, supposedly focused on reviewing some notes. But she hadn’t made it past the first line in ten minutes.

Every now and then, she’d glance up. Not directly, of course. Just from the corner of her eye. Discreetly.

Zoro had a slight frown on her forehead, her jaw tense. Her fingers moved quickly across the console, pressing buttons in a pattern that seemed deliberate. Sanji had no idea what the game was about, other than there were small pixelated characters in what looked like a cave. In the corner, a number ticked down every time Zoro failed at… whatever she was trying to do.

Truth was, Sanji didn’t have much experience with video games. It wasn’t that she hated them or found them boring—she’d just never had a good chance to enjoy them. She’d always end up frustrated because of her brothers, or they’d just straight-up refuse to let her play.

“You having fun watching me lose?”

Sanji blinked.

“What?”

“You’ve been staring for a while.”

“I was just spacing out. It’s my right as a bored citizen.”

Zoro huffed lightly. “It’s a bad game,” she finally said, eyes still glued to the screen. “The puzzles are stupid. But I’ve made it this far, so I’m not quitting now.”

Sanji tilted her head.

“Wouldn’t it be more productive to play something else?”

“Who the hell cares about productivity?”

“Duly noted.”

A moment passed. Sanji looked down again, but she still wasn’t reading. A few seconds later, the sound of button presses stopped.

“Wanna try?”

It caught her off guard.

“Me?”

“You.”

“I have no idea how it works.”

Zoro shrugged. “No one does at the start.”

Sanji hesitated. Then she stood, walked over to the bed, and sat carefully on the edge. Not especially close, but close enough for the console to sit between them. Zoro shifted a little, leaning back against the wall to give her more space. Their knees ended up nearly touching.

Sanji took the console in her hands.

“What am I supposed to do?”

“You have to move the rocks to cover the gaps and open the path.”

“That’s it?”

“That, and make sure the character doesn’t run out of energy. There are traps too. And enemies. And a timer that goes down if you take too long.”

Sanji raised an eyebrow.

“Sounds simple enough.”

“Go ahead, genius.”

She tried a few moves. Within seconds, the screen flashed red and the game reset.

“Oh.”

Zoro let out a small snort. “Not that easy, huh?”

Sanji arched a brow, still holding the console. “I’m just getting started.”

“Let’s see what you’ve got.”

They played in silence for a while. Or rather, Sanji played while Zoro gave vague instructions like “not that way” or “that’s a trap.”

By the sixth failed attempt, Sanji let out a dramatic sigh and handed the console back.

“I hereby declare myself officially incompetent.”

Zoro took it with a half-smile. “You’re not that bad.”

“You just watched me die to the same trap four times.”

“Want me to put it on easy mode for you?”

“Excuse me?”

“You know, since you seem incapable of doing it the normal way.” Zoro snickered, eyes gleaming with a teasing glint that was as annoying as it was strangely compelling. “Don’t be embarrassed, my little cousin uses that mode.”

“Fuck off,” Sanji said, rolling her eyes. “If you think a childish provocation like that is going to—”

Time slipped by without either of them really noticing.

They kept taking turns. One played until losing. The other tried to beat it. On the desk, the recipe notebook stayed open to the same page.

They cursed at the game with overly dramatic insults full of frustration, laughed when one of them made the same mistake as the other, and argued strategies like it was a matter of national importance.

When the natural light disappeared completely, Sanji got up to turn on the corner lamp. Not very bright, but enough to keep the console from straining their eyes. When she sat back down on the bed, Zoro didn’t even move—she simply shifted a leg to make room, like it was already normal to have her there.

Sanji got comfortable again, this time sitting cross-legged, elbows resting on her knees. Zoro was playing now, eyes locked on the screen, still frowning—but not as much. More focused than tense.

“See that?” Sanji said, pointing at the screen. “That rock. You always skip it.”

Zoro grunted, but pushed it. “Just this once, I’ll listen to you.”

“See? You can take direction.”

“Don’t get used to it.”

Later, both of them yawned, their bones sore, especially their necks. Zoro leaned her head on Sanji’s shoulder. The gesture was so casual, so quiet, that for a moment Sanji thought she’d imagined it. She didn’t say a word. Didn’t move to shake her off. Her shoulder was bony, and Zoro’s hair was still a little damp from her earlier shower. But she didn’t mind.

The game continued. They were further than ever now. The countdown in the corner blinked with urgency, but the rocks were in place. The path was open. Just one more jump.

“If you fall now, I’m going to scream,” Sanji whispered.

“Shut up. I’m in the zone.”

Sanji held her breath.

Zoro pressed the button.

On the screen, the character crossed the threshold, and a pixelated animation appeared: a flashing light, a “You Did It!” message in retro font.

Zoro let out a quiet “yes!”

Sanji, without thinking, burst out in a short laugh.

“I can’t believe we wasted three hours on this.”

“I wasted four technically,” Zoro corrected, stretching lazily. “But worth it.”

“If you say so.” Sanji sighed, still smiling to herself as she stood up and stretched too.

Zoro turned off the console and lay back on the bed for a moment, not getting up, just looking at her.

“…What?” Sanji asked, not turning all the way around.

“What?”

“You’re looking at me funny.”

Zoro looked away, clicking her tongue. “I’m not.”

“You are.” Sanji insisted, a smile starting to form.

“You’ve gone nuts from losing so much.”

“It wasn’t even that many times.”

“You’re pretty bad for someone who’s not a grandma. Didn’t you ever have a Game Boy?”

“It’s… well, my brothers were the ones who used them.”

Zoro turned her head slightly, glancing at her. “And they didn’t share?”

Sanji let out a dry, humorless laugh and walked back to her bed, where the notebook was still open on the same page it had been for hours.

“Not really. Let’s just say they weren’t very interested in including me in anything. Unless it was to laugh at me.”

Zoro sat up a little, resting her forearms on her knees.

“They made fun of you?”

“All the time.” Sanji shrugged, feigning indifference, though her voice dropped just slightly. “If I asked to play, they’d say I’d ruin it. If I failed, they laughed. If I won… well, that never happened.”

Zoro didn’t say anything, but her expression shifted just a little.

Sanji turned around, leaning back against the desk with her arms crossed. She looked at Zoro. “It wasn’t a big deal, really,” she said with a half-hearted smile. “Just kids being jerks.”

“Jerky kids grow up to be even jerkier adults.”

Sanji chuckled a little. “Guess so.”

Zoro shrugged. “We can play again sometime,” she finally said. “Another day.”

Sanji watched her for a moment. “Yeah,” she said quietly. “I’d like that.”

Zoro gave her a short nod and lay back down. Sanji did the same on her own bed.

Zoro was taking off her headphones and untangling her charger cable when Sanji approached her with so much energy she was practically glowing.

“What are you doing tonight?”

Zoro raised an eyebrow. “Is this a trick question? Are you about to make me do something?”

“Don’t be dramatic. I got invited to a party.”

Zoro went back to focusing on the knot in her cable. “Good for you.”

“You’re coming with me.”

Zoro slowly looked up. “Since when did we start making decisions together?”

Sanji leaned against the doorframe like she owned it. She was smiling, but not in a smug way—just full of confidence Zoro couldn’t quite understand.

“Since Nami and Robin told me I could bring someone. I like you, so I’m bringing you. Makes sense.”

Zoro frowned, though the comment felt unexpectedly nice.

“I’m not really into parties.”

“It’s just people and music. No one’s going to force you to dance or talk if you don’t want to.”

“That’s not it,” she muttered, but didn’t explain. And Sanji didn’t push.

Zoro hesitated. She fully intended to say no. She felt it at the back of her throat. The excuse was already half-formed. But Sanji was there, wearing that relaxed expression Zoro was starting to get used to. With that calm atmosphere that wrapped around her so easily.

Damn it. She could barely keep a friendship going for more than a week.

Barely even managed to start one in the first place.

What if saying no meant losing that?

She hated noise. Crowds. That feeling of not belonging.

But Sanji didn’t make her feel like that.

And somehow, that was exactly what convinced her.

“…Fine,” she said at last, finally defeating the tangle in her cable. “I’ll go.”

…

Sanji couldn’t help smiling as she rummaged through her drawer for a decent blouse. The fact that Zoro had agreed to come along had her in a great mood. She ran her fingers through her hair, put on a bit of lipstick—nothing bold, just a soft shade to add some color—and swapped her T-shirt for a white long-sleeved blouse. She wasn’t the type to get overly dressed up, but she did enjoy looking nice.

Zoro, meanwhile, walked up to the sink, splashed some water on her face, and dried her neck with a towel. She changed out of her sweaty shirt into a clean one, pulled on a pair of dark jeans without giving it much thought, and sat on the bed to wait.

“That’s it?”

Zoro shrugged. “Is there supposed to be more?”

Sanji rolled her eyes with a smile. “No. Let’s go.”

…

The apartment was crowded, but not unbearably so. People on the balcony, sitting on the floor, leaning on the furniture. Warm lights and music that wasn’t as loud as Zoro had feared. She held a glass of something sweet and fizzy, her fingertips chilled by the ice, and stuck close to Sanji like her presence alone might shield her from the rest of the world.

“Sanji!” A cheerful female voice called out, waving with a smile. A pretty redhead with big eyes. Must’ve been Nami.

Sanji greeted her just as warmly, crossing the room with ease to hug her. Then she did the same with the tall girl with dark hair standing beside her—Robin, Zoro guessed—with a natural familiarity she seemed to reserve for just a few people.

Sanji was the kind of person who, when talking about her day, would mention places and names you’d never heard before, but did so as if they were mutual acquaintances. As if the world she moved through was hers, and everyone else just needed to catch up.

“I’m getting us a drink, wait here,” Sanji said, giving Zoro a light tap on the arm before vanishing into the crowd.

Zoro didn’t get a chance to respond.

Nami immediately stepped closer, grinning, and Robin followed with her usual calm. The redhead gave Zoro an unashamed once-over, her glass clinking gently with the ice.

“So you’re Zoro,” she said, arms crossed, amused. “Sanji talks about you.”

Zoro felt her shoulders tense automatically, though she tried to keep her expression neutral.

“Yeah?”

Robin gave her a small, knowing smile, the kind that always seemed to imply more than it said. “Nice to finally put a face to the name,” she added. “You’re more… real.”

Zoro frowned slightly, not sure if that was supposed to be a compliment.

“Don’t mind her,” Nami cut in, nudging Robin with a friendly elbow. “She says weird stuff sometimes. But yeah—welcome. I’m glad you came.”

Zoro looked down for a second, clearly uncomfortable with the direct attention.

“Me too,” she admitted, voice lower than usual. She gripped the glass with both hands, as if it gave her some control.

Sanji reappeared just then, all casual charm, holding two fresh drinks.

“What are you plotting?” she asked in a low voice, handing one to Nami.

“We were getting to know your mysterious roommate,” Robin replied calmly, sipping from her glass. Then she looked at Zoro again, this time with a softer expression. “I’m glad Sanji finally made a friend.”

Friend.

Yeah, that’s what they were… right?

They didn’t just share a room anymore. They talked. Chatted even when they didn’t have to. Were now going to parties together.

A wave of unexpected calm settled over Zoro before she nodded. “Yeah, well… someone’s gotta be there in case she poisons someone.”

Sanji frowned, instantly offended. “Excuse me? Who cooks for you every day to keep you alive? Because if I didn’t, you’d be living off protein bars.”

“Shut up. I don’t forget to eat.”

“You do. You’re like a little kid. You’re the one who needs supervision.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me. If I don’t remind you to eat, you’ll just train or code yourself into a coma or whatever it is you do in robot mode.”

“That’s discipline!”

“That’s having zero survival instincts!”

Nami snorted with laughter, and Robin raised an intrigued eyebrow.

“She’s not as quiet as I thought,” Robin murmured.

“Well, maybe she only opens up around people she trusts,” Nami answered in a low voice, a teasing smile curling on her lips—one that made Robin chuckle quietly.

…

The night went on.

Everything seemed more or less normal. People coming and going from the kitchen, conversations drifting between the music. Zoro stayed close to the walls, only moving when Sanji did.

The deeper they went in, the more people suddenly approached.

It was like everyone knew her. Wherever they stopped, some group would wave, hug her tightly—especially the girls. Zoro tried to ignore the way some of them stared when Sanji turned down their invitation to dance and promised "maybe next time."

"Zoro!"

Zoro blinked.

“Luffy?!”

A guy with a huge grin was heading her way, waving his arms like he’d just seen a celebrity. His black hair was messy, his striped shirt slightly crooked, and his energy was so high it felt like he glowed.

“I knew it was you!” Luffy pulled her into a hug that practically lifted her off the floor. Zoro froze at first, surprised by the sudden contact, then let out a resigned sigh and gave him a few pats on the back.

“We saw each other like a month ago, you drama queen.”

"It felt way longer!" Luffy replied, still not letting go.

Sanji was watching the scene with wide eyes.

"You know Luffy?!"

“Of course,” said Luffy. “Since high school! But she never wanted to hang out. If I wanted to see her, I had to show up at her house. Zoro’s not a fan of crowds, you know?”

Zoro tried to wiggle out of his grip, her jaw clenched. “Luffy…”

“So I’m happy you two are friends! That’s new!”

Sanji looked at her then, with a small smile Zoro couldn’t quite tell was teasing.

She wished the earth would open up just a bit—enough to crawl into for a few minutes.

"I’ve noticed," Sanji murmured, still watching her. "And why didn’t you ever tell us about her?"

“I did! Remember when I canceled plans because I had to go watch a friend compete? That was her!”

Sanji tilted her head, genuinely puzzled. “Compete?”

Zoro didn’t answer, looking away.

"Yeah! She does fencing! She’s really good, always winning medals or whatever they give out."

Sanji’s eyes widened. "You fence?"

Zoro pressed her lips into a line, clearly uncomfortable. "It’s not a big deal."

"Not a big deal? She’s literally a sword-wielding athlete!" Luffy looked genuinely offended that it wasn’t common knowledge. “It’s the coolest thing you’ll ever see, Sanji!”

Sanji looked at her again, this time with a different expression. Something like admiration—or maybe just genuine surprise. Like Zoro had just evolved into a more layered version of herself.

"Why didn’t you ever mention it?"

Zoro shrugged. "Never came up."

"I literally asked you why you train so much like two days ago."

"Yeah, well..."

Luffy laughed. "That’s just Zoro! If you don’t dig, she won’t say a word. Half the time I have to drag her out of the house with promises of alcohol.”

Sanji raised a curious brow. "You’re that into drinking?"

"She’s a total addict," Luffy answered without missing a beat.

Zoro grimaced. "You’re exaggerating. And anyway, I haven’t had a drink all semester."

Luffy stared at her like it was some kind of holy revelation.

"WHAT?"

"Yeah. I quit. For now." Zoro glanced down at her drink, her expression somewhere between proud and resigned. "It was distracting me."

"Really? Me too." Sanji said, surprised—like she’d just discovered something important they shared.

"Well, isn’t the semester almost over? Why not have a drink?" Luffy cut in with a laugh, raising his cup.

Zoro and Sanji exchanged a glance.

To hell with it.

…

They ended up sneaking out to the balcony a little later, away from the others. Each with a drink in hand, cheeks slightly flushed from the alcohol.

The night air was cool, a breeze offering relief from the heat inside. The city lights flickered in the distance—calm and far away. They weren’t talking about anything particularly deep, but the conversation flowed as if it were. One of the longest ones they’d had, for sure.

Sanji laughed easily, more than usual. Her eyes sparkled and she leaned forward often, sometimes ducking her head to hide her smile behind her loose bangs. Her words were loose, her laugh honest.

Zoro didn’t say much, but she was fully present. She replied with focused gazes and the kind of smirks that let Sanji know she was listening.

"Is it true?" Sanji asked at some point, chin resting on the balcony edge as she looked toward the street. "Do you really hate going out?"

Zoro shrugged. "I don’t hate it. It’s just… not my thing."

"Why?"

Zoro hesitated. Her fingers rolled the glass slowly. "I don’t like feeling like I have to do stuff. Be fun. Talk. Fit in. All of that."

Sanji nodded, taking another sip. Her voice was slower now, like the alcohol was making her measure every word.

"Makes sense."

Zoro glanced at her. "And you? I thought you were more of a stay-at-home type."

"I am," Sanji laughed. Her voice was soft, like she’d just confessed something vulnerable. "But sometimes I need noise. So I stop thinking."

Zoro nodded slowly and looked down at her half-empty glass.

Sanji slipped a hand into her pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. She held it between her fingers for a second, like she wasn’t sure why she’d even done it, then put it back without a word.

Zoro watched silently.

"I don’t mind."

Sanji looked over, silent.

"The cigarette. I don’t care if you smoke around me."

With steadier hands than she felt, Sanji pulled the pack back out. This time, no hesitation. She placed a cigarette between her lips and lit it with a quiet flick of her lighter. The first drag was slow, almost ceremonial, like reconnecting with something familiar.

The smoke drifted between them, lazy and slow in the night air.

Zoro didn’t look away.

Sanji noticed.

She held out the pack, offering it without a word.

Zoro glanced down at the cigarette, then back at her. Then shook her head.

Zoro couldn’t remember the exact moment she started feeling dizzy. Maybe it was the fifth drink. Or the tenth. But she sure wasn’t the one laughing so loud it echoed through the entire building.

“I told you to hold onto the damn railing, idiot!” Sanji screeched, clinging to Zoro’s arm just as the latter tripped on the last step.

“I’m perfectly fine,” Zoro mumbled, though laughter vibrated in her chest and she couldn’t keep her balance without slightly leaning toward Sanji.

“You don’t look perfectly anything,” Sanji replied, with that mix of dramatic scolding and drunken affection that only alcohol could unlock.

They looked like a complete mess.

It took them forever to reach the apartment. Sanji struggled with the keys more than Zoro thought physically possible, and when she finally got it open, they both tumbled in at the same time, bumping shoulders and choking on their own laughter.

“Shhh,” Zoro muttered while closing the door behind them. “You’re gonna wake… Never mind.”

The apartment’s silence wrapped around them like a warm, messy blanket. For a second, they just stood there, barely a few steps apart, looking at each other with flushed cheeks and lazy smiles.

Sanji’s eyes were bright, her hair messy,

And beautiful.

Zoro’s mind went blank.

Sanji suddenly frowned, as if trying to remember something very important. Then she blinked, slowly.

“Did you have fun?” she asked, voice softer now.

Zoro nodded.

Sanji looked at her for another second. Then she smiled. “It was better with you,” she mumbled, turning toward her bed and collapsing on it immediately.

Zoro watched her fall asleep.

Part of her —the part still somewhat sober— felt something tighten just beneath her ribs. The other part simply let herself fall onto her own bed, staring up at the ceiling now.

“Shit.”

The light was cruel. Excessively bright.

Sanji woke up with a dry mouth, sticky eyes, and the certainty that the morning was going to be hell. She rolled over with a groan and pulled the pillow over her head.

From the kitchen, someone was making noise.

A lot of noise.

She got up slowly, tripping over her own shoes from the night before. “Are you… cooking?” she murmured, peeking around the doorway like a nocturnal creature caught in daylight.

Zoro looked up. She had a pan in hand and a look of intense focus. “Sort of.”

Sanji shuffled closer, still in a t-shirt with her hair thrown up in a loose bun. She sat at the bar like every movement cost her double the effort. “Are those… eggs?”

Zoro nodded. In the pan was something that vaguely resembled scrambled eggs.

Sanji squinted. “...Are those really eggs?”

Zoro stared at her, unblinking. “This is the last time I’m doing this.”

Sanji smiled, too tired to stop herself. “I can’t believe I’m being fed by a dumbass Marimo.”

Zoro served the eggs with exaggerated slowness, not breaking eye contact. “Shut up, curly.”

Sanji blinked.

Zoro pushed the plate toward her with a soft nudge. Sanji let out a hoarse laugh. “Curly? Seriously?”

“For your eyebrows.”

“Right, thanks, hadn’t noticed,” she said with a crooked smile, poking at the eggs with her fork. She tried a bite. Chewed. Blinked. “...Not bad.”

Zoro raised an eyebrow.

They ate in silence for a few moments, sharing that strange comfort left behind by a night of shared drinks. Words were few, but unnecessary. Zoro drank straight from the water bottle. Sanji stole from it like it was already a habit.

After a while, Sanji spoke without looking. “You realize the semester’s almost over and we still don’t have each other’s numbers?”

Zoro looked at her with a neutral expression, as if it wasn’t a big deal. She shrugged. “You’re right.”

She pulled out her phone and handed it over.

Sanji took it, surprised at how easy it had been. She typed her number in carefully, like doing so marked a turning point. When she handed it back, she smiled.

“Now I can annoy you over text.”

Zoro poured herself more water. “I’m gonna mute you.”

“You say that now. But you’ll cave.”

They were both packing.

The room was a mess. Open suitcases, half-folded clothes, the carefully tended plant already boxed. And in the middle of it all, a strange kind of silence. Not awkward, but not relaxed either.

Zoro finished first. She zipped up her backpack, slung it over one shoulder, and stood there, staring at Sanji’s back as she kept looking for—whatever—among her stuff. Then, in a clumsy move that was so very her, she turned around and held out a hand.

She was sweating, for some reason she couldn’t understand.

Sanji looked up. She saw her—and let out a soft laugh. “Seriously? You’re saying goodbye with a handshake?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

Zoro hesitated. “What else am I supposed to...?”

Sanji huffed and pulled her in with a quick tug. She hugged her tightly, leaving no time for protest. Zoro froze for a second, then her arms came around her. She didn’t say anything. Just stood there.

“Have a good break, stupid Marimo,” Sanji muttered into her shoulder.

“…You too, Curly,” Zoro murmured back.

They pulled apart. Sanji gave her a calm smile and teased her about how little she’d packed, or something like that. Zoro nodded quickly, not really processing what she was saying, and left without another word.

…

It was horribly hot on the bus. The seat next to Zoro was empty, luckily. She slumped down, exhausted, and as the engine started, she looked out the window.

The traffic was terrible, as expected for this time of year.

Zoro sighed. It was going to be a long ride.

She pressed her forehead to the glass—cool inside, warm outside—and closed her eyes, frowning without realizing it. Her fingers itched, clenching the phone too tightly.

“Don’t be stupid,” she muttered under her breath.

…

A few days passed.

Sanji thought she’d be the first to text. She really did.

She even opened the chat one night, typed something—a silly message asking if she’d arrived okay, how her sister was, if she’d done anything fun over the past days.

But in the end, she deleted it.

She didn’t send anything.

Zoro did.

Just a photo.

An orange cat, sprawled out on a bed, legs wide open, belly up like it had always owned the place.

Zoro: “My family got a replacement while I was gone.”

Sanji: “lol Why does it sleep like it pays rent?”

Zoro: “She thinks she owns everything.”

Sanji: “I like her.”

Zoro: “I should kick her out.”

Sanji smiled, staring at the screen.

…

The conversations became routine.

Always late at night.

First just photos—food, books, weird stuff in the street—then longer messages, then sleepy voice notes.

There was something about the night that made them loosen up.

Even when most of their chats consisted of insulting each other over dumb stuff. Like when Zoro got frustrated with Sanji’s horrible performance in the online games they played.

“Are you stupid?” Zoro murmured one night, buried under the covers with her phone screen at full brightness, aiming at enemies Sanji kept missing.

“I’m new to this, idiot,” Sanji slurred, half-asleep.

They kept playing in silence, broken only by Sanji’s soft cursing or the occasional laugh when she managed a decent shot.

Until, mid-round, Zoro huffed on the other end of the call.

“This demon cat keeps rubbing her face on mine.”

“You love her.”

“She gets fur all over my shirts.”

“Maybe it’s a sign to wear something other than black.”

“Idiot.”

After the game ended, Zoro sent another cat picture.

Sanji could swear Zoro’s gallery was ninety percent that fat cat. Hers too, at this point.

“My dad never let me have a pet.”

Zoro didn’t respond right away.

Sanji closed her eyes. “...My mom said yes, but the idiot always refused. Said animals made a mess.”

Zoro sighed on the other end. “My sister brought one home when she was little. A huge dog. My dad didn’t say anything. But when it died, he never wanted another. I remember... I saw him cry that day, for the first time.”

Silence stretched.

“I’m glad you have that cat,” Sanji said.

“She’s my sister’s,” Zoro replied.

“She chose you. Now she’s yours.”

“What kind of stupid, cheesy line is that?”

…

Dinner was on the table, but Zoro hadn’t touched it yet.

Sanji: “Why do you hoard potions and never use them even when you’ve got, like, two HP?”

Zoro: “Using potions is for losers. I know what I’m doing.”

Sanji: “Right, that’s why you died three times on the same level lol.”

Zoro: “That was lag.”

Sanji: “You’ve got lag in your brain.”

Zoro: “Shut up, Curly.”

Sanji: “Stop calling me that. At least come up with a new nickname.”

Zoro: “Curly. Curly. Curly.”

Sanji: “I swear if I could punch you through this chat, I would.”

Zoro was already laughing to herself when she felt a weight press against her shoulder. Perona had leaned in from behind the chair and dropped onto her like a nosy cat.

“Who are you always texting lately?” she asked, craning her neck to peek at the screen. “Is it Luffy?”

Zoro frowned, turning down the screen brightness and guarding her phone against her chest.

“No.”

“Then who?”

“Oh my god,” Perona raised an eyebrow. “Do you finally have a girlfriend? Who dared?”

Zoro clenched her jaw. “Gross. It’s not that. And stop being nosy.”

Across the table, Mihawk set his silverware down. Expressionless, but with that subtle way of paying attention that always made Zoro want to crawl under the table.

“Not Luffy?” he asked, using that flat tone he applied even when delivering bad news.

“I told you, no,” Perona jumped in, loving the chaos. “Luffy doesn’t text. If he wanted to talk to Zoro, he’d just show up at the window.”

Mihawk nodded, as if that made perfect sense.

“…Then who could it be?”

“No one!” Zoro raised her voice, irritated that they were talking like she wasn’t even in the room.

The silence hit hard.

Perona was still smiling, clearly enjoying her little sister’s scowl. Mihawk, on the other hand, looked more serious than usual. He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms.

“I don’t think I ever gave you that talk, Zoro. I don’t really know how it works between girls, but remember that—”

“Oh please,” Perona groaned, covering her ears. “I refuse.”

“I’m leaving,” Zoro grumbled, grabbing her plate awkwardly. Her ears were on fire.

Mihawk shrugged, not understanding why he was suddenly alone at the table.

Zoro shut her bedroom door harder than she meant to.

Her phone buzzed.

Sanji: “Get in the damn lobby.”

Zoro climbed the stairs with long strides, backpack over one shoulder, a single earbud hanging from her ear, and a tight —and annoying— knot in her stomach. She didn’t know why. She just knew she was sweating all over, and it wasn’t even that hot.

It was probably just the dizziness throbbing in her head.

When she turned the corner of the hallway, her steps came to a halt.

Sanji was there, right in front of the apartment door, with her huge suitcase —the same ridiculous one with wheels that Zoro remembered mentally criticizing more than once for its horrendous design—. And holding the plant pot in her hands. Her hair was down, a bit tousled by the wind, and her posture was somewhere between impatient and resigned, like she had given up on waiting a while ago.

Zoro noticed her crossing her arms when she saw her, but she didn’t move.

“You’re late,” Sanji finally said, one eyebrow arched, her voice laced with a calm that Zoro didn’t believe for a second.

“There’s no arrival time. And this damn building’s a maze,” Zoro replied, stopping a step away from her. She wiped her damp forehead with a hand.

“Didn’t you see what I texted you?”

“My phone died on the bus.”

“Irresponsible.”

“Fuck off. What did you text?”

Sanji waved a hand vaguely, suddenly very interested in the tile floor.

“I forgot my keys.”

Zoro blinked.

“How long have you been waiting there?”

“Two hours.”

Zoro stared at her in silence, like she didn’t even know where to start. She sighed and reached into her jacket’s back pocket for the keys.

“Irresponsible.”

Sanji shot her an annoyed look, but there was a barely-contained smirk on her lips. Like she was forcing herself not to smile. Zoro opened the door, and they both stepped into the apartment.

The air inside was dry, heavy with the stale scent of days without open windows.

Sanji dragged her suitcase along the floor with an exasperated sigh.

“God, it smells like a tomb in here.”

Zoro kicked off her shoes by the bed, dropped the backpack to the floor with a dull thud, and collapsed onto the mattress, lying flat on her back, without saying another word.

Sanji rolled her eyes and let herself fall onto her own bed, letting out a stifled groan. The room filled with silence. There was no need to catch up. They had been in touch the whole break, had told each other practically everything. The awkward family lunches, the impromptu trips, the beach days —even silly things like what they had eaten.

So now, being in the same physical space again, it felt like everything had already been said. Like time hadn’t really passed.

Zoro lay on her bed, an arm over her eyes, still panting a bit from the stairs. Sanji turned her head slightly to look at her from across the room, saying nothing.

It was strange, she thought. To have missed someone she had never stopped talking to.

What was different now, having her in front of her again?

“Did you sleep at all during the trip?” Sanji asked suddenly, her voice lower.

Zoro shook her head without opening her eyes.

“Me neither,” Sanji said. “Some kid threw up the entire ride. Smelled awful.”

Zoro let out a kind of silent laugh, just a puff of air through her nose.

“You should’ve heard his mom screaming.”

Zoro turned her head, still with eyes closed, facing Sanji.

“How disgusting,” she mumbled.

Sanji shrugged, a small smile forming on her lips.

Zoro’s forehead was glistening with sweat, her hair messier than usual, a few strands falling over her face. She was lying on her back, arm covering her eyes, her breathing slow and deep —like she had finally let go of the world’s weight. Her expression was unusually soft, without the usual furrowed brow or clenched jaw.

Her skin was even more tanned than last semester. The contrast was clear in the sharp lines where her shirt ended and the golden tone was interrupted. Her skin looked smooth. Not fragile, but firm. There were a few scattered moles —tiny dark dots you only noticed if you looked for them. One just below her collarbone. Another near the edge of her elbow. Details Sanji hadn’t registered before.

She realized she was staring too long. Watching the slow rise and fall of her chest, the way her muscles shifted, the lingering heat on her skin.

When Zoro opened her eyes, she did it slowly, blinking against the light. She met Sanji’s gaze, fixed on her.

Sanji thought Zoro’s eyes —dark and calm— held a strange stillness, almost inquisitive. Zoro thought Sanji’s were a deep blue pool —bright, restless.

Sanji looked away after a moment, far too aware of the tension curling in her stomach.

“I’m gonna shower,” Zoro muttered, scratching the back of her neck as she sat up slowly, still dazed with exhaustion.

“Yeah, please,” Sanji replied, trying to sound normal. Sarcastic, even.

Zoro glanced sideways at her. “Shut up.”

...

Chapter 2: Dreaming While I Sleep

Notes:

Waiter, waiter more Yuri please!!!

Chapter Text

Sanji was sitting on her bed, legs crossed, absentmindedly chewing on the end of a pencil while scrolling through something on her laptop. A few class notes still lingered on her desk, but she had given up on focusing a while ago. Boredom was going to kill her.

Her eyes kept drifting, every now and then, toward the opposite corner of the room.

Zoro was still there, hunched over her own desk, a small lamp casting light over her notes and her curved figure. A textbook lay open in front of her, her head barely supported by one hand, and a pen still steady between her fingers.

It was only the first week of the semester, but Zoro already looked determined to memorize the entire syllabus like her life depended on it. She had this strange habit of getting ahead of everything. Sanji couldn’t help but find it curious—because in pretty much everything else, Zoro acted like a complete idiot. She was clueless, forgetful, sometimes unbelievably clumsy. But when it came to studying, she became someone else. Almost obsessive.

From her bed, Sanji could see how Zoro’s left hand pressed the paper with force.

Damn Marimo. Who said she could just ignore her?

Who gave her the right?

After a while of trying to burn a hole in Zoro’s back with her eyes, the silence shifted—became heavier.

Sanji narrowed her eyes.

Zoro wasn’t moving.

She leaned forward slowly, setting her laptop aside. From her side of the room, she could see that Zoro had fallen asleep. Just like that, slumped over her notebook, back curved, head resting on her own arm, pen still between her fingers.

Sanji sighed.

She stood barefoot and crossed the room silently, careful steps over the cold floor. Zoro didn’t stir, not even when Sanji’s shadow slid across the desk.

The scene struck her as ridiculously tender—and just thinking that made her laugh inwardly. Zoro couldn’t be tender. That was impossible. But like this, with her slow breathing, her face half-squished against the sleeve of her sweatshirt, and her lashes looking even longer up close… Sanji couldn’t think of another word for it.

Without thinking much about it, she grabbed a light blanket from her bed and draped it over Zoro’s shoulders, adjusting it carefully so she wouldn’t wake. Her fingers, unintentionally—or maybe not—brushed against the back of Zoro’s neck. She let the back of her hand drift a bit higher, just enough to graze the edge of her hairline. Zoro’s hair was short, rough at the ends, the kind that always looked messy. Sanji had always assumed that ridiculous green couldn't possibly be soft. For some reason, she’d expected it to feel spiky. It didn’t.

She gave a light squeeze.

Zoro’s hair was still short, yes, but it had changed since last semester. It now fell a little more freely, almost brushing her ears. She thought she could help cut it if Zoro ever asked. She was good at it. It came easy to her.

She sighed after a few seconds. Her palm withdrew slowly.

Zoro opened one eye only when she heard the faint creak of the mattress on the other side of the room, tightening her fist and forcing herself not to move.

The city’s mood shifted drastically.

As if the world had suddenly decided it was in a bad one.

When Sanji stepped out of the supermarket, carrying a massive bag in one arm and a pack of pasta that didn’t fit anywhere in the other, the sky had already turned into a gray stain.

She didn’t give it much thought. It wasn’t raining yet.

If she ran fast enough, maybe she’d make it home before everything fell apart.

Maybe.

She looked down at her shoes and sighed.

She’d left home wearing her worn-out black loafers—the ones she loved for being comfortable, but hated every time there was even the slightest chance of puddles. And of course, she hadn’t brought an umbrella. The weather had been decent when she left, and she didn’t feel like carrying anything extra. Because, obviously, in her head, the world was going to have the decency to wait until she was home before falling apart.

She cursed herself again.

Every time she tried to be optimistic, things like this happened.

Turning the corner, the air shifted suddenly.

She looked up, out of instinct more than anything else.

Zoro.

She was standing in front of a stationery store, holding a folder, her face wearing the expression of someone who had run out of patience with the world. Her brow was furrowed, her jaw tight, and her mouth was pressed into that thin line she seemed to wear all the time.

Sanji almost smiled when she saw her. “No umbrella? That’s irresponsible,” she called, raising her voice slightly, flashing a crooked smile.

Zoro turned her head just a little, not even bothering to move, and not looking particularly surprised to see her either. “I don’t see you carrying one either,” she replied, lifting a brow with all the usual audacity.

Sanji scoffed. She was about to fire back something snarky—probably a jab about the number of brain cells Zoro had decided not to use that day—but didn’t get the chance.

The first drop fell.

Then another.

Until the sky, finally, gave in.

The rain didn’t build up slowly. It didn’t offer a warning. It just dumped itself on them as if the sky had had enough.

The kind of rain that soaked you to the bone.

Sanji groaned under her breath, trying to shield the paper bags with her body as best as she could, while her hair started sticking to her forehead. The awning above barely helped—just a small overhang that kept some of the water out, but the breeze made it useless.

Zoro cursed loudly—something that got lost in the roar of water hitting the asphalt—and without hesitation, shoved the folder under her sweatshirt and bolted into the downpour.

Sanji stared, dumbfounded.

“Are you stupid?! You’re gonna get sick!” she shouted, raising her voice over the rain.

“I never get sick!” Zoro yelled back, not even turning around.

Sanji watched her run, hair plastered to her face, sweatshirt soaked and clinging to her back with every movement.

Standing there in the cold wind and pouring rain, completely alone for who knew how long, didn’t sound particularly fun.

“Goddamn it…” she muttered, gripping the bags tighter.

And just like that, she took off after her.

The street grew more slippery with every step, and Sanji cursed every stone, every puddle that turned out deeper than it looked. Her heart pounded in her chest—maybe from the effort, or maybe from the image of Zoro turning the corner without looking back.

Too late, she realized—

“Zoro! That’s not the right street!”

…

By the time they reached the building, they were soaked to the bone.

Sanji shivered, arms clamped tight against her body, clothes clinging like a second skin.

Zoro tried not to let on that her teeth were chattering—which, frankly, was hilarious. They climbed the stairs laughing breathlessly, bumping shoulders every time one teased the other for shaking. Their laughter echoed through the damp, empty stairwell.

“God, you look like a wet dog,” Sanji said as she stepped into the room, dropping the grocery bags.

“You’re the one shaking like one,” Zoro shot back, closing the door with her foot.

They stood there for a beat. The room was warm, but their wet clothes felt heavier by the second. Water dripped from their hair, pooling into small puddles on the floor.

“I’m changing,” Sanji muttered, heading for the closet without looking at her.

Zoro just nodded and yanked her sweatshirt over her head in one swift motion, tossing it into a damp heap on the floor.

Sanji rummaged through the closet, hunting for something thick and warm—anything to steal back a little of the heat the rain had taken from her. She felt frozen to the core. Her whole body trembled, the wet shirt clinging to her skin, nearly see-through and doing little to cover her.

Zeff would probably kill her if she let herself get sick. She could already hear the old man scolding her before sending her off, same as always.

“Don’t catch a cold, eggplant. You’ve already got smoker’s lungs.”

The memory made her laugh quietly to herself.

A faint heat prickled at the back of her neck—like a shiver, but not from the cold. More like the instinct that tells you someone’s watching. She turned her head just enough to glance over her shoulder.

Zoro was still standing there, shirtless, in one of her usual sports bras, shaking the water from her hair with one hand. Her soaked pants hung heavy at her hips, threatening to slip, the outline of her muscles sharper than Sanji would have liked to notice—especially the slick definition of her abs. She was slightly hunched over, lazily digging through her bag, apparently oblivious to being watched.

The warmth along Sanji’s spine deepened.

She looked away quickly, lips pressed together as if she could hold back the thought that had just crossed her mind.

She changed in a hurry.

When she turned around, Zoro had pulled on a dry shirt—a plain gray one with a wide neckline that hung off one shoulder—and was standing in front of the space heater.

Sanji paused, watching her in silence, hair still dripping, droplets sliding down her neck. Something about the scene felt oddly familiar. Too ordinary. Domestic.

Warm.

“Want something hot?” she asked, her voice lower than usual.

Zoro nodded. “I’ll make tea.”

“I’ve got it.”

…

“Acho!”

The sneeze hit her so hard she almost dropped the box in her hands. She froze, eyes shut, shoulders hunched, already bracing for the inevitable mocking.

“Knew it,” Zoro said from the heater, not even turning around. “You’re more delicate than a flower.”

“Shut up,” Sanji muttered, her voice a little nasally now, a faint blush creeping up her cheeks. “It was just one.”

It wasn’t. She sneezed again before the water had even started to boil.

Zoro let out a resigned sigh. “Go dry your hair properly. I’ll make the tea.”

Sanji didn’t argue. Maybe because Zoro’s bossy tone was so unexpected she didn’t have a comeback ready. When she came back from the bathroom with a towel around her neck and a bit more color in her cheeks, the room smelled faintly of chamomile. Two mugs sat ready—one on Zoro’s desk, while Zoro herself sat cross-legged on her bed, wrapped in a blanket.

“What?” Zoro asked when she caught Sanji staring.

“Nothing…” Sanji walked over, took her mug, and sat beside her with a sigh.

They stayed that way for a while, the rain still pattering against the window.

Sanji leaned her head back against the wall, turning it slightly to glance at Zoro out of the corner of her eye.

“Thanks.”

“Don’t get sick. You’d be a pain in the ass.”

“How thoughtful. You really care about me, don’t you?”

Zoro scoffed, as if the idea was absurd, but didn’t reply—just took a sip from her mug.

Sanji lowered her gaze to her own. The steam warmed her fingers, and for a moment she thought that if she stayed perfectly still, if she didn’t speak, maybe this quiet could stretch on forever. Maybe the warmth in her chest could last.

It was strange.

Strange to feel this close to someone whose life had barely touched hers just months ago. Strange that it was Zoro. Stranger still that she didn’t want her to leave—or for this to stop.

“You should use a hairdryer,” Zoro said suddenly, eyes still on the window.

Sanji arched a brow, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “I’m fine, Marimo. You’re overreacting.”

“Whatever. Just saying.”

“How kind.”

“I’m not.”

I think you are.

I think you are too damn kind.

Too kind for someone like me.

But I still don’t want you to stop.

Why?

Sanji glanced at her again. Zoro’s gaze stayed fixed on the rain, as if it held answers she didn’t have. Her hair was only slightly less damp, still falling in stubborn strands across her forehead. The wide neck of her shirt revealed the slope of her shoulder, skin flushed from the heat.

Sanji shouldn’t be looking at that. But she was. And the voice in her head wouldn’t stop scolding her for it.

“Marimo.”

Zoro turned her head slightly.

“What?”

Sanji held her gaze. The first time she’d noticed Zoro’s eyes, she’d thought they were sharp and intimidating. Later, when she’d dared to call her a friend, she’d found a strange stillness in them. Now, all she could see was how soft they looked when she wasn’t frowning.

She dropped her gaze, taking another sip of tea.

She needed to keep her thoughts in check.

“Nothing.”

Sanji stood in front of the mirror, dressed in a sleek black blouse she almost never wore. She’d been battling the same rebellious lock of hair for several minutes—the one that always sprang back up, giving her that messy look she hated.

On the bed, Zoro watched her from her side, one arm tucked under her head, an open notebook resting in front of her.

“Going out?” she asked at last, her tone so flat it almost sounded distracted, not even looking up.

Sanji nodded, applying balm to her lips. The click of the cap broke the silence. She didn’t turn to answer.

“Yeah. I’ve got a date.”

Zoro’s gaze flicked up from her notebook—brief, but quick. “With who?”

“A girl,” Sanji replied vaguely, smoothing her sleeve with care. “Met her a while ago at a party with Nami. Honestly didn’t think she’d text me.”

The mattress creaked as Zoro shifted onto her back, the notebook now resting on her chest.

“I won’t be late, relax,” Sanji added with a half-smirk, adjusting the cuff of her shirt. “I’ll be back for dinner. I’m not leaving you alone in the kitchen.”

Zoro huffed—just enough to not sound like an actual laugh. “I don’t mind cooking.”

“And if you burn the place down? Better wait for me,” Sanji teased, glancing at her sideways.

“Doesn’t matter,” Zoro replied, dry.

Sanji pressed her lips together but didn’t answer. From the bed, Zoro watched her through the mirror’s reflection—the way she smoothed the blouse’s fabric with her palms, tucked a stray lock behind her ear, tilted her head to find the perfect angle.

Trying to look pretty.

Pretty for someone.

Who knew who.

“So… do you like her?” Zoro asked, eyes fixed on the ceiling.

“She’s pretty. And nice. I guess that’s why I said yes. I’ll see how it goes.”

That was it. Sanji closed the door softly, leaving with a smile and a quick wave. Zoro didn’t respond—just let the air leave her lungs, slow and deep.

…

Zoro had spent most of the afternoon rolling from one side of the bed to the other. First she’d tried reviewing notes for a class that was giving her trouble; then she’d turned on her console to try a new game she’d bought recently. But after a while, the absence of someone to laugh with whenever she lost started to weigh on her. The room felt too quiet.

She was starting to get hungry.

When the sun began to dip, the door swung open.

Sanji stepped in with wind-tousled hair and a greasy bag of burgers dangling from one hand. She kicked her shoes off, letting them thud hollowly by the door.

Zoro looked up from her bed, more alert now. “Fun date?” she asked, a faint, ironic smile on her lips—not entirely sure why she was smiling at all.

Nothing about the scene was actually funny.

Sanji huffed without even looking at her. “Brought you one,” she said at last, tossing the bag.

Zoro caught it easily. “Thanks.”

“It’s not courtesy. I just didn’t feel like cooking.”

Zoro arched a brow, a spark of amusement lighting her face.

“You didn’t feel like cooking?”

“Don’t start.”

Sanji collapsed onto her bed, lying on her back, letting out a long, bitter sigh. Her voice was rough—she’d clearly been smoking for a while before showing up.

Zoro began unwrapping her burger slowly, the warm scent of bread and meat filling her hands, but her eyes drifted back to Sanji. She rarely saw her like this. Normally, Sanji’s scowls and clenched teeth were amusing.

But right now, she looked on the verge of tears. Or like she’d already cried earlier.

“What happened?”

Silence followed the question—thick, tense, making Zoro almost regret asking.

Sanji covered her eyes with her forearm. “I don’t think you want to hear about it.”

There was a beat of hesitation where Zoro considered letting it go. Everything pointed to leaving the subject alone. But for some reason, that thought bothered her.

“You think I can’t talk about stuff like that?”

She didn’t mean it as a reproach. At least, that wasn’t her intention. Her voice was calm, sincere—like she genuinely wanted to know.

Sanji lowered her arm slowly to meet her gaze, brow furrowed. “God… why is everyone misinterpreting what I say today?”

Zoro dropped her eyes, uncomfortable at the sharp edge in her tone. Sanji had scolded her before, sure—but this was different. It felt like a genuine reproach.

“Sorry.”

Sanji sat up slowly, exhaustion etched in every movement. “No, it’s fine,” she said quickly. “It’s stupid. Just… awkward.”

Zoro stayed quiet, listening.

“The date was going fine,” Sanji began, slow and careful. “She’s cute, nice. But out of nowhere, she asked if I wanted to go to her place. Way too fast. I said no… and then she started acting weird. Like I’d insulted her.”

Zoro’s frown deepened, though she kept her thoughts to herself.

“And when we were saying goodbye, she tried to kiss me. I didn’t feel comfortable, so I pulled back. She got upset. Asked why I’d even agreed to a date if I didn’t like her.”

The only sound after that was the paper of Zoro’s burger crinkling in her hands.

“I’m sorry that happened.”

“You don’t need to be.”

Sanji let her back sink against the wall, head resting against the edge of the bed. “I just…” she hesitated. Her words seemed to search for somewhere to land. “I want something real. Something that makes my stomach flip. To really fall for someone. To wait for that first kiss with someone worth it. To know it’ll last. To know I’m not just a distraction… Maybe I’m too naïve. I mean, what was I expecting? I don’t think she was wrong, maybe she just wanted to have fun. Should I have been clearer about what I’m looking for? I don’t know.”

Zoro didn’t respond right away—not because she didn’t want to, but because she wasn’t sure what to say, or if she should say anything at all. Sanji let out a short sigh and looked down at her own hands, fingers laced together, trembling slightly and pale from the cold.

Her voice was soft when she finally asked, “Have you ever…?”

Zoro held her gaze without saying a word, and the silence between them seemed to say more than any answer could. There was something in the stillness of her eyes, in that distant concentration, that made it impossible to tell what she was thinking.

That steady, faraway look—as if she were somewhere else, yet refusing to look away.

As if she had no idea what to say.

Sanji was the first to look away. “Forget it,”

What was she even doing, talking about something like that with Zoro?

As if she’d be interested.

Zoro didn’t seem like the type to waste time on silly things like love lives.

She probably didn’t care. She was just being a good friend, humoring her stupid complaints.

Sanji straightened her posture slightly. “Ah. I’m hungry.”

From her bed, Zoro grabbed the bag and tossed it lazily, making sure it landed without spilling.

Sanji caught it one-handed before it could roll away, muttering a distracted “thanks.” She settled against her headboard, crossing her legs to start eating.

For a while, the only sounds were the rustle of paper and the bite of their food. The silence settled in, and Sanji thought about saying something—anything—just to break it. She had the urge to fill the air before it turned heavy.

But before she could open her mouth, Zoro spoke, her voice calm, eyes still on her burger.

“I’ve never dated anyone… in case you were wondering.”

Sanji paused mid-bite, looking up.

“I like girls too,” Zoro added quickly, with an awkward twist of her lips, like she wanted to head off any possible confusion. “I think that’s obvious.”

Sanji let out a soft laugh, warmer than she expected. “I don’t usually assume things like that, but… yeah, I had a feeling.” She took another bite, still wearing that faint smile, though her eyes were alight with curiosity. “So… only casual stuff, then?”

Zoro shook her head, lowering her voice to almost a whisper. “No. Not even that. I’ve… never done anything.”

Sanji nodded silently, chewing at a steady pace, as if it weren’t a big deal. She gave her space, waiting in case Zoro had more to add.

When she finally looked up, ready to say something else, she found Zoro staring down at the sheets, head lowered. Her hair fell just enough to hide part of her eyes, but it couldn’t conceal the flush spreading over her face. It wasn’t the light pink that came with heat or exercise—this was deeper, climbing from her neck to her cheeks, even tinting the tips of her ears.

Her lips were pressed into a thin line, like she was already regretting speaking. Her fingers fidgeted with a wrinkle in the burger wrapper, folding and unfolding it in a nervous gesture that didn’t match her usual composure.

Sanji had to look away immediately, covering her mouth with her arm as laughter bubbled in her throat.

She heard the mattress creak and, out of the corner of her eye, saw Zoro start to stand—ready to flee anywhere to avoid the conversation. Before she could take a step, Sanji set her burger aside and leaned forward quickly, catching her by the sleeve of her hoodie.

“Sorry, sorry,” she said between small laughs. “I swear I’m not laughing at that.”

Zoro gave her a wary, confused look—like she was ready to snap.

“It just made me laugh how flustered you got over something so small,” Sanji added, her grin refusing to fade.

“I’m not flustered.”

Sanji arched a brow, clearly enjoying herself. “You’re glowing red, Marimo. Like a tomato—with green hair and everything.”

Zoro frowned, but didn’t pull away immediately.

“Seriously,” Sanji continued, softer now, “It’s nothing to be embarrassed about. Never having a partner doesn’t mean anything bad. And…” she paused briefly, “thanks. For opening up to me. I appreciate it.”

Zoro looked away, but the tips of her ears seemed to burn even hotter. “It’s fine.”

Alright, maybe it was becoming a little addictive—seeing her like this.

Sanji laughed again, lightly, and added playfully, “I already knew you liked me a lot.”

Zoro let out a huff meant to sound annoyed, but it didn’t fully hide the warmth in her voice. She shook her arm free and cleared her throat before speaking. “You’re an idiot.”

…

Zoro dropped onto Sanji’s bed like she’d done it a thousand times before, leaning back against the wall with a satisfied sigh. She looked unbelievably comfortable there—more than Sanji would’ve expected.

“That’s what happens when you’re not sleeping on a brick for a mattress,” Sanji teased, turning slightly to glance at her from the corner of her eye.

Zoro let out a huff that might have been a laugh. And somehow, without either of them noticing, the conversation kept going—slipping from a casual question to a ridiculous anecdote. Time moved on, the clock ticking past hour after hour, and neither of them seemed to care.

Late into the night, with Zoro resting against the headboard, she asked quietly, “You feeling better?”

Sanji just nodded, "Yeah… something like that. I don’t know."

“What do you usually do in these situations?” Zoro asked after a moment.

“Mm… well, I’m definitely not in the mood to cook,” Sanji answered with a tired half-smile. “I’d probably take a shower, get into pajamas, and watch something. Usually, I’d call Nami or Robin to distract me… but I don’t want to bother them. Nami’s probably studying, and Robin had a date with Franky.”

Zoro tilted her head slightly toward her, the corner of her mouth curling up. “Then… distract yourself with me.”

A strange flutter rose in Sanji’s chest.

She shouldn’t let her mind twist those words into something they weren’t meant to be—but of course it did. Her brain never liked to listen.

And having Zoro lying there beside her, looking at her from beneath those long lashes with that tired gaze that refused to fall asleep before she did… well, that didn’t help much either.

Think of something idiot.

“Want me to cut your hair?”

Zoro raised a brow. “Does it look bad?”

“No, idiot. I’m just asking.”

Zoro shifted onto her side, considering it for a second. “Fine. I’ve got a presentation tomorrow, actually. Couldn’t hurt to look a little more presentable… but I’m not paying you.”

Sanji’s smile tugged wider, amused. “Whatever. Tomorrow, first thing in the morning.”

She remembered Zoro nodding once—before falling asleep.

Morning light streamed through the window, washing the room in a soft golden glow—the kind that made everything seem to slow down. Sanji had pulled a chair to the center of the room, next to the bed, and Zoro was sitting in it with a towel draped over her shoulders, her brow furrowed like she was enduring some medieval torture.

“Hold still,” Sanji demanded for the fourth time, leaning in behind her with the scissors in hand.

“I’m trying,” Zoro muttered, flinching just slightly when Sanji’s fingertips brushed the delicate skin behind her ear, fighting the ticklish shiver that ran through her.

Sanji caught the tremor and smiled with a hint of amusement. “Try harder. Not my fault you’re so sensitive.”

Zoro let out a faint huff but didn’t deny it.

Her hair wasn’t particularly long, and it wasn’t a complicated cut, but between Zoro’s constant shifting and Sanji’s meticulous pace, they’d been at it nearly all morning. When Sanji had woken up, Zoro wasn’t beside her—she’d gotten up early, reviewing notes for the presentation she had later that day.

After making coffee for them both, Sanji had dug through her things to find the scissors she usually used to trim her own bangs.

She worked with unhurried precision, sectioning strands with her fingers before each snip. The slow, deliberate brush of her fingertips over Zoro’s skin sent warmth creeping up Sanji’s arms. Every so often, to check the length, she would gently tilt Zoro’s chin one way or the other, holding her in place with just enough pressure to make her stay still.

Zoro let her. She obeyed—or at least tried to—and that temporary compliance was something Sanji rarely got to see. When their eyes met, Zoro’s stayed open, calm, stripped of their usual edge. That tamed look sent an uncomfortable, pleasant flutter through Sanji’s chest.

Obedient.

“All right, that’s good,” Sanji announced at last, blowing the last bits of hair from the back of Zoro’s neck so they fell to the floor.

Zoro stood, shaking the towel off, and ran a quick hand through her freshly cut hair.

“Done?”

“Done,” Sanji confirmed with a small smile, keeping her voice as neutral as she could. “Go put on your suit before I change my mind and shave you bald.”

Zoro rolled her eyes but, like before, followed orders without complaint.

While she changed behind the folding screen, Sanji swept the floor and put the scissors away, listening to the soft slide of fabric as the suit settled over Zoro’s shoulders.

When she stepped out, she looked flawless—tailored black suit, straight-leg pants, the jacket perfectly framing her broad shoulders. Only one thing ruined the picture: the tie hanging crooked and loose around her neck.

Sanji clicked her tongue and stepped closer. “Give me that.”

Zoro stayed still as Sanji moved in front of her, fingers deftly adjusting the fabric, sliding the knot up with a smooth, practiced tug. The space between them narrowed until Sanji could feel the faint heat of Zoro’s breath against her skin and catch the light scent of soap still clinging to her.

Zoro’s breathing slowed just a little. Sanji’s fingers lingered at her collar, brushing her neck before tightening the last fold into place.

“There,” Sanji murmured, but didn’t step back right away. She let her eyes trace the clean lines of the jacket, the crisp shirt, the perfectly centered knot. A faint, almost unthinking smile curved her lips.

“Look at you, all put together and charming.” She added it without thinking, giving Zoro’s shoulder a firm pat.

Zoro blinked, caught off guard, and color rushed up her ears and spread quickly across her cheeks. Sanji noticed instantly and, for a moment, thought about calling it out—but kept it to herself. There was something far too satisfying about watching Zoro stay still, meeting her gaze, that soft flush warming her tanned skin.

“I’ll head out,” Zoro said, taking a step back and breaking the contact between Sanji’s fingers and the fabric of her tie.

Sanji nodded in silence, wishing her luck as she watched her walk out the door.

Another warm moment she wished had lasted longer.

Another stupid heartbeat she tried to ignore.

Sanji was hunched over her desk.

A mess of open books surrounded the table, mixed with notes underlined to excess and a cup of coffee that had long gone cold. Her hair was pulled into a loose bun, a rebellious strand falling over her forehead, and her brows were drawn tight in pure frustration.

On the bed beside her, Zoro was playing on the console… though she’d been glancing at Sanji from the corner of her eye for a while now.

Always so obvious. With every ounce of frustration written plain on her face.

The kind of person who couldn’t hide her mood even if she tried.

“You’re not gonna save the semester in the last few weeks,” Zoro finally said, wearing that half-smirk.

Sanji didn’t look up. “Not funny. If I fail this exam, I’ll have to retake the whole class.”

“And that’s why you’ve been sitting there for four straight hours without moving,” Zoro replied, still with that faintly teasing tone.

“Yeah…” Sanji sounded practically dead inside.

Alright. Guess it’s serious.

Zoro set the console aside, stood up, and crossed her arms. “Come work out with me.”

Sanji let out a short, incredulous laugh. “What part of ‘I’m dying from stress’ sounds like ‘I want to sweat like an idiot’ to you?”

“The part where nothing else is gonna stick in your head if you keep this up,” Zoro said, stepping close enough to lean over her. “Ten minutes. Or twenty, if you want me to leave you sore.”

Sanji raised a brow.“That’s your method of relaxing?”

“It works.”

Yeah, like this was yoga.

Sanji opened her mouth to say no, but Zoro was already rolling out the mat she used for planks.

“Incredible…” Sanji muttered, pushing her chair back.

…

She changed with exaggerated reluctance, pulling on the only pair of shorts she could find in her closet and a loose T-shirt. Zoro didn’t comment, but Sanji could’ve sworn she caught her fighting the urge to laugh at how pale her skin looked—the skin that was almost always covered.

Once they were on the mat, Zoro’s whole demeanor shifted. She looked as focused as she did when Sanji saw her studying.

The warm-up began.

“First, neck rotations. Slow.”

Sanji obeyed, though with zero enthusiasm. She was stiff, no doubt. Out of practice. It wasn’t like she never worked out—she’d usually stick to leg work, morning or evening runs, or joining Zeff for his exercise routine.

But lately, there hadn’t been much time for anything. And even when she’d thought about joining Zoro before, she always felt too drained to believe she could keep up with her pace.

Still, when Zoro asked directly—especially if it was her way of trying to help—it was impossible to refuse.

After the first stretch, they moved on to side bends. Sanji followed the instructions, but didn’t go low enough. Her back felt heavy for some reason, frustration already creeping in, brows furrowing deeper.

She was about to give up on it when Zoro stepped in behind her.

One firm hand on her hip, the other gently pressing her shoulder down.

“Like that,” Zoro murmured close to her ear. “Keep your back straight.”

Sanji swallowed, focusing—or trying to.

She’d never heard Zoro’s voice that close before. Never that intent. Like it genuinely mattered that she got the form right.

“Let’s do something more active,” Zoro said, moving in front of her. “Squats. Go.”

Sanji lowered herself, but by the third try Zoro shook her head.

“You’re leaning too far forward. You’ll hurt yourself. Watch.” She stepped behind her again, lowering with her and guiding the motion, her hands steady on Sanji’s hips.

“Feel the weight in your heels… there… that’s it.”

“Mm-hm,” Sanji murmured, though her mind wasn’t exactly running through technique at the moment.

She was trying—really trying—to pay attention to each move and instruction, to match the same seriousness Zoro was giving her. A little hard, though, with Zoro’s fingers sinking into her waist every time she corrected her position.

They went through push-ups, sit-ups, and planks until Sanji was sprawled on her back, breathing hard.

“I can’t feel my legs…” she said, staring at the ceiling.

Zoro, barely breaking a sweat, took a sip of water and grinned. “Trust me, after you sleep for a bit, you’ll feel amazing. Workout soreness is the best.”

“You’d better be right,” Sanji replied with a short, breathless laugh.

Maybe it was the workout that made her feel lighter.

Maybe it was just spending time with her.

“Thanks.”

“No problem. Someone had to save you from dying of laziness.”

“Screw you.”

…

After a long cold shower and what was basically an all-afternoon nap, Sanji felt oddly relaxed.

Sure, her limbs still burned a little from the earlier workout, but it was that satisfying kind of soreness—the kind that comes with knowing you did something good.

She’d managed to keep up with a workout maniac. Honestly, nothing could defeat her now. No subject could measure up.

She carried herself with more confidence.

She made herself a cup of coffee, this time actually enjoying it while reviewing her notes.

The room was quiet. Zoro had gone out while she was sleeping—probably to a class.

By now, they could almost recite each other’s schedules by heart.

The information seemed to sink into her head more easily now. The material itself wasn’t complicated; the real threat was the professor—an idiot obsessed with intimidating everyone, like some kind of frustrated sadist.

Sanji was so deep in thought that when the door flew open, she nearly jumped out of her chair.

“Oh. You’re awake,” Zoro said, her tone oddly disappointed. “Was hoping to scare you.”

“Are you stupid?!” Sanji practically yelled, a hand flying to her chest. “Ah—my heart…”

“Cigarettes finally kicking in with those heart problems?” Zoro chuckled, shutting the door with her foot and walking over. She dropped herself onto Sanji’s bed with the same casual familiarity as always, sinking into the mattress with a sigh.

“So? How are you feeling?”

“My knees are killing me.”

“That’s how you know you did it right.”

“You sound like one of those guys with more muscle than brain,” Sanji shot back, taking a sip of coffee. “Oh—wait. You do have more muscle than brain.”

“Ha. Ha.” Zoro buried her head in Sanji’s pillow, not even bothering to lift it. “I’ll take that as you admitting I have big muscles, thanks.”

Sanji rolled her eyes. “Anything’s big compared to that walnut you call a brain.”

“Speaking of people with walnut brains… how’s the studying going?”

Sanji frowned at the jab but answered anyway. “Better. I guess you were kind of right about your caveman theory of exhausting yourself and then being reborn after a nap.”

“Duh. I’m always right.”

“I still think it’s a caveman method.”

Zoro clicked her tongue and shifted onto her side, propping herself up to look at her while they talked.

“So, when’s your final, anyway?”

“For this class? Friday.”

Zoro’s eyes widened, looking as surprised as she was confused. “Four days? You’ve got plenty of time. Why the hell were you so anxious?”

Sanji averted her gaze, staying silent—and that only made Zoro more curious. This morning Sanji had looked like the walking dead, and now, with that pause, something clearly wasn’t adding up.

“I just… want a clean pass,” she finally said with a shrug—an uncharacteristic gesture for her.

Zoro hesitated, debating whether to press or let it go. Since the day they met, she’d known Sanji wasn’t the kind of person who could keep everything bottled up. She always had to let things out. What started as casual complaints about classes or professors had grown into longer, more personal talks. More than once, Sanji had opened up about things she’d probably consider embarrassing or silly—and Zoro had shared in return.

They were friends… right?

She could ask.

“That’s all?”

Sanji looked at her, hesitant. “It’s… well, I don’t know if I wanna—”

Before she could finish, Zoro was already sitting up, elbow on her knee and cheek resting in her palm, exaggerating her “I’m listening” face.

“All ears.”

Sanji let out a small laugh, shaking her head at the act. “I… well, I’m really afraid of failing. A lot.”

“Understandable. But it’s just one class—you can retake it.”

“I know, but…” She paused. “I want to do well. Really well.”

“Principles? Discipline?”

“A little, I guess.” Sanji nodded, looking away with slight discomfort. “It’s kind of stupid. And embarrassing.”

She adjusted in her chair, like even getting ready to say it took effort.

“My father didn’t want me in this. Actually, I wasn’t even planning on going to college. I thought I’d just keep working at the restaurant I’d spent my whole teenage years in. The boss—Zeff—used to be our personal chef before my father fired him for filling my head with what he called ‘stupid dreams’ about becoming a chef.”

“My father gave me two choices: he’d pay for college if I studied business like him… or get out of the house.”

Zoro stayed silent, just listening.

“He kicked me out. It was… a scene. I barely got my clothes out. I ended up staying with Nami for a while and… avoided almost everyone. When I saw Zeff again, he already knew what happened. He offered to pay for my studies.” Sanji smiled bitterly. “I told him no. That it was ridiculous, that it wasn’t his responsibility and I could work and study at the same time… but the idiot had already enrolled me. Along with my sister.”

“I refused for the first few weeks, telling them to cancel the registration. But… well, here I am.” She paused, glancing at her notes before going on. “I don’t want to disappoint the old man. I know money’s not an issue—his restaurant is one of the best in my city—but still… I don’t want to waste it. I don’t want to let down the two people who put their faith in me.”

Zoro stayed quiet for a few seconds, watching her like she was trying to find an answer that wouldn’t sound hollow.

“I can’t tell you you’ll definitely pass—I can’t see the future,” she said at last, holding her gaze as best she could. “But if everything you do is just out of fear of letting other people down… you’re always gonna feel like it’s not enough. Do it because you want to be better. Because you want to prove to yourself that you can. What comes from determination is better than what comes from fear.”

Sanji was silent, processing.

It wasn’t something she’d expected to hear from Zoro—especially not in that direct way, without her usual bite.

“That sounds… ridiculously motivational, coming from you,” she said at last, with a half-smile, trying to hide the little sting of emotion the words had caused.

Zoro returned the smile, tilting her head slightly. “Whatever happens, they’ll know you’re doing your best. And, for what it’s worth, I know they’re not the only ones who believe in you. You’ve got, like… a thousand friends.” She paused, shrugging. “I know you give your all.”

Sanji blinked, a little taken aback by the blunt honesty.

It was always strange seeing Zoro this serious. It wasn’t just that she stayed quiet while Sanji talked—she actually seemed to listen. The way she leaned forward just slightly, eyes fixed on her, never interrupting with words or even small gestures, like anything Sanji said was worth her full attention.

It was oddly… sweet.

Not because Zoro tried to sugarcoat things or say the “right” thing to cheer her up—she rarely did—but because it was obvious she was making a conscious effort to be present. To understand. To answer with realism.

“To be honest, I didn’t think I’d go to college either,” Zoro admitted then, like it was easier to say after what Sanji had shared.

“Oh, no?”

“I wanted to compete professionally,” Zoro said, her voice dropping a little. “I mean… I still do.”

Sanji tilted her head, intrigued.

“My dad told me I had to have something to fall back on in case it didn’t go as planned. And I thought… what, he doesn’t believe in me?” Zoro let out a short, humorless laugh. “I just want to graduate, as fast as possible. During break I practiced some kendo, but I felt so rusty I ended up just playing video games instead.”

Sanji smiled, remembering the few times she’d texted her to play in the afternoons.

“But I’m doing this for me,” Zoro went on, a steadier light in her eyes now. “So I can keep going. I know I can go further. I know I can compete professionally.”

Sanji watched her quietly for a few seconds, noticing how her voice shifted when she talked about what she truly wanted—that confident tone of someone who didn’t just dream, but was ready to fight for it.

Zoro could chase a dream without hesitation.

Sanji wanted that.

She wanted that clarity, that quiet strength that kept Zoro standing even when the path looked impossible. She wanted to know what it felt like to wake up every day without questioning if it was worth continuing—because you’d already decided from the very first step.

It was strange… but somehow, being near Zoro made that possibility feel less far away. Like part of that determination might rub off on her if they spent enough time together. Like, just by watching her, Sanji could remember that yes—it was worth it.

Sanji exhaled slowly, the corners of her mouth barely tilted downward. “…Thanks,” she murmured, just low enough that it didn’t quite sound casual.

Before Zoro could answer, Sanji pushed her chair back and stood, stretching lazily as she crossed the short distance between the desk and the bed. She flopped down beside her; the mattress dipped under their combined weight, nudging them just a little closer.

Without warning, Sanji reached over and gave her a light pat on the head—just enough to muss up her short hair.

“There. Done.” She grinned cheekily, bracing her hands behind her. “You care about me so much, huh?”

Zoro blinked, like she hadn’t seen that coming. “Huh?”

“All that pep talk, the whole ‘I believe in you’ thing…” Sanji pitched her voice in a mocking imitation, amused. “Don’t think I didn’t notice. You’re obsessed.”

“Obsessed?!” Zoro sat up straighter, frowning. “I was being nice. Don’t make it weird.”

Sanji tilted her head with feigned innocence. “Too late.”

“I hate you.”

“You love me.”

“Keep dreaming.”

“Why dream about what’s obvious?”

“Swear to God, shut up.”

Sanji burst out laughing, more entertained by Zoro’s tight-lipped expression than by her own words. “God, why are you so easy to mess with?”

Zoro clenched her jaw, as if every second of the conversation was testing her patience. “You’re impossible.”

The next few days fell into a steady loop of setbacks and small recoveries.

Sanji spent her afternoons buried in notes, pencil between her teeth, brow furrowed, moving from the table to the couch depending on how much her back hurt. Whenever she took a breather, Zoro was there—not with big gestures, but with little things that didn’t go unnoticed. Making something simple to eat, ordering food when she saw Sanji hadn’t moved in hours, leaving a steaming mug of tea within reach without interrupting her.

Sanji tried her best to stay positive. She really did.

On Wednesday, her phone buzzed on the table. When she saw the name on the screen, she smiled.

“Still alive, or should I file a missing person’s report?” was Nami’s greeting.

They agreed to meet at a café; Sanji needed to stretch her legs, clear her head, and maybe remind herself that the world was bigger than textbooks and a grumpy swordswoman.

The bell above the door chimed as she stepped inside. Nami was already by the window, waving her over.

“Look at you… I haven’t seen you in weeks,” Nami began as soon as Sanji dropped into the seat.

“Sorry, exam week and—”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m sure Zoro’s keeping you busy.”

Sanji raised an eyebrow and leaned her elbow on the table. “Okay, I know what you’re trying to hint at, but it’s not like that. She’s… a great friend, actually. One of the best things to happen to me this semester.”

“Yeah? And?” Nami leaned forward, wearing that little smirk Sanji knew far too well.

“And that’s it.”

“So… your eyes are on someone else? That girl I introduced you to texted you, didn’t she?”

“Oh, right…” Sanji grimaced. “That was a disaster.”

“Oh. My bad then. Why didn’t you text me about it or something?”

“Doesn’t matter. Zoro—”

“Zoro.”

“Let me finish, for fuck’s sake—”

“I suspect you’re hiding something from me.”

Sanji leaned back in her chair with an exaggerated sigh. “No. I’m not. I know I can be a hopeless romantic and a total idiot, but I swear, it’s not like that.”

“Why not? She’s not your type?” Nami asked, raising a brow.

“You know I don’t have a type.” Sanji grinned, winking. “All ladies are beautiful to me.”

Nami rolled her eyes. “So… you think Zoro’s beautiful?”

Sanji blinked, searching for the words. “Yeah… yeah, she’s gorgeous.”

“But you wouldn’t date her seriously.”

“What? I never said that. She’d probably make an amazing girlfriend.”

“So…”

“Why are we still talking about this?” Sanji asked, feeling an odd warmth creeping up her neck.

Nami couldn’t help but laugh.

“I don’t know. It’s just… when you introduced her to us, I honestly thought you two were already a thing.”

“What made you think that?”

“I don’t know… She was just so at ease with you. Had her arm around you when you could barely walk from drinking, and… I don’t know. I thought you’d found someone really good.”

Sanji’s eyes dropped to her cup, stirring the coffee idly. The image of that night—the firm weight of Zoro’s arm holding her up, her low voice telling her to be careful—slipped into her mind uninvited. The clumsy laughter.

The soft look, the warmth of the next morning.

The urge not to mess that up.

“We’re friends. That’s all.”

…

In the end, Nami managed to drag her to Usopp’s place, where the rest of the group was already hanging out. Sanji went along without much protest and soon found herself at a long table, surrounded by familiar voices. She didn’t touch alcohol; she stuck to a cold soda, the bubbles drifting lazily to the surface while she listened.

She’d forgotten how much she’d missed this—being with her friends, hearing Usopp’s impossible tall tales and Luffy’s booming laughter, watching Robin roll her eyes whenever someone mentioned her mysterious boyfriend—this “Franky” she still refused to introduce. The warmth of the place and the low hum of conversation blended into something comforting.

And yet, in the middle of it all, she thought that if Zoro were here, it’d be even better. But it was the worst day in her schedule; classes kept her trapped until late.

“Come on, I’ve got no chance with her?” Usopp practically gasped.

“You? Not even in your dreams,” Nami laughed. “Kaya probably just sees you as a friend.”

“Oh, that’s only because you haven’t seen how she is with him,” Robin cut in.

Sanji smiled to herself, turning the glass in her hands.

When her phone buzzed on the table, she checked it almost without thinking. A message.

Zoro: “Still with Nami? Don’t forget to have dinner. And you need to sleep early tonight.”

Sanji felt a soft warmth in her chest. It wasn’t anything special, just a short line… but she could hear Zoro’s voice in her head, dry and direct, like she was right there.

She shot back a quick, “Yes, mom,”

“Who is it?” Nami asked, leaning in to peek at the screen.

“No one important.”

…

“I’ll give you a ride home,” Usopp said, getting to his feet and fishing his keys out of his pocket.

“No need, I can just call a cab.”

“Bah, none of that. Besides, this way I have an excuse to tell the best love advisor in the world all about me and Kaya.”

The ride was quiet, city lights flickering past the windows. Usopp spoke animatedly, that mix of pride and shyness he only had when talking about Kaya coloring his voice.

“I swear, every time I see her I still get nervous. And it’s been… what, years now? It’s weird, right? That someone can still make you feel like that.”

Sanji glanced at him sideways, a soft smile playing on her lips. “It’s not weird. It’s… good. Means you still care.”

“Yeah. And I like to think it’s mutual. Though, you know, she’s Kaya—always seems to have it all together. Sometimes I think I’m the mess in the relationship.”

Sanji chuckled. “We’re all a mess at some point. I still can’t believe you two aren’t official.”

“I’m working on it, okay?”

She smiled, resting her cheek against her palm as she looked out the window. “Guess it kind of reminds me of Zoro… you know, having it all under control even though she looks like she couldn’t care less. Complains about everything, but if she sees me wiped out, she’ll make me tea or leave me food. Doesn’t say anything about it, but… she still does it. And if I complain, she ignores me. Well, not exactly ignores me—because you can tell she’s listening—but then she pretends she’s not. It’s so her.”

Usopp raised an eyebrow, giving her a sideways look. “Sounds like you know her pretty well.”

“Of course I do, we live together,” Sanji replied absentmindedly, missing the suggestive tone entirely. “And you have no idea how annoyed she gets if I skip meals… or how she insists on waiting up for me when I’m out late, even if she has class the next morning. It’s irritating. Irritatingly… thoughtful.”

Usopp pressed his lips together to hide a smile. “Uh-huh… very irritating.”

Sanji nodded without looking at him, completely oblivious to the weight of her own words. “Exactly.”

He didn’t say anything else, but he filed that away.

…

“I’m home,” Sanji called as she stepped inside, shutting the door with her foot.

Zoro was already wrapped up in blankets, eyes half-lidded, wearing that sleepy expression Sanji always thought was way too similar to a lazy cat’s.

“Mmh. Hey,” Zoro mumbled, barely glancing up.

Sanji dropped her bag onto the chair and collapsed onto her own bed, stretching her legs with a sigh. The silence between them was comfortable, almost domestic, broken only by the soft rustle of sheets as Sanji rolled onto her side, facing her.

“It was a… long day,” Sanji said, watching Zoro blink lazily. “I’m a little nervous about tomorrow. Should I have spent today studying too?”

Zoro shook her head gently. “No. Best thing before an exam is to relax and get a good night’s sleep. You’ll do better than cramming till midnight.”

Sanji nodded like she wanted to believe it. “What’d you eat?”

“Ordered some onigiri,” Zoro said, sinking deeper under the blankets. “They weren’t that great, though.”

Sanji smiled, a spark of challenge in her tone. “Tomorrow, when you get back from class, I’ll make you some myself.”

Zoro arched a brow slightly, but the corner of her mouth curved into the faintest smile. “Okay. Don’t forget.”

Sanji lowered her gaze, though she didn’t break eye contact entirely; she allowed herself another moment, studying the way the dim light traced the lines of her face. Then she closed her eyes.

Sanji wasn’t sure how she’d ended up walking to the door. She was still a little dazed, like her brain hadn’t fully processed what was happening. Everything felt dreamlike, like she was watching herself from the outside.

The moment she crossed the threshold, she let her bag drop against the wall and let out a breath of disbelief.

Zoro was lying on her bed, flipping through a book. She glanced up at her, and before Sanji could say anything, she got up—quick, clumsy steps closing the space between them.

She hugged her. No warning. Firm, warm.

Sanji blinked, feeling the fast beat of her heart under her cheek. Then, without thinking too hard about it, she smiled and hugged her back, keeping her eyes closed just a second longer than necessary. A small laugh escaped her.

“I’m guessing that means it went well,” Zoro murmured, pulling back just enough to look at her.

“Better than well. I passed by the skin of my teeth.”

The tension she’d been carrying all month seemed to dissolve in that instant. They made onigiri together, speaking little, letting the sound of the rice and the smell of the seaweed fill the gaps.

“You’ve gotta be gentle with it. I know you’re hungry, but if you press too hard you’ll ruin the shape.”

“As if the shape changes the taste.”

“Just listen to me, you damn marimo.”

They sat at the low table, eating in companionable silence, tossing the occasional comment back and forth like they didn’t need anything more to understand each other.

Peace again. A warmth Sanji found herself wanting more and more.

…

The weekend arrived, and with it, vacation. The second semester was over. They were supposed to be packing, but instead they kept wandering around, getting sidetracked in conversation. Every time they tried to make progress with the suitcases, they ended up sitting among the clothes.

“I’m glad I won’t have to see that guy again,” Sanji muttered, dropping a T-shirt onto the pile.

“Who knows… maybe he’ll teach another class later,” Zoro replied, with a barely-contained smile.

Sanji shot her a look of pure annoyance. “Shut up. I’m trying to maintain my peace of mind.”

Zoro answered with another short laugh, lazily packing her badly folded clothes.

When the time came, Zoro had to snap her suitcase shut. The bus wasn’t going to wait.

Sanji walked her to the stop, hands in her pockets so neither the cold nor the goodbye would be too obvious. The vehicle was already running, and the driver was checking the passenger list.

“Well… see you,” Zoro said, adjusting the strap of her backpack.

“Yeah.”

They hugged quickly, tight but brief, because the bus was about to leave and there wasn’t time for anything else. Zoro got on without looking back. Sanji stayed on the sidewalk for a moment, watching the bus disappear at the end of the street.

—

When Sanji arrived at the apartment she shared with her sister, the place was silent. She found a note stuck to the fridge door, written in her sister’s hurried handwriting.

“Sorry for not being here when you got back, I had taken today off but something came up where they need me. See you tonight.”

Sanji had really hoped to see her right away, make something to eat, and catch up on a few things. Reiju wasn’t the kind of person who was good at talking on the phone, and she was generally quite busy. Still, she always made sure to write her once a day to make sure their father wasn’t overworking her too much at the company where she and the rest of their siblings worked.

Sanji left her suitcases by the wall, not feeling like unpacking yet. The apartment’s air was a little heavy, as if it had been shut up for days. She went straight to the bathroom for a quick shower, letting the warm water wash away the travel fatigue and the early-morning drowsiness.

She dried her hair with a towel and, already in her room, let herself fall onto the bed. The stillness of the place slowly seeped into her mind, making her notice that for the first time in weeks, there wasn’t a second voice, background noise, or the familiar sound of footsteps on the other bed.

Her first year was over. Time really did pass faster than she had imagined.

Now she had two months ahead of her before going back… two months before seeing Zoro again.

She sighed, letting her head fall back, and reached for her phone almost without thinking. She opened the conversation with Zeff and typed a short message.

“I’m coming over, old man.”

…

The walk there gave her a bit of energy back; the familiar smell of freshly baked bread mixed with roasted coffee, and the constant murmur of the street—footsteps, distant engines, voices coming and going—wrapped around her like a familiar blanket. The city routine, which she had grown unaccustomed to at university, felt comforting.

When she arrived, Zeff greeted her at the door with a wide smile and crossed arms, though his tone was as petulant as ever, as if affection had to be disguised as scolding.

“And what’s the point of having vacation if you’re just going to spend the summer working here?”

Sanji raised an eyebrow and gave him a half-smile as she hung her bag on the usual hook. “I need a distraction.”

“A distraction… sure. And to bother this old man in the process,” Zeff grumbled, though he was already stepping aside to let her in.

Sanji put on one of the place’s aprons, fastening it quickly. She walked to the sink, rinsed her hands in cold water with soap, then gathered her hair into a high ponytail, leaving a few loose strands framing her face. The motion was automatic, learned over years of work there, but no less satisfying for it.

The other employees, seeing her, stopped what they were doing to greet her.

“Sanji! Look who’s back!”

“I thought you’d forgotten about us,” said one of the waiters, smiling as he passed with a tray.

“Impossible,” she replied, feeling a pleasant warmth in her chest.

In just a few minutes, she was already checking orders, heating a skillet, and letting the sound of sizzling oil fill the air. The rhythm of the restaurant pulled her in immediately, as if she had never left.

She was chopping carrots on the cutting board, the knife striking in a fast, sure rhythm, while bantering with Zeff as if they were in a silent competition over who could work faster.

“How were the professors?” he asked, glancing at her as he filleted a piece of fish.

“Good. One or two idiots, but overall, good.”

“And the internships?”

“So far I’ve gotten very good grades. I’m pretty good at presentations.”

“You always have been. Too bad you still can’t handle oregano.”

“Oregano is awful.”

“You still have a child’s palate.”

Sanji rolled her eyes, though a smile escaped for a moment. The knife kept up its beat against the board, and without meaning to, a memory slipped into her mind: that time Zoro had insisted on helping her chop vegetables, with the confidence of someone who thinks they can do anything… and ended up leaving the pieces so thick they looked ready for a barbecue instead of a stew.

Her smile widened just a little, imperceptible to anyone not watching closely. She wondered if she had arrived yet. Zoro’s trip was much longer than hers, at least five hours. She pictured Zoro looking out the window, bored, maybe nodding off half-asleep.

The thump of the knife on the board pulled her back to the present.

“Finish your carrots, eggplant.”

“Huh? Yeah, yeah…”

…

The weeks went by, each following their own routine, but they kept a steady thread of messages between them. The usual: food pictures—most of them sent by Sanji, always with a culinary critique—, the occasional insomnia complaint, and of course, the daily pictures of the fat cat.

Sanji: “Ah, I’d missed her.”

Zoro: “Not me. She’s even fatter now, crushes me when she lies on top of me.”

Sanji: “You’re rude.”

Zoro: “Cry about it.”

Sanji: “Have you decided on a name yet? She’s been there practically a year.”

Zoro: “I don’t know. Perona calls her something different every time. I call her Hairball.”

Sanji let out a laugh that echoed in the room, drawing a curious glance from her sister. She shrugged, still smiling, before looking back at the screen.

That’s when a message came that broke the routine a bit.

Zoro: “What are you doing this weekend?”

Sanji raised an eyebrow. She had already planned to go shopping with her sister, maybe get some new clothes and have lunch out, but the question piqued her curiosity. For some reason, she wanted to know what was behind it.

Sanji: “Nothing important, why?”

The reply came quickly, as if Zoro had already had it ready.

Zoro: “It’s my birthday. On the 11th. My father’s having a dinner and said I could invite someone.”

Sanji felt a strange flutter in her stomach, a mix of surprise, interest, and something harder to name.

Sanji: “Am I being invited?”

Zoro: “What else, idiot?”

Sanji: “I’m just messing with you. Yeah, of course.”

As soon as she sent the message, she set the phone down on the table and went to find her sister. When she told her, her sister smiled without a second thought.

“Go, don’t worry, we’ll leave the shopping for next weekend.”

Back in her room, Sanji dropped onto the bed with her phone in hand.

Sanji: “How far is it?”

Zoro: “On the outskirts of Kuraigana, a bit remote.”

Sanji: “I’ll check the bus schedules.”

Sanji stared at the screen for a moment before locking it. She was already thinking about what to wear, whether to bring a gift, and—though she didn’t want to admit it even to herself—why exactly the idea of meeting Zoro’s family made her feel such an unusual nervousness.

….

Sanji woke up early that day, before the sun had fully slipped through the curtains. Her stomach was in knots—and it wasn’t because she’d skipped breakfast.

She showered, got dressed… and then checked her hair. Twice. Three times. She ran her fingers through the strands until they fell exactly how she wanted, made sure her shirt was perfectly pressed, adjusted her belt, and finally applied a light touch of lipstick in front of the mirror, just to add a bit of color.

On the entryway table sat a small neatly wrapped bag—a gift for Zoro. She wasn’t sure if it was appropriate or too formal, but showing up empty-handed wasn’t an option.

Reiju appeared in the doorway, leaning against the frame with a mocking smile.

“Going to a dinner… or a date?”

Sanji shot her a glare. “Hilarious.”

“Relax, I’m sure your father-in-law’s going to like you. I doubt your friend invites just anyone over.”

“That’s not funny,” she repeated, slipping her bag over her shoulder. “Zoro’s mentioned her father once, and from what I heard, he’s pretty strict.”

“I get you’re nervous. But funny? Oh, absolutely. I’ve never seen you sweat this much.”

Her sister’s laughter followed her all the way to the door, though Sanji pretended not to hear it.

…

When she finally boarded the bus, her small suitcase sat beside her on the seat. She’d decided to stay at Zoro’s for the night—given how long the trip was—and still couldn’t figure out why the idea made her so nervous. They’d been sharing sleeping space for months. Why did this feel different?

Her hands trembled slightly as she pulled out her phone to text Zoro.

On the way, the scenery slowly shifted—tree-lined roads, wide fields stretching toward the horizon, scattered houses with old tiled roofs. Sanji snapped a couple of pictures and sent them to Zoro.

Sanji: Nice view.

Zoro: Don’t get too excited. The worst part’s still ahead.

Sanji: Worst?

Zoro: The hill before the house. You’re gonna regret wearing those stupid high heels.

Sanji: How do you even kno—?

Sanji huffed, but the smile stayed on her face as the bus climbed the narrow, steep road. Through the trees, an elegant building appeared—set apart, surrounded by a precisely kept garden where every shrub looked hand-trimmed. Afternoon light fell at an angle against the pale walls, and the air smelled of wood and freshly cut grass.

She double-checked the address three times, though the taxi driver—after she got off the bus—assured her he knew the house and the family.

When she finally spotted the figure waiting at the door, her heartbeat picked up more than she expected.

Zoro stood there in comfortable clothes: a loose T-shirt, sweatpants, and damp hair, like she’d just stepped out of the shower. “You made it,” she said. It sounded like a simple statement, but the faint curve at the corner of her mouth gave her away.

Sanji set her suitcase aside, pulling her into a hug meant more to annoy than anything else—earning a huff, a short laugh, and a hug back.

“Come on,” Zoro said, stepping away in that tone that always sounded like an order even when it wasn’t. “I’ll introduce you.”

Sanji hesitated for barely a second—long enough for Zoro to raise an eyebrow—but covered it with a quick smile and a nod.

“Sure,” she murmured, instinctively smoothing her blouse and brushing a strand of hair back before following her.

The inside of the house was exactly what she’d imagined from the outside—elegant, sober, and meticulously ordered. The walls were decorated with dark paintings and what she could only call gothic touches: small sculptures, leather-bound books, and, here and there, family photos. Most showed an older girl—definitely Perona—and only a few a younger Zoro.

Passing one in particular, Sanji couldn’t help raising an eyebrow and giving Zoro a light nudge with her elbow.

“Your first day of preschool?” she whispered, barely holding back a laugh at Zoro’s blank but clearly uncomfortable expression.

“Shut up,” Zoro muttered, looking away and speeding up her pace.

They moved down a wide hallway, the faint sound of their steps echoing on the wooden floor, until they reached a room opening into the kitchen. There, framed by the light from the window, stood the man.

“Old man,” Zoro called casually. “This is Sanji.”

Sanji felt tension crawl up the back of her neck. She inclined her head slightly, choosing her words carefully.

“Nice to meet you. Thanks for having me.”

Mihawk studied her for a few seconds before giving a short nod, without much formality.

“Zoro talks about you.”

Sanji blinked, glancing at Zoro—who, to her surprise, avoided her eyes.

“Hopefully good things,” she said, aiming for lightness, though her voice came out a little lower than she intended.

“Sometimes,” Mihawk replied, his tone unreadable—she couldn’t tell if it was a joke or a warning.

She let out a short, nervous laugh, but didn’t get a chance to decide what else to say because a singsong voice chimed in from behind her.

“So you’re the famous Sanji!”

She turned to find Perona standing in the doorway, watching her with a mix of curiosity and boldness. She wore a flowy black dress with lace details and a fuchsia bow in her hair, like she’d stepped right out of a gothic catalog. Her expression was sharp, almost mischievous, and Sanji immediately sensed she was trying to test—or intimidate—her.

“I suppose I am,” Sanji answered with a smile she kept deliberately casual.

“Hm. Not sure I expected someone… like you,” Perona said, tilting her head in slow, calculated appraisal.

“Like me how?” Sanji asked, eyebrow raised—though the curve of her lips made it clear she wasn’t about to be rattled.

“I don’t know.” Perona shrugged. “Taller, maybe.”

Sanji felt Zoro shift behind her, probably about to say something, but she stepped in first. “Well, height isn’t everything. Trust me, there are other things that make an impression.”

Perona smirked, as if the answer pleased her. “We’ll see.”

Zoro could only roll her eyes, muttering to her father to do something about her sister—only for the man to shrug, clearly not seeing a problem.

…

From the start, it was clear Perona was testing the waters, firing off quick questions like she was trying to catch her off guard. Where she was from, what she studied, how long she’d known Zoro, whether she really cooked as well as Zoro “bragged,” or if that was an exaggeration too.

Sanji couldn’t stop smiling at every little detail that slipped out. Each one confirmed that yes, Zoro talked about her to her family—a lot.

“I can cook something for you, and you can decide for yourself,” Sanji replied, calm and steady.

“Oh, yeah?” Perona crossed her arms. “Do you do desserts too?”

“I do desserts, bread, cakes… whatever you want.”

“Even complicated decorations?” she asked with a sly little smile.

Sanji gave her a playful look. “Even complicated decorations. Presentation is one of my specialties.”

That seemed to hit common ground. Within minutes they were swapping opinions on frostings, fillings, and decorating techniques. What had started as an attempt to make her nervous had morphed into a lively debate over whether buttercream beat fondant, and which colors popped best against chocolate bases.

“Fondant is terrible to eat, and you know it,” Sanji said, propping an elbow on the table.

“But aesthetically it’s perfect!” Perona shot back, hands raised like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“It doesn’t matter if it looks perfect if no one wants to eat it,” Sanji countered with a smirk.

From the couch, Zoro watched in silence, one eyebrow raised, arms crossed. She hadn’t expected Sanji to adapt so fast—let alone that Perona, of all people, would actually be enjoying herself.

“You two get along way too well,” Zoro muttered. “Headaches come in pairs, I guess.”

“Well, she actually knows what she’s talking about,” Perona replied without even glancing at her, still locked in conversation. “Unlike you, who never pays attention to your dear sister.”

“Desserts are boring.”

Both Sanji and Perona let out identical noises of mock outrage, making Zoro roll her eyes.

“You’re just jealous I’m stealing some of your friend time. Stop being so petty!”

“I am not jealous!” Zoro growled, but it didn’t sound convincing to anyone.

Before Sanji could get a word in, a deep meow cut through the moment. A plump ball of orange fur strolled in with the slow confidence of someone who owned the place. She hopped onto a chair, then the table, and planted herself right in front of Sanji.

“The famous furball!” Sanji said with genuine excitement, reaching out to pet her.

“How do you know about her?” Perona asked, one brow raised.

“Zoro sends me pictures,” Sanji answered casually, while the cat purred against her hand. “Lots of pictures.”

Perona slowly turned to look at Zoro, a sly smile forming. “Flirting with cat pics? That’s a cheap tactic.”

“It’s not like that!”

…

After lunch—fresh fish, crisp salad, and perfectly steamed rice—Mihawk suggested, or rather ordered, that they “exercise their brains a bit,” dropping a dusty box of board games on the table.

The board ended up spread across the low coffee table. Perona sat cross-legged, Sanji settled across from her, and Zoro, in her usual lack of enthusiasm, flopped down beside them, stretching out her legs.

It didn’t take long before the fat cat, drawn to her favorite human, leapt into Zoro’s lap, curled up, and started purring like she was about to fall asleep.

Sanji looked over with a mix of fondness and amusement. “So why doesn’t she have a permanent name yet?”

Perona snorted, moving a game piece. “So Zoro told you, huh? I give her a different one every week. It’s more fun that way.”

“Then I’m going to steal her and give her a real name,” Sanji said, stroking the cat’s fur with her fingertips.

“Good luck. She’s clearly way too attached to Zoro,” Perona replied, leaning in just to watch her sister’s reaction.

Zoro didn’t say anything—just glanced down at the board with the faintest, most subtle smile.

Halfway through the game, Perona frowned at the pieces.

“She’s winning,” she said, pointing at Zoro.

“What a shocker,” Sanji replied, rolling her eyes.

“We should team up,” Perona suggested, lowering her voice like it was some secret plot.

Sanji grinned. “Deal.”

The game ended in a close win for Perona and Sanji, who celebrated with an overly dramatic high-five. Zoro, unfazed, kept petting the cat like the entire conspiracy had been meaningless.

“At least someone here is still loyal to me,” she said, glancing down at the sleeping furball.

…

Close to dinnertime, Mihawk appeared in the doorway and fixed her with a direct look.

“Come, help me for a moment.”

Sanji followed him into the kitchen, the faint flutter in her stomach returning. The atmosphere in here felt different from the rest of the house.

“Take care of the vegetables,” he instructed, pointing to a cutting board and a perfectly sharpened knife.

“Gladly,” Sanji replied, rolling up her sleeves and washing her hands.

For a few minutes, the only sounds were the steady rhythm of knives against wood. Mihawk sliced the fish with surgical precision, while Sanji, just as focused, diced carrots and zucchini.

“Zoro says you cook really well.”

Sanji’s lips curved faintly to the side.

“She doesn’t usually waste words on praise,” Mihawk added.

“Well, that means something,” Sanji said, pretending it didn’t matter much—though the comment left a quiet warmth in her chest.

Dinner unfolded at the dining table, Perona tossing out sarcastic remarks, Zoro grunting in reply, and Mihawk stepping in only when it looked like the banter might escalate. Sanji ate between laughs, feeling unexpectedly at ease.

After the plates were cleared, Mihawk stood, took a bottle of dark wine, and set it on the table.

“I’ll leave you this. But don’t drink too much—it’s a bit strong.” Then, with a firm pat on Zoro’s shoulder, he set a small wrapped package in front of her. “And happy nineteenth birthday, daughter.”

Zoro raised a brow, unwrapping the paper to reveal a pristine Game Boy cartridge. She barely smiled, but there was a spark in her eyes.

“Thanks,” she said quietly.

“Time for gifts!” Perona announced, disappearing for a moment before returning with a bag full of over-the-top shirts in her style—bats, black roses, skulls with pink bows.

“Perfect for you,” she said with a wicked grin as she handed them over.

Zoro sighed, but folded them neatly. “Thanks.”

Sanji took the opportunity to pull a small, simply wrapped package from her bag and place it in front of Zoro.

“This one’s from me,” she said, aiming for casual.

Zoro’s eyes lingered on her for a second longer than necessary before she nodded.

A small desk lamp.

Perfect for studying late without ruining your eyes.

“Thanks. Really.”

Already on his way out, Mihawk picked up his wine glass and headed down the hall. “Keep it down. And don’t finish the whole bottle.”

…

The dining room grew quieter once Mihawk left with his wine and a parting “keep it down” that Zoro ignored the second she uncorked a second bottle. Perona stuck around a little longer, lounging on the couch with her glass, throwing out the occasional sharp comment that Sanji deflected with ease.

Eventually, Perona gave a dramatic yawn.

“Well, I’m off. I’ve got things to do tomorrow.”

Zoro shot her a sideways look. “Does sleeping until noon count as things?”

Perona ignored her completely and turned to Sanji. “If you survive her morning mood, you’re welcome back anytime.”

Sanji smiled. “Thanks. And good luck with your alarm clock.”

“Ha, ha.”

They listened to her footsteps on the stairs, followed by a door closing. The house fell into a softer kind of silence, broken only by the creak of the wood and the gentle clink of glasses against the table.

Sanji curled her legs up on the couch, turning toward Zoro, who was sprawled out with her glass in hand.

“You know, I didn’t think I’d like them this much.”

Zoro shrugged. “Perona behaves herself when there’s company. Don’t get used to it.”

“Hmm… I think I can handle her.”

They laughed, and another round of wine vanished before they noticed.

When the warmth of the alcohol flushed Sanji’s cheeks, she stood. “I’m gonna change before I get too lazy.” She disappeared for a few minutes and came back in loose, comfortable pajamas, her hair tied up messily and still damp from the quick shower she’d taken.

Zoro, half-reclined now, glanced at her a second too long. “Looks like you’ve made yourself at home.”

Sanji shrugged with a lazy smile. “I feel comfortable.”

...

With a small effort, Zoro got to her feet, swaying just slightly from the wine, and began setting up a futon on the floor. She pulled a soft pillow from the closet and a thick, freshly washed blanket—perfect for the night’s chill.

“There it is,” she muttered, tossing the pillow with such poor aim that it hit Sanji’s leg.

Sanji caught it with a soft laugh. “So hospitable.” She dropped onto the futon and buried her face in the blanket, breathing in the scent of clean fabric and something that faintly reminded her of Zoro.

Zoro sat down beside her, close enough that their shoulders brushed with every breath. They both lay back, eyes on the ceiling.

“I’m glad you invited me. I had a good time today.”

Zoro glanced sideways at her, a half-smile tugging at her lips but never fully forming. “Me too.”

Sanji pulled out a cigarette, lit it, and exhaled the first stream of smoke toward the ceiling. It curled and shifted in the dim glow of the lamp. Zoro couldn’t look away—couldn’t stop noticing how, even though she’d said she didn’t mind, Sanji still avoided blowing the smoke directly at her. That quiet consideration threw something in her off balance.

Zoro got up and cracked the window open. A breath of cold night air drifted in, making the curtain sway.

“Thanks,” Sanji said, exhaling another cloud toward the ceiling.

Zoro nodded, but her eyes stayed on the way the smoke tangled with the golden sheen of Sanji’s hair.

“I want to try it.”

“Huh?”

“Smoking.”

“Oh, yeah?” Sanji replied, her voice low and edged with a wine-and-tobacco rasp, a lopsided smile playing on her lips.

She leaned in—not close enough to invade completely, but enough for Zoro to clearly feel the warmth of her breath against her skin.

What the hell was she doing?

Zoro watched without blinking as Sanji brought the cigarette to her own lips and took a slow, deep drag. Her cheeks hollowed slightly, her chest rose in an even rhythm, and her eyelids dipped halfway, calm in a way that felt almost hypnotic. When she exhaled, she did it closer this time—aimed right at her mouth.

The warm smoke wrapped around Zoro’s face, heavy with wine and nicotine, and for reasons she didn’t fully understand, she didn’t move away.

Sanji’s smile curved, part teasing and part lost in thought. She lifted a hand, cupping Zoro’s face, her fingers warm against chilled skin, and guided her forward—gentle, but firm enough to leave no room for retreat.

“Breathe,” she murmured, so quietly it was more sensation than sound, like the whisper had slid straight into her ear and spiraled down into her chest.

Zoro obeyed. The last remnants of smoke filled her lungs along with the heat of Sanji’s breath. Her heart slammed against her ribs—fast, hard—like her own body was trying to betray her.

Sanji took another drag, slower this time, and exhaled against her mouth again. Now, the space between them was almost nonexistent. If Zoro leaned in just a little… their lips would meet.

She clenched her fists against the blanket, forcing herself to stay still. Sanji’s knee brushed hers—barely a touch—but it was enough to send a shiver racing over her skin and dripping like molten heat down her stomach. Sanji’s hands held her steady, and what Zoro was breathing in wasn’t just wine and tobacco.

it was her.

A strange rush hit her, a mix of vertigo and electricity, and she broke away suddenly, bringing her forearm to her face as she coughed softly.

“Shit…”

Sanji arched a brow, amused. “Don’t like it, huh?”

“Shut up… it’s my first try.” She caught her breath, lowering her arm. “Give me another.”

Sanji lifted the cigarette again, inhaling slowly, almost like she was making her wait on purpose. Her eyes locked with Zoro’s as she exhaled through her nose, then leaned in, wearing a half-smile that felt more dangerous than any challenge Zoro had ever taken.

This time, Zoro didn’t look away.

Sanji tilted her head just slightly, and when she released the smoke, it came in a soft, steady stream that went straight to her mouth. Zoro took it without coughing, letting the warmth slide down her throat. There was no bitter edge of failure now—just the acrid taste of tobacco, the sweet burn of wine.

“Much better,” Sanji said at last, pulling her hands away with deliberate slowness, as though detaching them from her skin took effort.

Zoro exhaled calmly, like she’d been holding her breath for hours.

…

When the light was out, Sanji curled up on the futon and Zoro returned to her mattress. Silence filled the room—but it wasn’t a peaceful silence. Zoro’s heartbeat pounded so hard she was sure Sanji could hear it. She shut her eyes, trying to focus on breathing, on forgetting the heat of those hands on her cheeks, but the image replayed in her mind—sharper, bolder.

The memory warped. Instead of pulling back, she imagined leaning forward, just enough for their lips to brush, to feel that heat directly against her skin instead of through the smoke.

She could see her—half-lidded eyes, the lazy, dangerous curl of her smile. She could feel those hands slide from her face down to her neck, tracing the line of her collarbone with a touch that couldn’t be mistaken for anything else.

In her mind, the brush of their knees was no accident.

Sanji moved closer, pressing in, aligning herself on purpose until Zoro felt every inch of her warmth. The air they shared wasn’t smoke anymore—it was short, uneven breaths, tangled together like neither of them wanted to give up space.

Zoro’s pulse thundered in her ears. The blanket was too warm. Her whole body felt trapped between the urge to move and the fear of it.

She pressed her thighs together, trying to contain the heat pooling low in her stomach, growing stronger.

In her mind, Sanji wasn’t telling her to breathe anymore.

Now she was whispering something else—something that made Zoro bite the inside of her cheek just to keep from making a sound.

She rolled onto her side, turning her back to the futon, as if that would help. It didn’t. She could hear her breathing, could picture how she must be lying there—hair spilling over one shoulder, legs crossed or stretched out under the thin blanket. And without meaning to, she imagined what it would be like if Sanji’s hand slid lower, touching her with the same surety as before.

Zoro buried her face deeper into the pillow, letting out a frustrated sigh muffled by the fabric.

…

The next morning, they woke a little late. Sanji stretched lazily while Zoro gathered up the blankets. The smell of coffee and fresh toast drifted from the kitchen, where Mihawk was already making breakfast.

They ate quickly, trading light jabs about the amount of wine they’d had and the dull headache that lingered for both of them.

Zoro tried not to think about it—not to dwell. But she felt Sanji’s gaze linger on her longer than usual, along with longer silences as they made their way to the station where she’d catch her bus.

Last night had been… something.

But it was probably just in her head.

There was no way it had been anything more.

Chapter 3: Everybody Here Wants You

Notes:

Sorry for taking so long to update. I was in exam week and I’m way too much of a perfectionist when I write yuri about these two, haha. Anyways, enjoy.

Also a daily reminder that English is not my first language.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

The trip back home felt so much shorter than the one there. Maybe because her head was now too full of images and words that kept repeating themselves like a sweet, annoying echo. Distracting her just enough to make time fly by.

All jumbled, as if they were all fighting for her attention at once.

At the station, just as the bus was making its final boarding call, the two of them stood there in silence, fists clenched at their sides.

Neither sure whether to step closer and hug, or just say goodbye with a casual wave that wouldn’t draw any attention. Perona, a few steps away, watched with arms crossed and one brow arched, as if waiting for the perfect moment to let out a mocking remark or a malicious laugh.

Exactly what you’d expect from her.

The presence of Zoro’s father didn’t help either—too close, too still, with that sharp gaze that seemed to analyze everything.

In the end, what happened was nothing more than a quick hug, brief and almost automatic. Just the faintest brush of arms and a muttered “see you soon” slipping from both of them at the same time, without meeting each other’s eyes, before Sanji stepped onto the bus. She collapsed into a seat with a growing sense of discomfort she couldn’t shake off.

The whole ride back was a pounding weight in her head—aching and bruised from last night’s wine—mixed with the persistent feeling of being slightly outside herself.

Full of memories that didn’t even feel like they had really happened.

…

When she finally got home, the long stairwell felt like a cruel joke.

The elevator had chosen that exact moment to break down. And for a second, she reconsidered why the hell they had ever picked the top floor of the building.

She dragged her suitcase up with all the energy she had left, each step stealing a little more from her.

She opened the apartment door and dropped the suitcase in a corner. She didn’t even bother to take off her shoes—just crossed the room and collapsed face-up on her bed, feeling the mattress swallow her whole. Her body was heavy with exhaustion, but her head was still far too awake.

The silence didn’t help. All it did was give her memories more room to loop endlessly.

It wasn’t long before she heard footsteps approaching. Reiju appeared in the doorway, leaning lazily against the frame.

“How’d it go?”

Sanji let out a long sigh that quickly turned into a short, awkward laugh. She wanted to give a quick, simple answer, but her mouth moved before her brain had the chance.

“I think I messed it up,” she blurted, avoiding her gaze.

Reiju stepped inside, shutting the door behind her. She sat on the edge of the bed, crossing one leg over the other and propping her chin on her hand.

“Why do you say that?”

“I don’t know, damn it…” Sanji started speaking faster than she meant to. “It’s just—she was too cute, and… I don’t know, I couldn’t stop myself from teasing her a little, but… then it felt like something more, and maybe I… maybe I wanted that too—” She broke off, biting her lip, unsure if she should keep going.

“Slow down,” Reiju said, though she was grinning from ear to ear.

Sanji groaned at her sister’s unmistakably amused tone. With a brusque movement, she pulled her arm away from her face, revealing a blazing blush that reached all the way up to her ears.

Reiju burst out laughing, muffled at first against her arm, then spilling out into a full, bright laugh.

“God, what did you even do to be looking like this?”

Sanji opened her mouth to answer, but only a strangled noise came out—something between a groan and a laugh. She ended up hiding under her arm again, unable to stop smiling.

“It was… we were in her room, well, the room where I was staying,” she started quickly, as if afraid of losing her nerve. “Perona had already left, Zoro was there setting up the futon, and it was just the two of us… I don’t know… relaxed. It was a good day.”

Reiju smiled faintly, watching how red Sanji’s face had gotten, all the way down her neck.

“We’d been drinking wine—too much—and she was really close. I had a cigarette, and suddenly she said she wanted to try. I don’t know, like she was trying to act cool or something. Such an idiot…” Sanji ducked her head, smiling despite herself, cheeks burning so much it almost hurt. “So I thought I’d embarrass her a little. Tease her. I took a drag… and blew the smoke into her mouth.”

Sanji heard her sister’s sharp little gasp—surprise mixed with delight—but she was too deep in the memory now to pay attention.

“She was close. Really close. I could’ve counted every freckle on her face. My hands were holding her cheeks; her skin is just as soft as it looks. Makes you want to stay there. And she’s so awkward… I felt her shiver from that stupid trick. But she didn’t pull away. She even asked me to do it again.”

Reiju leaned in a little, eyes gleaming with curiosity.

“And you didn’t kiss her?”

“No!” Sanji covered her face at once.

“You’re unbelievable…” Reiju let out a low laugh. “She was basically breathing your air and you just—nothing?”

Sanji flopped back onto the bed, covering her eyes with her arm.

“No… I don’t think that would’ve been right. I’m not the type to kiss my friends.”

“Friends?”

“Friends.”

“…Friends?”

“We’re friends.”

“Sure. Whatever you say.”

Reiju rolled her eyes but kept smiling, finding the whole thing just as hilarious as it was ridiculous, maybe even a little sweet. Especially coming from Sanji, who so rarely shared this kind of thing with her. Usually, she only found out when everything had already gone to hell and she had to spend weeks comforting her until she believed in love again.

Her eyes drifted down to Sanji’s phone, lying carelessly on the bed and glowing with a notification. Her smile widened.

“She texted you.”

“Huh?” Sanji mumbled.

“Zoro. She texted you.”

Sanji curled in on herself, like a small animal trying to play dead and hope it worked.

“I’ll check later.”

“It’s nothing bad—”

“Don’t tell me what it says!”

“Fine, fine.” Reiju chuckled again. “Aren’t you a little too old to be acting like this?”

“I’m going to sleep.”

Her sister finally gave in, letting out a sigh and patting her on the shoulder before leaving the room—not without reminding her that they still had to make dinner later.

Sanji hummed softly, still refusing to move from her spot.

If she had leaned in just a little more… would Zoro have pulled away?

Or would she have stayed?

Zoro had told her before.

She’d never been with anyone.

And the thought of being the first to cross that line shouldn’t feel this tempting.

It shouldn’t make her toss and turn in bed in desperation, haunted by the memory of that nervous breath brushing her lips.

…

“So, you passed everything clean again, huh?” Perona remarked with feigned indifference, scrolling through the grades on her phone.

“Uh, yeah. Easy.”

“Really? This one looks like it gave you a bit of trouble…” she pointed out, showing the screen. “Not a bad grade though, huh.”

Zoro took a moment to answer, blinking slowly before letting a faint smile touch her lips.

“Ah, that was because of an absence.”

“An absence?”

“Sanji got sick one afternoon, and I missed that day.”

Perona lowered the phone slowly, raising her eyebrows like she’d just heard exactly what she’d been expecting.

“Okay… you’re gonna tell me what the hell’s going on.”

Zoro lifted her gaze, confused. “What?”

“Don’t play dumb.” Perona flashed her teeth in a grin. “I can see it a mile away. You’re acting weird. Since the station, even more so.”

Zoro snorted, slouching back against the sofa as if that would make her look more relaxed than she really was.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Perona’s big, round eyes practically scanned her, making Zoro squirm under the weight of it. She felt strangely nervous, even though there was no visible trace of anything left on her skin.

Now that would’ve been a problem.

“Spit it out, musclehead. Or I swear I’ll tell the old man you defiled his house.”

Zoro glared at her in annoyance, her ears red as she dropped her voice to avoid being overheard.

“Nothing happened.”

“Nothing?” Perona tilted her head, smiling like a smug cat. “Please. Even the air changes when I bring her up. Don’t tell me you didn’t notice the way she looked at you when she got on the bus. It was poetry.”

Zoro clenched her jaw and looked away. “She was hungover. We were tired. That’s it.”

“Mm-hm…” Perona sing-songed, leaning closer. “Then why do your ears turn red every time I say her name?”

Zoro growled, shutting her eyes as if she could sleep her sister away. Like an animal trying to blend into the green of the sofa.

“Zorooo…” Perona dragged out her name, taunting. “If you don’t tell me, I’ll just make something up. And trust me—my version’s going to be way worse.”

“Disgusting.”

“Oh come on, I’m your sister. I always tell you everything.”

Zoro let out a rough sigh. She dragged a hand down her face and pushed it through her hair, tugging hard like she could shake her brain loose.

“Fuck… fine. Something happened.”

Perona’s eyes went wide, delighted. “I knew it! Spill it!”

“…We shared a cigarette.”

Perona blinked, her face dropping with pure disappointment. “That’s it?”

Zoro swallowed hard, clumsy, and lowered her voice—truly whispering this time.

“We were in the room. We’d been drinking wine. Sanji had a cigarette and… I said I wanted to try. I thought she’d just let it go, but…” She rubbed the back of her neck, uncomfortable. “She passed it to me. The smoke. Through her mouth.”

Perona went silent for a few beats, processing. Then she exploded in laughter, nearly doubling over.

“Whaaat?! That shameless blonde! She didn’t waste a second the moment I left!”

“Shut up.” Zoro growled, turning away.

“No, no, wait, wait!” Perona wiped a tear of laughter from her eye. “Are you telling me you basically smoke-kissed? That’s the most ridiculous, movie-like thing I’ve ever heard in my life!”

“It wasn’t a kiss.”

“Of course it was. She was practically seducing you.”

Zoro huffed, crossing her arms. “She wasn’t. She was… messing with me. That’s what she always does.”

“Mm-hm.”

“She just wanted to tease me.”

“Mm-hm.”

Zoro snapped her head toward her, irritated. “Are you gonna stop mm-hm-me?”

….

Sanji had spent the whole day ignoring her phone, letting it buzz and glow untouched on the nightstand. She’d tried cooking with her sister to distract herself, cleaning, even taking a nap, but her thoughts always circled back to the same place.

By nightfall, she found herself out on the balcony, November’s cool air brushing against her skin. The city stretched below, endless lights and motion, a view so wide it almost made her dizzy.

This—this was the reason she and Reiju had chosen the top floor, even with the cursed stairs and the unreliable elevator. For moments like this, when the city felt like it belonged only to them.

Sanji leaned against the railing, finally picking up her phone. She took a deep breath and unlocked it.

Zoro: “Did you get home okay?”

Sanji bit her lip, smiling in spite of herself. She didn’t know why she’d been expecting more. Something different.

Sanji: “Sorry for not answering all day. Yeah, I’m home safe.”

She hesitated for a second, then lifted her phone, snapped a picture of the skyline, and sent it.

A few seconds later, her phone buzzed.

Zoro: “Pretty view.”

Sanji chuckled softly, lowering her gaze, warmth blooming across her cheeks. She sat down on the balcony floor, resting her back against the wall.

Sanji: “Right? It’s the only perk of living on the top floor.”

Three dots blinked. Disappeared. Came back again. Sanji didn’t understand why her palms were sweating. The cold air, the warmth of her coat, the tickle of her bare feet against the floor—it all felt ten times sharper than usual.

Zoro: “Worth it for the view.”

Sanji didn’t know why that simple message made her chest tighten. Like a quiet kind of relief—lifting some of the weight, but not all of it.

Sanji: “You should come over sometime. That way I don’t have to brag with photos.”

Her heart pounded as she hit send. Too bold. Too casual, too indifferent.

She held her breath, waiting.

And then the screen lit up again.

Zoro: “Maybe.”

Simple. Dry. But enough to make her press the phone to her chest and let out a long sigh.

Everything was fine. There was nothing strange between them. Zoro was acting the way she always did.

She just needed to act like nothing had happened.

…

“Another Boeuf Bourguignon for table seven!” the waiter called from the doorway, raising his voice above the eternal clamor filling the All Blue’s kitchen.

The noise was normal.

What wasn’t normal was how it always seemed to spike whenever Sanji was around.

“Got it,” she replied immediately, setting the freshly finished pasta on the counter where another cook handled the final touches before sending it out. Without missing a beat, Sanji washed her hands again, her heavy footsteps echoing on the floor as she headed for the fridge.

Like a little kid running through a playroom.

Except this was the most respected restaurant in the entire city, and she was running the kitchen.

“What’s she doing now?” one cook muttered to another, leaning closer.

“Pretty sure she’s competing with Zeff… again.”

Judging by the way the old man moved back and forth, watching the blonde with that wary look as she worked at twice his speed—that was exactly what she was doing.

Sanji chopped, sliced, moved her hands with almost furious precision. The background noise—pots clanging, orders shouted, plates sliding, rookie waiters tripping—would normally have driven her up the wall. But tonight, strangely enough, it felt comforting. Chaotic music, loud enough to drown out her thoughts.

Sometime later, as the evening rush began to slow, Zeff slid into place beside her. He didn’t say a word at first. Just started chopping at his usual incredible pace—the one she’d always dreamed of matching—while Sanji washed vegetables.

“What’s up with you, eggplant?” he asked suddenly.

Sanji flinched a little.

“Huh?”

“You’ve been quiet.”

“It’s nothing. I’m just focused.”

“You’ve been washing that onion for two minutes. It’s about to fall apart in your hands.”

Sanji let out a heavy sigh. She knew dodging this kind of conversation with Zeff was useless, but she tried anyway.

“It’s nothing.”

“You’re back in class on Monday, is that it?”

Not exactly.

It was what that implied.

She thought she’d been handling it fine—or so she told herself. They talked almost every day. Everything felt the same.

But the thought of seeing her face-to-face again…

Sanji lowered her eyes, focusing on the onion like it was a surgical procedure.

“You need clothes? Supplies?” Zeff pressed.

“My closet’s stuffed thanks to Reiju, old man. And you hoarded like three versions of every knife on the market. I’m covered.”

“Then what? Sick?”

“Drop it.”

“Quarter-life crisis?”

“Ugh!”

Sanji all but slammed the onion down on the cutting board with a growl. When she finally looked up, of course, Zeff’s face hadn’t changed a bit. Those soft eyes, that furrowed brow that seemed to deepen with age every time she dared look at it. His endless patience, not a flicker of surprise at her outbursts.

Like he still saw her as the little girl playing chef in this very kitchen.

Sanji clenched her teeth, took a deep breath, and started chopping fast, avoiding his gaze.

“It’s… this girl.”

“Hm.”

“Her name’s Zoro.”

Zeff raised a brow, like it didn’t surprise him at all. “I see.”

Sanji pressed the knife harder against the board.

“That’s all you’re going to say?”

“What else do you want?”

Sanji huffed. “You could… I don’t know, ask something. Pretend you care.”

Zeff turned his head just enough to glance at her from the corner of his eye.

“Does she treat you well?”

Sanji blinked, her face flushing red.

“What?”

“I said, does she treat you well, idiot?”

She froze for a few seconds. The memory came unbidden—Zoro, serious and awkward, wide-eyed, skin golden and warm with a blush—and she shook her head quickly.

“…It’s not like that. We’re friends.”

“So that’s what bothers you? That you’re just friends?”

“I didn’t say that.”

Zeff gave a short snort, wiping his hands on his apron.

“You said it without saying it.”

Sanji glared, gripping the knife like she might just stab him with it. “Old man, stop acting like you’re psychic!”

Zeff didn’t flinch, not an inch. “All I see is someone tangled up in their own mess. And you know what happens when you cook like that—everything ends up tasting like nothing.”

Sanji bit the inside of her cheek. She hated those cheap chef metaphors of his.

“…It’s not that simple.”

“It is.” Zeff calmly wiped the knife clean and walked away slowly, as if the conversation was already over. “Everything else is just excuses.”

Sanji scowled. “Of course some decrepit old man like you wouldn’t know a thing about this.”

Zeff arched a brow, glancing back. “For your information, my age never stopped me from—”

“Shut up!” Sanji cut him off, cheeks blazing, waving her hand like she could swat his words out of the air. “Goddamn it.”

Zeff smirked faintly, satisfied he’d gotten her to lose her composure.

“I’ll ask just once more. Is she a good girl? Does she treat you well?”

“I told you—”

“Yes or no.”

Sanji stayed quiet a beat, biting her lip.

“…Yes.”

“Good.” Zeff turned toward her without a shred of drama, as if that settled everything. “Now move. Table eight needs you.”

The very moment she managed to get into a taxi, Sanji checked her phone.

Zoro: “Already left?”

Sanji: “Yeah. My sister almost didn’t let me go, shit, I’m gonna miss the bus I always take.”

Zoro: “Aw, didn’t wanna let the poor baby leave.”

Sanji clicked her tongue, rolling her eyes instantly. She could practically hear the venomous tone Zoro would’ve used if she’d said it out loud, like she was spitting it right into her ear.

Not that she had to imagine it too hard.

She was going to see her again today.

Zoro had left early, as always. She lived so far away that it was the only way to make it on time. Sanji, on the other hand, had let herself be pulled along by the slow rhythm of the morning. She lingered on the sunrise, on the soft warmth of the weather—not yet hot, but that perfect in-between that made walking around in her favorite pajamas feel like luxury. Some coffee, barely a bite of breakfast, small distractions that forced her to run at the last minute. By the time she finally caught the bus, Zoro was already halfway there.

…

Returning to campus was a strange mix of familiarity and nerves. The same noise of students dragging their luggage, the same smell of cafeteria food clinging to the halls, the same awkward air of being lost among people pretending they weren’t.

Except Sanji didn’t feel it the same way anymore.

Every step closer to the building felt heavier. And that made her feel like a complete idiot.

They’d been texting just hours ago. Less than a month ago she’d slept in her house, celebrated her birthday, spent time with her family. It wasn’t fair that now she felt this absurd need to doubt, to measure every move.

To put distance between herself and someone who had become so close.

And all because of something she herself had started, something that probably hadn’t meant much—or anything—to the other. She had no right to feel this way.

To feel this way about her. She would probably hate it.

The key turned in the door lock. The click sounded too loud.

Zoro was already there.

And in that instant, all the speeches she’d rehearsed in her head collapsed like dust.

Because Zoro—messy, tired from the trip, hair rumpled, her face clearly marked by a bad night’s sleep—shouldn’t have made her heart skip the way it did.

She looked like a total disaster, and still, she managed to make Sanji nervous.

“You’re here.”

Sanji set her suitcase against the wall. “Yeah.” She forced a smile, not daring to look too long. “I thought I’d be the first one again.”

“With the hours you keep? Not a chance.” Zoro raised a brow, almost amused.

Sanji clicked her tongue, shrugging off her coat. “I got here before closing time. That’s what counts.”

Zoro let out a small puff of air—barely a scoff, but enough to tighten something in Sanji’s chest. She bent over her suitcase, pretending to fuss with the zippers, though she could feel those eyes on her every so often.

As she pulled out clothes and laid them neatly on the floor, she heard footsteps behind her. The creak of wood told her Zoro was moving closer. Her palms went clammy, cold with nerves, just because of that.

Then Zoro sat on the bed, leaning on her elbow, watching her like it was mildly entertaining.

“Well?” she called after a while, making Sanji glance up.

“Huh?”

“Where’s the plant?”

For a second, Sanji forgot every trace of anxiety. She straightened immediately, scanning the floor for the blue bag where she remembered packing it.

Shit. She couldn’t have left it on the bus. Or worse, at home. That stupid plant was so delicate, with so many absurd care instructions—no one else would have the patience to keep it alive. They’d ignore it, it would wither, and it would die.

“Dammit.” Sanji growled, striding toward the door. The knot in her stomach tightened, as if she were searching for something far more important than a simple plant.

And that thought annoyed her even more.

Why the hell did it feel like this?

“Stop pacing.” Zoro’s hand came down gently on her shoulder, her tone calm, almost sweet—the kind she rarely used. “Go check the hallway, see if you dropped it out there.”

Sanji lifted her head at her, incredulous.

“I’ll go down and check the stairs. If you forgot it, it’s probably in some corner.”

Sanji hesitated a second, but ended up obeying. She walked out with long, hurried strides, muttering curses under her breath.

…

The hallway was empty. Nothing. Sanji set her hands on her hips and took a deep breath, on the verge of accepting that she had lost her stupid plant for good.

She could buy another. Yeah, one just as green, just as delicate. No one would notice the difference.

Except—no.

It wouldn’t be the same.

Because that plant was what had made her turn back that morning in a rush, what had made her open the door and find her there—Zoro, messy and half-asleep, quietly tending to what she herself had forgotten.

It had been the first time Zoro had done something for her. The first time Sanji had wondered who she really was beneath all that roughness.

That tiny gesture, somehow, had stayed with her.

The plant had become an awkward witness, a small root they shared without really meaning to. Every new leaf was a reminder that something between them had started growing without permission.

Losing it now… felt like ripping out the first proof that they had been taking care of each other from the very start.

Sanji dragged a hand through her hair, frustrated. Ridiculous or not, it felt like she’d lost something truly important.

…

When she came back to the room, Zoro was already there. In one hand, she held the crumpled blue bag, dangling like it weighed nothing.

Sanji’s eyes went wide. “Where…?”

“It was by the entrance. You left it when you dropped your luggage, and some girl handed it in at reception.”

Sanji practically ripped it from her hands, as if she needed to check for herself that it was still intact. She opened the bag, and the moment she saw what was inside, she burst out laughing in pure relief.

“Look!” She lifted the pot like it was a trophy. Nestled among the green leaves, something new was peeking through. A tiny flower, delicate, with petals of a soft blue that looked almost translucent in the window light.

Zoro raised an eyebrow. It took her a moment before her eyes lit up, followed by a wide grin. “It bloomed. Damn thing actually bloomed.”

“Over the break,” Sanji said, smiling like she’d won the lottery. She glanced at Zoro, teasing. “See why I didn’t send a picture? Had to show you in person. Much better this way.”

Zoro huffed, still smiling. “Let me see.” She reached out, and Sanji let her take the pot.

Sanji didn’t think about the way their fingers brushed. She didn’t think about the warmth of Zoro’s skin, or how the roughness of her palms contrasted with her own. She didn’t think about how easy it would’ve been to pull back sooner—

—or how hard it suddenly was to do so.

And she definitely didn’t think about the way her eyes lingered too long on Zoro’s profile, caught in the light.

She didn’t think about any of it when she set the plant back in its corner and dropped onto her bed, that ridiculous smile still plastered to her face.

Zoro broke her trance after a while.

“This is for you. Well… technically from the old man.”

Sanji arched a brow, curious, and took the package carefully. Unwrapping the paper revealed a thick, worn book, carrying the faint smell of old pages and spices pressed deep into the paper.

She opened it slowly, immediately recognizing the firm handwriting scribbled in the margins—measurements adjusted, substitutions added, lists of ingredients crossed out and rewritten with patience.

“A cookbook?”

“Yeah. I know you’ve got like a thousand, but my father insisted. He made notes himself. He… really likes cooking.”

Sanji flipped through the pages reverently, each handwritten mark feeling like a private gesture. And then she saw them: little notes in green ink, brief and personal.

“She prefers her curry extra spicy.”

“Don’t add this—she doesn’t like it.”

“Not into sweets in general.”

Sanji’s breath slowed, deepened. These weren’t notes for just any guest. They belonged to someone who had lived with Zoro, who had watched carefully, who had memorized the subtle ways she reacted to food.

It was a map of her tastes. A quiet portrait of her.

Sanji raised a brow, pausing on a margin. “You don’t like pumpkin pie?”

Zoro blinked, startled. “I hate the texture—wait. How the hell do you know that?!”

Sanji laughed low, almost musical, closing the book and pressing it against her chest like a secret. “Maybe someone wrote it down…” she sing-songed, that teasing smile tugging at her lips.

Zoro scowled, stepping closer. “Give it.”

Sanji shifted away, still laughing. “Not a chance.”

Zoro leaned further, bracing one hand on the mattress. The bed dipped under her weight, the air between them tightening. Sanji twisted her body, tucking the book to her side, giggling like a child with stolen candy.

“Come on! What the hell did that old man put in there?!”

“Ah-ah. It’s mine. My gift.” Her grin widened.

“What good will that even do you?”

“A lot.”

Zoro raised a brow, closer than before, her body heat practically surrounding her.

“Oh yeah? You gonna read me your cooking sermons at every meal?”

“I’m gonna do something better.” Sanji tilted her chin up, defiant, clutching the book tight. “I’m going to cook what you like. Everything in here.”

For a second, Zoro froze. Her hand hung in midair, eyes wide and locked on Sanji’s.

Sanji swallowed, heart thundering. Zoro was so close she could count her lashes, feel the short breaths brushing her own fringe.

Zoro finally looked away, scoffing. “That sounded disgustingly sappy.”

“Screw you, idiot.” Sanji shoved her shoulder, still smiling.

That night, she made onigiri—this time with extra tuna.

…

Sanji fell asleep quickly after dinner. Travel always left her dizzy, and only real sleep could fix it.

Zoro, on the other hand, was wide awake.

Zoro: “I need you to kill the old man for me.”

Perona: “I’m working. I’ll do it tonight. But why, exactly?”

Zoro: “You have no idea what he’s done.”

Perona: “???”

Zoro bit down on her knuckles, trying not to make a sound as she replayed the evening again and again.

She’d arrived early, set everything in order. Pacing, restless, too anxious to even consider showering or going out for one of those croissants Sanji liked. And suddenly—Sanji had been there.

She’d acted normal. As normal as she could. And she’d felt both relieved and rattled to notice Sanji wasn’t entirely relaxed either. That had to mean something. Right? Or maybe she was imagining it.

Then the plant happened. Sanji panicking like it was life or death. And then—that.

“I’m going to cook what you like. Everything in here.”

Zoro could still hear it, echoing.

Zoro: “The old man asked me to give her a book. A recipe book. I didn’t even check it—I just handed it over.”

Perona: “Uh-huh.”

Zoro: “Turns out he’d filled it with notes. Stuff I like, stuff I don’t, even what messes with my stomach. Like Sanji’s supposed to be my private chef or something. Kill me.”

Perona: “Or your wife.”

Zoro went silent.

Too silent.

Perona: “Oh my god, this is hilarious. He’s the best dad in the world. I could cry.”

Zoro groaned into her hands, muffling the sound.

She didn’t know what infuriated her more—that Mihawk had done something so weirdly intimate, or that Sanji, with her mischievous grin, had received it like it was the best gift anyone could give her.

It left her dizzy. Sweet, frustrating, impossible to ignore.

Her chest ached, her heartbeat hammering too hard, too fast, just from remembering Sanji clutching the book to herself, like she was keeping something precious. Like she was claiming something. Something only she and her father should’ve known.

And the ridiculous part was how it made Zoro feel—nervous, embarrassed, almost happy. As if everything she’d tried to avoid had suddenly become the only thing her mind wanted to circle back to.

She rubbed the back of her neck with a low growl. She shouldn’t be fantasizing about stupid things. Not about Sanji leaning into her, laughing like the whole world was their private game. Not with the memory of warm breath brushing so close across her skin, close enough that she’d only have to tilt her head a fraction to meet it.

Not with those lips, curved in a cocky smile, watching her cough through smoke and looking… charmed instead of annoyed.

Zoro squeezed her eyes shut. Sanji hadn’t brought it up. Neither had she. It probably hadn’t meant a damn thing.

But darkness only made it worse.

The memory sharpened. Almost touchable. She could still feel the press of gentle hands framing her face—fingers that smelled faintly of tobacco and wine, yet had rested on her skin with unexpected care.

She shouldn’t think about it. Not about what might’ve happened if Sanji had leaned in closer. If, instead of smoke, she had given her something else.

If her lips had touched somewhere else. If they had found hers instead, brief, hot, stealing the air from her lungs.

The thought hit so hard she clenched her jaw, as if she could crush it. She scrubbed her hand over her neck, trying to erase the tingling that spread down her skin. The heat bubbling low in her stomach.

She rolled onto her side. Sanji was fast asleep across the room, golden hair spilled over her shoulders, glowing faintly in the moonlight. Her thin camisole slipped enough to bare pale shoulders that were too easy to imagine beneath her hands.

Zoro swallowed, fists tightening in the sheets. She could almost feel herself sinking her nails into that softness, pulling Sanji closer, claiming her with the kind of urgency that knotted her gut.

She knew Sanji had experience. She’d seen it at that party Nami and Robin dragged them to—the way women leaned toward her, laughing, eager, eyes full of heat. Of course Sanji knew what she was doing.

Zoro didn’t. And maybe that’s why the fantasy burned sharper. The thought of being the one Sanji chose.

The one she reached for.

The weeks went on as if nothing had happened. And, in a way, nothing had.

For Sanji, Zoro was still the same as ever—punctual with her routines, quiet in the mornings, absorbed in her notebooks every afternoon. Too much so. It still annoyed her how Zoro could completely ignore her to lose herself in endless readings full of numbers that made Sanji dizzy just by looking at them.

Sanji still cooked for her whenever she could, never missing the chance to surprise Zoro with some special recipe she now knew she enjoyed thanks to her father. It embarrassed Zoro strangely, but she ate it anyway.

Like a squirrel with puffed cheeks.

Life rearranged itself with the same ease as always.

As if everything were in its place.

But Sanji, every so often, found herself distracted.

Her mind wandered in the middle of class, thinking of the blue of that tiny flower on their window, or the way Zoro had smiled when she saw it. Of the rough texture of her palm brushing against hers by accident.

By day, everything was normal.

By night, Sanji would toss in bed, staring at the ceiling, remembering too much.

Meanwhile, Zoro hadn’t changed. Or, at least, not enough for anyone else to notice. The same clumsiness when sorting her things, the same brusque way of shutting the door, the same habit of reading late into the night with her lamp still on. The same tendency to wake up far too early to train before classes. But Sanji swore there were small differences. Tiny pauses. The way her eyes lingered a little longer when Sanji talked too much.

None of that could be said out loud.

So, it all stayed suspended in the everyday.

Because Sanji refused to drag into the light something that might just be her own head playing tricks on her.

…

“Come on, dumb Marimo, she doesn’t bite,” Sanji muttered, nudging Zoro gently toward the cafeteria door.

Zoro rolled her eyes but walked in anyway, hands in her pockets, wearing the expression of someone already regretting their choice. “Weren’t you supposed to be the one feeding me or something?”

“And I am. But my dear Nami invited me out for a drink, so I have to bring you along to make sure you eat too.”

Zoro wrinkled her nose. “Dear?”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

Robin and Nami were waiting by a window table. When they saw them, both smiled like they’d just been treated to a show they’d been expecting for weeks.

Zoro gave a quick nod of greeting before heading straight to the counter to order, leaving the three of them alone.

“She hasn’t changed at all,” Nami said, amused, her eyes following Zoro.

Robin smiled, adjusting her cup with her usual calm. “I’d say she’s getting more comfortable with us.” She teased.

Sanji pressed her lips together, trying to sound serious and not get dragged into the mockery. “Zoro just… she’s not into big groups. She likes to keep to herself.”

Nami raised her brows, like that defense had come a little too quickly. “Uh-huh. Doesn’t seem to be a problem when it comes to you.”

Sanji huffed, staring hard at her coffee to hide her face. “Stop.”

“I’m only joking, for God’s sake.”

“Don’t tease her, Nami. Sanji has already made it clear to us more than once that it’s not like that.” Robin stepped in, diplomatic as ever.

Sanji gave her a small, grateful nod.

But inside, she was in turmoil.

Zoro came back just then, with a black coffee and a simple bread roll. She sat down next to Sanji, casual as ever—yet it felt calculated. Like she knew that was all it would take to make Sanji twice as aware of every movement.

The silence hung briefly over the table until Robin broke it with her gentle tone.

“By the way, there’s a party this weekend. To celebrate the start of the semester. You’re both invited, of course.”

Sanji nearly choked on her coffee. “A party? Really?”

Just what she needed. A good distraction. A fun night to wipe her head clear for a while.

“At Usopp’s place,” Nami explained, grinning like she was already planning the chaos. “Music, people, nothing unusual. Honestly just an excuse to invite Kaya, probably.”

Sanji opened her mouth, but before she could say anything, Zoro scoffed.

“I’ll pass. We’re barely through the first week, I’m not waking up hungover.”

“Come on, don’t you want to celebrate how far you’ve come?” Nami pressed, tilting her head mischievously. “I could find you a cute guy or something.”

Sanji almost spit out her drink this time. She coughed, covering her mouth with her hand, cheeks blazing red as she glared furiously at Nami—who only smirked sideways.

“Girl,” Zoro corrected.

Nami grinned from ear to ear, delighted. “Fine, a girl then.”

Silence.

Sanji bit the inside of her cheek hard.

Zoro didn’t flinch. “Still a no.”

Sanji set her cup down a little too forcefully and lowered her gaze, like the wooden table had suddenly become fascinating. She sighed in sheer relief—and immediately cursed herself for it.

Robin observed her calmly before turning her attention back to Zoro.

“Zoro, you don’t have to drink if you don’t want to,” she said, her voice gentle, less an invitation and more an inevitable truth. “You can come, stay a little while, and leave whenever you feel like it. In the end, sometimes we celebrate simply by having the people we care about there.”

Zoro turned her eyes toward her, hesitating. Robin held her gaze with the same serene patience, not pushing.

“And besides,” Nami added, landing the final blow, “Sanji won’t have anyone to look after her.”

Sanji opened her mouth to protest, “I don’t need a babysitter,” but the words stuck in her throat.

“A little while. Before eleven.”

Nami clinked her cup against Robin’s, triumphant.

…

They reached the dorm in a comfortable silence—the kind that didn’t weigh on either of them. They’d spent a good while at the café, chatting about a thousand little things with Nami and Robin, and though there was nothing left unsaid, Sanji still carried the echo of Zoro’s laughter in her head.

Sanji had enjoyed watching her join in, even if only with short phrases or a nod—things no one else would notice but her. To Sanji, every word was a crack in the armor Zoro always wore, and noticing them had become a dangerous habit.

When the door closed behind them, she was the first to break the silence.

“You don’t have to go if you’re only doing it for me,” she said, dropping her coat on the chair. “I won’t drink much. I’ll just spend some time with Nami and come back early.”

Zoro was already kicking off her sneakers, shrugging as if the answer were obvious.

“I want to go.”

Sanji arched a brow, incredulous. “Really?”

“Well…” Zoro scratched at her nape, betraying her unease. “Last time wasn’t so bad, was it?”

Sanji smiled softly, remembering that night. The first time she’d seen Zoro laugh so often, tipsy and foolish. The memory of them stumbling up the stairs, gripping each other’s shoulders tightly to keep from falling as they slipped into their room. The morning after. The scrambled eggs Zoro had made her.

“Yeah. Yeah, it was fun. But still… I know you don’t like that kind of thing.”

“I’ll be fine,” Zoro replied without looking at her, collapsing onto her bed with a heavy sigh. Then she turned her head slightly, lips tilting faintly. “Just stick to me.”

Sanji let out a short, disbelieving laugh. “Is that what you want? For me to cling to you all night like chewing gum?”

Zoro didn’t answer right away. She just looked at her—steady, weighing her own words. Finally, she shrugged again, but the tension in her jaw betrayed her.

“Yes. That’s what I want.”

A ridiculous shiver ran up Sanji’s neck. “Tch. Idiot,” she muttered, turning away to arrange her things before Zoro could read anything in her face. “Fine. We’ll go then.”

…

Zoro had insisted on spending the whole week studying, with the excuse that they’d be able to go to the party without worrying about the exams starting Monday. Sanji played along, though she knew concentration was the last thing she managed when Zoro was around.

Sitting beside her at the desk, pretending to read notes that blurred on the page, was more comforting than any serious review. Sometimes Zoro sprawled across her bed with a book open, pencil in hand, frowning as she crossed things out, lips pressed tight in a stubborn gesture. Sanji, meanwhile, only stole glances from the corner of her eye, fully aware she was missing half of what they were supposed to study, but unable to regret it.

Sometimes Zoro wore those glasses she’d been prescribed for reading at the computer, and Sanji had to summon every ounce of willpower not to let her jaw drop as she watched her.

Later, Zoro suggested they write down possible exam questions and challenge each other. It turned into a game. Zoro answering confidently, Sanji laying traps, both of them laughing at their mistakes.

With Zoro, even the most tedious studying became fun.

…

The weekend came quickly, as if it had been waiting for them just around the corner. Music pulsed from Usopp’s apartment before they even climbed the stairs—a chaotic blend of laughter, clinking glasses, and overlapping conversations that seemed to crawl up the walls.

As soon as the door opened, Luffy came hurtling toward them like a storm.

“Zoroooo!” he yelled, throwing himself on her in a hug so fierce he nearly lifted her off the ground.

Zoro barely managed a grunt, stiff as a board while she patted his back twice in a clumsy attempt to make him let go. The grimace on her face was a curious mix of discomfort and happiness.

“Tch… easy.”

But Luffy didn’t wait for a response. The moment he released her, he’d already vanished back into the crowd, like a monkey incapable of staying still, leaving her half-finished, with words unsaid.

Zoro followed him with a scowl. “What’s with him? He still owes me a happy birthday.”

Sanji covered her mouth to stifle her laugh, though it still slipped through her fingers. There was something so endearing about Zoro’s wounded-puppy expression.

“He’s probably drunk already. Go find him later.”

“Hmph.” Zoro frowned harder, as if to hide how much it had actually pleased her to see him.

This time, Sanji let her laughter spill out fully—warm and light—as they moved deeper into the crowd. They found Robin and Nami settled on a sofa near the window, glasses in hand, radiating the calm patience of spectators.

Sanji dropped down next to Zoro, too close—close enough for their knees to brush every so often. To Sanji it was natural, almost automatic, but for Zoro it was an insistent presence, impossible to ignore.

The four of them chatted, laughed in low voices, whispering commentary about everyone else. About how Usopp flinched every time Kaya brushed his arm while dancing; or how his face seemed to glow even in the dark when he realized they were all watching, shooting them a murderous glare before dragging Kaya down another hallway.

“Damn, there goes my entertainment,” Sanji muttered, pouting dramatically, her laughter already edged with alcohol.

“Look on the bright side, he dragged her somewhere quiet. Maybe they’ll finally make progress,” Nami guessed, grinning with excitement, fists clenched like she was rooting for two players in a decisive match.

“They’re not already together?” Zoro cut in, genuinely confused.

The laughter was instant, the three of them bursting at once.

“I thought the same when I first met them,” Robin remarked calmly, sipping her drink.

Sanji, already tipsy on her glass of wine, lit a cigarette and savored the first drag. She exhaled lazily, offering one to Nami, who hesitated but accepted, giggling as if it were a shared mischief.

“You don’t smoke, Zoro?” Nami asked after coughing awkwardly, blowing the smoke to the side.

Zoro froze for a beat, turning her gaze away, stiff. “Not my thing,” she said quickly, shutting the subject down.

Sanji, loose-tongued now, her heart too light, jumped in without thinking.

“She sucks at it.”

Zoro snapped her head toward her, brow arched, expression sharp—but the blush burning across her cheeks ruined any pretense of sternness.

“Want to shut up?”

Sanji smirked, lips curving with mischief, a dangerous spark alive in her eyes. She leaned in just enough to shrink the space, like she was sharing a secret meant only for her.

“What? It’s true. You can’t handle the smoke for more than two seconds.”

As she said it, her fingers lifted with dangerous ease, catching the earrings at Zoro’s ear between her fingertips. The metal chimed softly, brushing against the hot skin of her neck, and Sanji tilted her head, leaning close until her breath touched her ear.

“You and I both know it.”

She sang it almost, low and intimate, like the memory was etched in a language only the two of them could read.

Zoro’s skin burned from head to toe, as if the heat had surged from her chest to her cheeks without permission. She couldn’t look away from her—from that shameless smile that seemed to brag about knowing her too well, from the lazy exhale of smoke from her lips, from the faint tremor in Sanji’s throat when she laughed like it was all just a joke.

It was probably just the alcohol. That made her lighter, more teasing, with the urge to mess with Zoro just to see her face. But it wasn’t having the effect it should have. Because instead of annoying her, what Sanji was sparking was something else entirely.

Zoro frowned deeper, and Sanji clicked her tongue in delight at that pout. The earring dangled another second in Sanji’s fingers before she let it go, leaving behind a trail of electricity that ran up Zoro’s nape, forcing her to look down, scowling in a useless attempt to hide the blush betraying her completely.

At least it was dark, she thought.

But when her eyes met Robin’s, who had raised an eyebrow in suspicion, she nearly felt her soul leave her body.

Sanji kept drinking, rambling nonsense between bursts of laughter, her arm slung around Zoro’s shoulders in a gesture so natural Zoro couldn’t bring herself to shake it off. She didn’t. She stayed there, rigid at first, then loosening, as if the warmth of that arm was more comfortable than anything else.

…

The night carried on almost normally—except for the unusually loose, playful attitude Sanji had slipped into after a couple more drinks. She wasn’t out of control, not at all, but she felt different. Lighter, freer, with that sparkling energy that filled every space.

She dragged Robin out to dance at least twice, and if Nami hadn’t been wearing heels, she probably would’ve pulled her onto the floor too.

Zoro, on the other hand, clung stubbornly to the couch, refusing to be dragged into the crowd that moved like a chaotic sea to the beat of the music. Like a wary cat, wedged into her corner. Sanji tried to coax her with silly provocations, broken by bursts of laughter, tugging at her arm clumsily; but after a bit of back-and-forth, she gave up.

With an exaggerated huff, she dropped beside her, humming along to every song she recognized, tapping the rhythm lightly against Zoro’s knee with her fingertips. Between her laughter and breathless sighs, she looked happy. At ease. As if, in the end, all she really wanted was to be right there, pressed against her.

Zoro tried not to think too much about it.

…

Sanji slipped off to the bathroom after a while. The wine had left her head floating, light. She splashed her face with cold water, chuckling to herself at the sight of her slightly disheveled reflection. She ran damp fingers through her hair, trying to tame a stubborn strand.

Her mind was half-blank, but one thought spun endlessly: she wanted to keep laughing. She wanted to keep teasing Zoro. She wanted that attention, that frown that always cracked into something dangerously close to a smile.

In the hallway, she bumped shoulders with someone. A girl. It took her a moment to recognize her in the dim light, but eventually she placed her. A classmate—someone she talked to often. Not a close friend, but someone she got along with.

“Sanji?”

“You! What are you doing here?” The smile came easily, wider than it would have sober.

The greeting was warm—a tight hug and a kiss on the cheek. Nothing unusual. But Sanji let herself be drawn into conversation, laughing, losing track of time. The alcohol made her light, distracted, far too comfortable.

…

“Isn’t she taking too long?” Zoro asked quietly, eyes fixed on the hallway.

“Yeah, I was just thinking the same,” Nami nodded, concern pulling at her.

“Should we go get her?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll stay here,” Robin said calmly, raising her glass.

They went together. Zoro spotted her first.

Sanji stood in a dimly lit corridor, laughing with a girl whose long black hair fell softly over her shoulders. Delicate features, a playful smile, drink in hand. The closeness between them looked far too familiar.

Squinting, Zoro could make out the faint reddish stain on Sanji’s cheek. Barely visible.

Nami sighed, shrugging. “Oh, she’s fine.”

“Yeah.” Zoro answered too quickly, gaze locked.

Nami smiled awkwardly, almost apologetic. “Best leave her be. She gets extra flirty when she drinks.”

Zoro lowered her eyes, a growl catching in her throat. “Ah.” She tightened her grip on her glass. “I didn’t know that.”

She forced herself to look again, as if she could read past the shadows, as if that smudge of lipstick on Sanji’s skin didn’t say it all. But the image burned in her mind like a wildfire.

She didn’t want to admit it, but every fiber of her being begged her to turn away, to rip herself from there. Why? What she was seeing shouldn’t mean anything.

“I’m tired.” The words slipped out in a murmur. “I’m leaving.”

Nami glanced sideways at her, raising a brow, but didn’t press. “Want me to tell Sanji?”

Zoro shook her head. “She’s having a good time. Could you make sure she gets back safe?”

Nami hesitated a moment. Looked at Zoro, then back at Sanji, and finally nodded. “Yeah, I’ve got her. Take care.”

…

The air outside was cooler, less suffocating. She walked slowly, hands in her pockets, dragging her steps.

She didn’t want to call it jealousy. No, not that. Something else. A strange tug in her chest, like an invisible thread tied beneath her sternum was being pulled back toward the door she’d just left behind.

She wanted to keep walking. She wanted to forget the echo of Sanji’s laugh, the warmth of her arm slung around her shoulders, the closeness that only alcohol seemed to make possible.

But in every shadow along the path, in every lonely streetlight, she saw only her.

Sanji, laughing like the world existed just to amuse her.

Sanji, smoke on her lips, eyes alight.

Sanji, with that stain of lipstick on her skin—a cruel reminder that it hadn’t been her who had been so close.

Was Zoro really that easy? Had she been fooling herself over jokes that were nothing more than that?

Zoro clenched her jaw. And the worst part was knowing that when she opened the dorm door and saw Sanji’s empty bed, everything she’d tried to shake off would hit her even harder. Because everyone wanted Sanji. Everyone sought her out, called for her, leaned toward her like moths to a flame.

But Zoro, idiot that she was, wanted her in silence.

Only for herself.

Like a coward.

…

Sanji came back later with Nami and Robin, her skin a little fresher thanks to the glasses of water Nami had forced on her. She walked with long but unsteady steps, scanning the crowd as if expecting to spot a flash of green hair.

“Huh? Where’s Zoro?”

Nami, a tired smile already tugging at her lips, exhaled. “She left about an hour ago.”

“Huh?? Why didn’t you tell me?” Sanji nearly raised her voice, frowning as she spun toward her.

“Zoro told me not to.” Nami arched her brows, shrugging casually. “Now drink this water before the hangover sets in.”

Sanji accepted the glass grudgingly, but as she downed it in one go, a knot tightened in her stomach. A strange sting that clung to her all the way back.

The night air cleared the haze from her head, but left her heavier. There was an uncomfortable echo in her chest, like she’d forgotten something important. Like she’d failed at something.

…

The door creaked softly as it opened. Sanji slipped inside, hair slightly disheveled, still damp from the water she’d splashed on her face. She left her shoes by the door and closed it carefully, as though afraid to wake someone.

“Hey…” she murmured, barely audible, voice dragged down by exhaustion and the remnants of alcohol. “Sorry I’m late.”

Zoro lay on her bed, arms folded behind her head. She opened her eyes and turned them slightly toward her. She didn’t look upset. Calm, rather. As if she’d been waiting all along.

“Sorry for what?”

Sanji dropped onto her own bed, sinking into the sheets, then rolled onto her side to face her. Her eyes shone, red-rimmed, but there was a raw sincerity in them.

“I told you I’d stay with you at the party. And I ended up… distracted.”

Zoro raised a brow, expression shut tight, tone far too neutral. “You were having fun. I didn’t want to interrupt your flirting with that girl.”

Sanji blinked, then let out a low laugh, almost disbelieving. “Flirting? With her? No, it wasn’t like that.”

“Sure looked like it.” Zoro’s eyes shifted to the ceiling.

Sanji rolled further onto her side, facing her, a smile slipping out—still loose with wine.

“I wasn’t flirting.”

“Seemed like it.” Zoro’s face didn’t change, but her voice had sharpened.

Sanji shook her head again, laughing softly, almost childlike in her disbelief. “Seriously. I swear, Marimo, it wasn’t anything like that.”

Zoro snorted, finally lowering her gaze to her.

“It’s not like you owe me an explanation anyway.”

The laugh died on Sanji’s lips. She froze, lips parted, staring at her in the dark as if the words had cut.

“Yeah… I guess not.” She whispered, a trace of bitterness hidden in her tone.

Zoro wanted to believe that was it. That silence would be enough to let her shut her eyes and, with luck, fall asleep before she sank deeper into dangerous ground.

But then she felt a weight sink into the mattress.

Her eyes opened in a small start. Sanji was leaning there, kneeling on the floor with her head resting on the bed, blond hair falling messily over her flushed face. She looked up at her, close, with that soft insistence that stirred everything inside her.

Zoro opened her mouth, but no words came out.

Instinctively, she pushed herself up a little, reaching out to brush damp strands from her face. Her palm settled on her forehead—warm, far too warm.

Sanji hummed something like a purr and closed her eyes, pressing in closer against the mattress.

“You’re burning up.”

“I always am.”

“Idiot.” Zoro almost laughed, pressing her thumb softly to her cheek. “You’ve got a fever.”

Sanji only grumbled lazily, as if she wanted to escape the truth.

Zoro sat up further now, kneeling as she studied her closely. She didn’t look nauseous, or pale, or on the verge of anything worse. Just overheated, sweaty, frowning.

How could she be so susceptible to everything?

Carefully, she lifted her face between both hands, holding it as if it were fragile. Her ears were burning too, the blush spreading down her neck.

“Zoro.”

“What?”

“My head hurts.”

“I’ll get you medicine.”

Zoro brushed her thumb slowly across her cheek, making sure she wasn’t trembling. That’s when she noticed a faint mark on her skin—the leftover stain of lipstick that hadn’t quite rubbed off.

She touched it without thinking, and the color smudged onto her fingertip. As if what she’d seen earlier was lodging itself in her mind all over again.

Sanji reacted immediately, catching her forearm gently, forcing her to meet her eyes.

“Zoro.”

“Huh?”

“I really wasn’t flirting with her.”

Zoro stared at her, searching for something behind that stubborn gaze. At last, she only nodded briefly, saying nothing more.

“Lie down. I’ll get the medicine.”

Sanji obeyed silently, sinking into the sheets with her eyes still fixed on her as she stood. She took the pill, drank another glass of water, and lay back in bed—all while Zoro stood at her side, arms crossed, until finally Sanji pulled the blanket over herself and shut her eyes.

The sun’s rays always seemed to find the perfect angle to hit her face in the mornings. It didn’t matter how much she pulled the curtain shut, or even if she fell asleep facing the wall all night—the cycle always repeated itself.

Sanji yawned, rubbing her eyes with her fists. She muttered a curse under her breath before sitting up on the mattress and fumbling on the nightstand until she found her phone. She blinked lazily at the bright screen, her eyes stinging even more from the glare.

“Damn it,” she growled, pinching the bridge of her nose where a sharp ache was starting to build.

It was still early. Or at least earlier than she thought.

She lifted her gaze toward the other end of the room. Zoro was still there, barely covered by the blanket, lying in some position that looked as awkward as it was amusing. Sanji never understood how she managed to end up like that, but what mattered was how relaxed she always seemed, as if it really was comfortable.

Sanji lingered for a moment, watching that calm, before getting to her feet. She rummaged through her drawers until she found the recipe book she’d been given—the one she’d already been using far too much lately.

With a tired smile, Sanji made her way to the kitchen.

It didn’t take long to put something simple together, but she did it with care: fried rice with egg and a touch of ginger, served with thin strips of meat sautéed in a light sauce. A warm dish, not over the top, made exactly with Zoro in mind.

Zoro didn’t like things that were excessive—or sweet.

When Sanji returned to the room, the smell filled the air before she even stepped inside. Zoro stirred under the blanket, frowning in her sleep.

Sanji walked closer, set the tray down on the nightstand, and leaned in to nudge her shoulder gently.

“Oi, Marimo. Wake up.”

Zoro’s eyes opened slowly, blinking as if it took effort to register where she was. When she finally sat up, her eyes flicked to the plate in front of her.

“…What’s this?”

Sanji gave a lopsided smile, trying to sound casual even though her heart was pounding.

“Breakfast in bed.”

Zoro raised a brow slightly, hair still a total mess, but something in her expression softened. A small smile tugged at her lips before she picked up the chopsticks.

“Thanks.”

That simple word was enough to send a strange tingle crawling up Sanji’s neck. She watched her take the first bite. Zoro ate in silence, but every so often her eyes flicked back at Sanji, as if she wanted to say something but stopped herself before opening her mouth.

The air between them was heavy with unspoken tension. Sanji shifted in her seat, unsettled. There was something there—a distance she didn’t understand, something she couldn’t name.

In the end, it was Zoro who broke the silence.

“How’s your head?” she asked, not looking at her, eyes fixed on the plate.

Sanji blinked, caught off guard. Then she lowered her gaze, rubbing her temple. “Better. Doesn’t hurt anymore.”

Zoro nodded slowly, as if that was the only answer she’d been waiting for.

Every word Sanji tried to spark fizzled out quickly.

“Is it good?”

“Yeah.”

“Want more tea?”

“No.”

“Sure?”

A nod.

Zoro kept herself composed, her focus either on the food or the notebook she pulled out afterwards. She weighed every yes, every no, like she was determined not to let the conversation go any further.

Sanji folded her arms on the table, watching her from the corner of her eye. She didn’t get it. Just last night they’d shared words that had felt more intimate than ever. And now—this cold, clipped distance.

She bit her lip, impatient, and finally decided to break the tension the only way she knew how.

By teasing her.

“You know,” she began, a grin creeping onto her face as her hand reached out to muss up Zoro’s hair, “with that bedhead and that sleepy face, you look like I dragged you out from under a bridge.”

She expected a scowl, a snort, anything to play along. But Zoro didn’t even lift her head.

Sanji froze, her smile faltering for just a second before fading completely. She turned her gaze away, fidgeting with the rim of her cup to hide the strange ache blooming in her stomach.

…

That semester, Sanji rarely crossed paths with Zoro’s training schedule. By the time she got up or returned from class, the room was already quiet, the faint smell of sweat lingering, the floor marked by weights that Zoro would pick up later.

But that morning, the professor had pushed the session back a week. Without thinking much, Sanji retraced her steps and headed back to the room.

She opened the door absentmindedly.

Zoro was on the floor, mid push-up, her body held with almost absurd steadiness, sweat rolling down from her jawline to disappear along her collarbone. Her rhythm was so precise, so relentless, it was like she could hear nothing but the echo of her own breathing.

Sanji froze at the doorway, torn between backing out or acting like it was nothing.

Instead, she just stared.

The muscles in Zoro’s back rose and fell in perfect rhythm, her skin gleaming under the sunlight streaming through the window. It was impossible not to notice how much she’d changed since they started living together: more defined, more solid, as if every week she honed herself sharper. The movement was clean, disciplined, a kind of stubborn determination Sanji could never imagine applying to anything but cooking.

She’d seen Zoro train before. But this time it felt different. It wasn’t just admiration or surprise anymore.

In the end, she stepped inside. Zoro tilted her chin just slightly in a dry acknowledgment, never breaking her rhythm, and Sanji sat on the bed.

She watched. Like it was her own private show.

She got lost in the way Zoro clenched her jaw against the last reps. So much so that she didn’t notice how long she’d been staring—until Zoro’s eyes flicked up at her.

It lasted only a second, but enough to make Sanji blink like she’d been caught in the act. Heat rushed to her face, shame twisting in her gut.

Zoro said nothing. She finished the set, got up with her chest still heaving, and grabbed the towel on the chair. She wiped her face briskly, then stored away the dumbbells and folded the mat. All in silence.

Sanji opened her mouth, tempted to throw out any random remark. “Want some water?” “Almost fell on the last one,” “Didn’t know you could crank out that many—are you a beast or something?” Anything. But nothing came out. There was something in that quiet seriousness that tied her tongue, like she’d crossed a line just by looking too closely.

Zoro walked toward the bathroom.

“I’m gonna shower.”

Her voice was neutral, flat—but to Sanji it sounded like a slammed door. She followed her with her eyes until the door shut, and a moment later the shower started, water pounding against the tiles.

Sanji bit her lip. You shouldn’t shower right after working out—it’s bad for your muscles. She thought it, had it right on the tip of her tongue.

But she didn’t say it.

She dropped back on the bed, arms sprawled wide across the sheets. The only sound was the water behind the bathroom door, steady and monotonous, making her more restless than she wanted to admit.

When Zoro finally came out, her hair still damp and a clean shirt clinging to her skin, Sanji turned her head toward her with a casual smile, trying to push things back to normal.

“Haven’t played on your Gameboy in a while,” she said, propping herself up on her elbows. “We could squeeze in a quick tournament before your afternoon class. I bet this time I’ll beat you.”

Zoro, rifling through her bag, didn’t even look up. “I have to go to the library.”

Sanji arched a brow, half amused, half skeptical. “Why not just study here?”

Zoro paused for a fraction too long. The silence pressed heavy, so she forced an answer quickly. “It’s an assignment. With a classmate.”

Sanji tilted her head, sighing as if giving in reluctantly.

“Such a diligent one.”

…

she didn't go to the library.

A while later, Zoro was sitting in a small café, her head buried in notes she wasn’t even reading, when her phone started to buzz.

She answered with a tired voice.

“What the hell do you want?”

“Finally!” shrieked the voice on the other end, that sharp, high-pitched tone that always got under her skin when she was already on edge. “Why the hell aren’t you answering my messages, damn it?”

“I’m not answering if all you’re going to do is keep asking about Sanji.”

There was a brief silence on the other end, followed by a mocking tone.

“Oh, yes. Sanji. So, how’s it going with her?”

Zoro clenched her teeth. “Stop. I mean it.”

“Why not?” Perona pressed, her voice dripping with that fake sweetness she used whenever she wanted to force something out of her. “It’s obvious you’re head over heels, Zoro. What’s the harm in telling me? I could even help. I’m an expert at this.”

“Your last girlfriend dumped you in under two weeks.”

“She doesn’t count.”

Zoro pinched the bridge of her nose and let out a heavy breath. Her voice came out rougher, firmer than she intended. “I’m only going to say this once, got it?”

Perona went quiet, listening carefully to what her younger sister had to say.

“I don’t stand a fucking chance.”

This time, the silence on the other end stretched long. Zoro filled it by staring out the window, her knuckles tight around the coffee cup.

“But—”

“You don’t get it,” she cut in, lower now. “She… I don’t even know what the hell she does, but she’s always there. And every time I think she’s actually letting me see something real, I remember it’s Sanji. That’s just how she is—with everyone. And me…” her jaw tightened, swallowing hard, “I’m just another name on that list. There’s no way this is different. I just keep fooling myself with things that aren’t going anywhere.”

Perona didn’t answer right away. When she finally did, her voice was unusually serious.

“Zoro…”

“I need to back off. Calm this crap down and get back to the way things were.”

“That’s… probably a bad idea.”

“It’s done. I’m not repeating myself.” Zoro hung up quickly, shifting uncomfortably in her seat.

…

The next day came with a strange calm, as if nothing had happened.

Sanji had spent the morning leafing once again through the book Mihawk had given her, rereading the margin notes that marked the dishes that had once earned a genuine “hm” from Zoro.

One in particular stuck with her for how simple it was. Grilled meat with a light garlic sauce and sautéed vegetables. Simple, healthy—exactly how she liked it.

She cooked it with care, chopping each vegetable in rhythm with her thoughts, watching the cooking times as if they were a secret the two of them shared. The smell filled the common kitchen and drifted down the hall. Sanji smiled to herself, imagining Zoro’s reaction.

She set everything neatly on a tray, even placing a glass of ice water beside it—because she knew Zoro hated when her throat went dry while eating. Then she sat in the dining room to wait.

And waited… and waited.

Eventually, Zoro appeared. Her hair still damp from a quick shower, backpack slung over one shoulder. She looked rushed, like she was already halfway somewhere else.

“Hey,” Sanji called, rising a little from her seat with excitement. “Come here. I made something special for you.”

Zoro stopped. Her eyes flicked from the tray, to Sanji, and back to the tray again. A second too long. Her jaw tensed, barely noticeable.

“Thanks, really, but I…” The words came out too fast, too clipped. “I’ve got to head to the library. Like… right now.”

Sanji arched a brow, incredulous. A short, nervous laugh slipped out. “The library? Again?”

“It’s a project. With a classmate.” Zoro’s voice was flat, automatic, like she wanted the conversation to end right there.

Sanji fixed her with a stare, arms crossed, the smile gone.

“And what’s your classmate’s name?”

Zoro blinked. “Huh?”

“Your classmate. The one you’ve got the project with.”

“She’s… uh…” Zoro scratched the back of her neck, looking away. “I’m not good with names.”

The silence that followed was thick and uncomfortable. Sanji clenched her jaw, swallowing down something bitter she couldn’t name.

“Right,” she said at last, lifting her chin with pride as if it didn’t matter. “I’ll save it for you.”

Zoro nodded automatically and walked away, the sound of her footsteps fading down the hall.

Sanji lowered her gaze to the tray. The meat was still steaming, the sauce perfect. And suddenly it all tasted like nothing. She picked up the fork and pushed the vegetables around without appetite, while the aroma that had filled her chest with warmth just moments before now hung in the air like a bitter reminder.

It had been their routine to eat together, even if it was between insults and bickering. That routine, which had felt immovable, had broken in a second.

Sanji pressed her forehead to her hand with a low sigh.

The library didn’t even open on Thursdays.

For the first time in a long while, she felt like she didn’t know how to read Zoro.

…

When Zoro came back to the room later that night, Sanji wasn’t there.

That was strange. Sanji always left some kind of notice, a quick message, even if it was just to say she was at the supermarket, outside for a smoke, or hanging with Nami and Robin. That habit of hers—never vanishing completely, always leaving a trace—was almost a guarantee Zoro never had to wonder about her.

But now, the room was empty.

Not like she was in any position to complain.

She knew she’d been an idiot. That she’d built up a wall of silence without explanation, dodging every attempt at conversation with clipped replies, and Sanji had noticed. She’d seen it in her face, in the way she dropped her words like bait, waiting for Zoro to catch them.

It was better this way, she kept repeating to herself. If she kept letting herself get dragged along, even by the smallest things, she’d end up doing or saying something she’d regret.

She had to cut it off at the root.

Kill the hope before it grew.

She dropped into the desk chair and unlocked her phone. A notification flashed insistently.

Perona: Why aren’t you answering? Are you with her?

Perona: Damn it, Zoro. What’s going on?

Zoro clenched her teeth and hit call. Perona picked up on the first ring.

“What?”

“Finally! Do you know how many times I’ve messaged you?” Perona’s voice was sharp, almost shrill, anxious. “Don’t do that to me—it’s awful. What the hell is going on with you?”

Zoro leaned back against the chair, eyes closed. “What kind of stories are you spinning in your head? I’m fine.”

“I know, idiot. But that doesn’t mean I don’t worry. I get scared when you’re like this.”

Zoro’s jaw tightened. “Like what?”

“You know.”

“No, tell me.”

Perona went quiet for a beat, then let out a frustrated sigh. “Zoro… I don’t want you to… you know. You’ve been doing so well. Better than ever. I don’t want you to crash again.”

Heat flared in Zoro’s chest.

“You really think I’m going to relapse over some stupid crush? What the hell do you expect from me?”

“I didn’t say that, damn it.”

“That’s what you think. That I can’t handle a few feelings without collapsing. That I’ll drown in misery, do God knows what just because—”

“Zoro.” Perona’s tone softened, almost pleading.

“Drop it.” She cut her off cold. Threw the phone face down on the desk, as if that could silence the echo still ringing in her chest.

She pushed herself up in search of air and ended up in the kitchen. She opened the fridge half-heartedly.

There it was.

Sanji’s lunch, carefully packed away. The meat wrapped neatly, the glass of ice water waiting on the shelf beside it.

Zoro stared at it like it was a wordless accusation. She knew she should eat it, that Sanji had made it for her, thought of her in every detail. But guilt stuck in her throat. She didn’t feel like she deserved it.

She let the door swing shut on its own and went back to her bed.

Collapsed on her back, eyes closed.

The silence of the room was deafening. So different from when Sanji was there—with her light laugh, her voice always filling the space, even in those pointless arguments that stretched on too long.

That noise had been their routine.

The absence, though, felt like punishment.

And the worst part was that even if Sanji were here, she’d have to force herself to keep her distance. That’s what she’d decided. That was the plan.

So why did it hurt this much?

…

The park was almost empty at that hour. Just a couple of joggers with their headphones in, and a few couples strolling lazily under the trees. The air smelled of freshly cut grass and damp earth, like it had rained not long ago.

Sanji lit a cigarette and held it between her fingers, watching the smoke curl upward in spirals before fading into the pale gray sky. She took a long drag, letting the bitter taste fill her mouth, then turned to the boy walking beside her.

“Well,” she said, arching a brow with thinning patience. “Are you going to tell me why you dragged me out here, Usopp?”

He gave a nervous smile, scratching the back of his neck before flipping his cap backward, as if that little adjustment could buy him time to piece his words together.

“Because I’ve got an amazing idea.” He leaned toward her, eyes gleaming with excitement. “A double date.”

Sanji stared at him like he’d just spoken a foreign language.

“A what?”

“A double date.” Usopp puffed out his chest, proud of his brilliance. “I’ll take Kaya, you bring your girl, and the four of us go to the new museum downtown. They’ve got a whole room of optical illusions! It’s going to be great.”

The cigarette hung from Sanji’s lips, smoke slipping out in a crooked line.

“…My what?”

“Your girl,” Usopp repeated, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Zoro.”

Sanji blinked. She looked at him in silence, trying to decide if this was some cruel joke or if Usopp had lost his mind.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

Usopp lifted his hands defensively, still smiling. “Come on! You don’t have to pretend with me. It was obvious. That time I told you about Kaya, you started talking about Zoro like you were describing exactly how you felt about her. And then at the party… I saw you two practically glued together the whole night. Look, I’m happy for you, okay? I actually thought it was kind of cute how you tried to deny it, when you know I know you too well.”

Sanji’s stare could’ve set him on fire.

“We’re not dating,” she said at last, her voice so sharp and flat that even the birds in the nearby tree went quiet.

Usopp blinked, baffled. “…You’re not?”

“No.”

“But… are you sure?”

Sanji let out a disbelieving laugh, smoke spilling out with it. “What the hell do you mean, am I sure? Of course I’m sure. If I were with someone, believe me, I wouldn’t be hiding it.”

“Then…” Usopp scratched his head, brows furrowing. “What was all that, then? I didn’t imagine it, right? There was… tension.”

Sanji turned her face away, dodging his eyes. She took another long drag, as if she could lose herself in the burning red ember at the tip.

“I don’t know,” she muttered under her breath. “Guess you imagined things.”

Usopp frowned, even more curious now—but for once, he knew when to shut up.

The silence stretched as they walked, broken only by the crunch of gravel under their shoes. Sanji quickened her pace a step, smoke drifting past her lips, that uncomfortable weight pressing hard in her chest. Because if even Usopp—clueless, naïve Usopp—had seen something…

Then it wasn’t just in her head.

Damn it. That idiot had cracked open a door she didn’t know how to close, a flood of terrible thoughts she couldn’t stop.

She had to kill him.

“Anyway, I still want you to come with us.” Usopp’s voice was casual again, like nothing had happened. “It’s a nice place.”

Sanji arched a brow. “I’m not going to be a third wheel.”

“What? Don’t be ridiculous.” Usopp laughed, waving a hand. “You get along with Kaya, you’re my friend, we’ll have fun. Come on.”

That was… strange.

Sanji gave him a sidelong look, exhaling smoke.

“…Usopp.”

“Yeah?”

“Do I look sad to you?”

He hesitated. Dropped his gaze, scratched his neck again, and finally muttered:

“…Yeah. A little down, honestly.”

Sanji looked away at the ground.

“Oh.”

There was silence.

“I’ll go.”

Usopp smiled, like a weight had lifted off him. “I’ll pick you up tomorrow at two, then.”

Sanji nodded.

When she got back to the room, Zoro was already asleep.

…

The next day, the sick feeling was still there.

Was she sad? Was something wrong with her?

Was it that obvious?

The room was filled with an uncomfortable silence, so thick that even the scrape of Zoro’s notebook pages sounded like an intrusion.

Sanji had been sitting at the edge of her bed for a while, legs crossed, elbows resting on her knees, staring at the floor as if it held some secret. She’d tried to start small talk—the weather, class practice, even a joke about Zoro’s mess—but nothing got past a dry murmur, a clipped two-syllable answer that died instantly.

Eventually, the silence grew too heavy.

“Did I do something to you?”

Zoro barely lifted her eyes from the notebook, blinking as if the question had caught her off guard.

“No.”

Sanji frowned, impatience prickling under her skin.

“Then why are you avoiding me?”

Zoro snapped the notebook shut, the sound sharper than it should’ve been, like she was locking away everything she didn’t want to say.

“It’s nothing. I’m just busy.”

Sanji gritted her teeth. That dodge, that invisible wall, was a twisted knife lodged in her chest.

When Zoro stood, as if to leave, Sanji reacted before she thought. She shot up and grabbed her shoulder, harder than she meant to.

“Come on. Just tell me the truth.”

Zoro stiffened under her hand. She turned her face slightly, cornered against the wall, like a trapped animal. Her whole expression was a mess of contradictions she prayed Sanji wouldn’t notice. A furrowed brow, but her eyes were wide, pupils blown, jaw clenched.

“I told you—it’s nothing.”

“Stop lying. That’s not you. We’re adults, Zoro. Just tell me what it is, and we’ll talk about it.”

Sanji leaned in without realizing, closing the space between them until almost nothing remained. Her breath mixed with Zoro’s, each rise and fall of her chest brushing against the other’s.

Zoro pressed her lips tight, stubborn.

“Are you still mad about the party?”

Zoro snorted. “I told you, I didn’t care.”

“I shouldn’t have left you behind.”

“You were drunk. And busy flirting with that girl.”

Sanji caught the venom in that line—and it irritated her almost as much as she liked what it might mean.

“How many times do I have to say it wasn’t like that?”

“Why do you keep denying it?” Zoro muttered, avoiding her gaze. “It was a party, she was cute, and you’re free to do whatever you want. Stop pretending it didn’t happen.”

“I deny it because it didn’t happen! Why are you so set on insisting it did?”

Zoro didn’t answer. The two of them just stood there, breathing too hard, jaws tight.

Sanji swallowed.

Zoro’s eyes had always been sharp, but now—wide and lowered—they held something else. A tenderness, almost fear. And that mix made her look fragile in a way that twisted Sanji’s insides with anger. Because she was furious, so damn furious—but also sad.

They’d never fought like this. They’d never been this close to breaking.

“Am I not your friend?”

Zoro looked startled by the question. “Yes. Yes, of course you are.” She answered quickly, like the idea of the opposite was unthinkable.

“Then why?”

“It’s…”

Sanji stared at her, and for a moment everything felt strange, unreal: how beautiful Zoro looked even now, scowling and tense; how confused she herself was; how wildly out of control it all felt.

“I don’t like this.” Her voice was raised, annoyed. “I don’t want you ignoring me. I can’t stand you rejecting my food. It actually makes me feel awful.” She added, softer, almost to herself.

Zoro couldn’t stop the sting in her chest. It almost hurt physically.

“I’ll eat it,” she said quietly. “I just didn’t have an appetite yesterday.”

“That’s not… agh, you don’t understand.”

The silence stretched, vibrant, heavy as a storm about to break. Sanji held her gaze, her other hand pressed firmly against the wall, her fist clenched with raw frustration. Her eyes stung, and for a moment, she felt utterly ridiculous.

Like a crybaby.

But she wanted Zoro to see it. To know how she felt.

Zoro, though, didn’t look away. Something in her expression softened all at once, as if all her sharp edges had worn down in the struggle. With a small, uncertain movement, she lifted her hand and brushed Sanji’s cheek with the back of her fingers. Just the faintest touch, clumsy, but so full of tenderness that Sanji’s breath caught.

That gesture didn’t fit her. Not the Zoro who always seemed carved from stone. It was so sweet, so unexpected, it pierced straight through her.

Sanji let out a broken little laugh, a knot tightening in her throat.

“I really want to kiss you,” she whispered.

The world stopped. But Sanji didn’t.

“…So much.” Her voice was faint, trembling. “So, so much.”

Zoro didn’t respond.

For one endless second, she stayed rigid, like Sanji’s confession had opened an abyss under her feet. Her breath hitched, rising high in her throat.

Their eyes locked.

Her face tilted the smallest bit, just enough to avoid bumping noses. A tiny, clumsy move—more reflex than choice. Barely a sliver of space where doubt could breathe.

But it was enough for Sanji.

She leaned in. The first brush was clumsy, a fleeting touch that pulled back immediately, like a test. The second was firmer. The third, longer—a spark that shot through her skin, making her shiver hard as she shut her eyes.

Zoro broke away at once, as if burned. She let her head fall back against the wall with a dull thud, eyes squeezed shut, breathing like she’d just stepped out of a fight.

Sanji could still feel her through the fabric, all that heat radiating into the palm that clutched her shoulder.

She was burning too. Her lips trembled as if they were melting, too much and not enough all at once. She bit down on them, a tingling running up her neck.

“Where do you think you’re going?” she whispered, raw hunger in her tone.

And she went back in for her. Lips against lips, no tongue, no exploration—just short, insistent touches, some longer, each one hungrier than the last.

It multiplied like a flame, spreading until it was an inferno. Kiss after kiss, rougher each time, until Sanji lost control of the pace and began to set it herself, dragging Zoro’s mouth to hers with urgency.

The hand on her shoulder slid to her neck, firm. The other slipped to her waist, gripping tight.

Zoro was breathing fast, uneven, unable to decide whether to resist or surrender. Her back thudded against the wall with every small thrust Sanji pressed into her, the cold plaster clashing with the scorching heat building between them.

What the hell was she doing?

Her head screamed at her to pull away, to stop this madness before things crossed a line she couldn’t come back from. She had to say something, push her off, put distance between them… but her body refused to listen. Every time Sanji dragged her closer, her legs gave in a little more.

She couldn’t think.

She didn’t want to think.

Sanji squeezed her eyes shut, almost growling, and pressed harder. Short, messy kisses, like she was fighting for the right to stay on those lips. She caught Zoro’s lower lip between her teeth, not with gentleness, but with impatience. Her fingers climbed along her jawline, through the damp hair at her nape, then slid back down the side of her torso.

Zoro’s fists stayed clenched at her sides, rigid—but when Sanji’s hand slipped to her hip and tugged, that tiny pull was enough to make her body stumble half a step forward, pressed even closer.

Chasing more of that feeling.

The press of their chests, the scrape of their legs tangling together—it was all a suffocating mess. Sanji panted against her mouth, pulling back just enough to speak.

“Tell me you don’t want this.”

Zoro said nothing.

Sanji seized the silence, the hesitation, and pushed further. Her fingers tracing every place they could reach, digging into the fabric of her shirt, sliding down to grip her waist like she was trying to memorize the shape.

She needed to burn it into her memory. She needed it to last, to be real.

Zoro let out a broken gasp at the tug of her hips, Sanji’s pressure dragging her into a territory she could no longer control. A molten whirlpool was forming in her stomach, that suffocating heat that always came whenever she was too close to her—but now multiplied, sharper, brutal.

It rose slowly, from the pit of her belly, like liquid fire tightening her muscles, stealing her breath until it came in jagged bursts. It climbed her torso, crawling into her chest, squeezing her heart until it pounded violently.

Sanji couldn’t help but smile at the sound. Dazed.

She twisted them, slamming Zoro harder into the wall. But Zoro didn’t complain; if anything, her hands slid to Sanji’s shirt, bunching it up, yanking her closer.

Sanji’s leg slipped between hers, just barely brushing, an instinctive move that sent a jolt through both of them. That tiny contact was enough to tear a strangled moan from Zoro’s throat.

Her eyes screwed tighter shut, her breathing a complete wreck, while Sanji devoured her with frantic kisses, urgent, not leaving her a single second to breathe. Each crash of lips, each tug at her clothes, was too much.

It was insane how just these touches, these shallow caresses, could unravel her so completely. As if all her self-control—years of discipline, restraint, strength—crumbled in a heartbeat under Sanji’s hands. The hardness of her muscles was useless against that heat, against that mouth claiming her like she belonged to her.

The fire in her belly burned hotter with every brush of that leg against hers, every involuntary push of her hips seeking more.

The room was chaos—ragged breaths, dull thuds against the wall, the feverish rasp of clothing.

“Sanji.”

She froze. She had never heard her name in that voice, and she never thought she would. It should’ve been illegal.

Her breath caught in her chest, pulse deafening. She had to listen. She had to know what she meant.

“I…”

Zoro’s hands finally moved. Sliding down, dragging along her back, her shoulders.

Her forehead dropped against Sanji’s, their lips still brushing.

“Closer.”

Sanji let out a low moan. Her grip tightened on the back of Zoro’s neck, pulling her in until she was nearly fused against her.

Her hands dropped to Zoro’s hips, yanking again, so hard their bodies slammed flush, no space left between them. The heat pouring off Zoro was unbearable, every muscle tense, every line of her body pressed into hers.

Sanji bit again, sucked at her lower lip with impatience, with hunger. Zoro let out a muffled moan that vanished into her mouth, a sound that drove her insane.

“You sound so fucking good.” Sanji swallowed. "You really shouldn't do that if you don't want me to go any further."

The shiver that shot through Zoro was instant, treacherous. Her breath broke into a sharp gasp she could barely contain. Her fists gripped Sanji’s shirt tighter, as if the threat only set her more on fire instead of scaring her.

“Do it,” she rasped, her voice rough, defiant, like the provocation had ripped something out of her she’d been holding back for far too long.

Sanji felt a whipcrack of desire lash down her spine, rabid and wild, making her crush Zoro even harder against her, like she wanted to fuse into her skin.

“That’s more like it…” she murmured against her lips, almost laughing between panting breaths. “You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting for that.”

Zoro’s eyes opened just barely, dark and glinting with delicious panic. Sanji’s hand slid down from her hip to the waistband of her pants, her fingers toying with it.

Then Sanji’s phone buzzed on the nightstand.

A sharp, insistent vibration that cut through the heavy air of the room like a bucket of ice water.

Sanji growled against Zoro’s skin, pressing her lips down furiously, refusing to stop. Her grip on Zoro’s waist tightened, as if she could crush the noise out of existence. The heat, the pounding pulse, the sensation of Zoro trembling against her—none of it should be interrupted.

But the buzzing went on. Relentless. Jarring every nerve in waves.

Sanji tried to ignore it, sinking back into Zoro’s mouth with short, frantic kisses that tasted more of desperation than desire. “Fuck it,” she muttered against her lips. “Fuck it all.”

Yet the phone kept vibrating, longer this time, like an unbearable reminder. Frustration coiled tight in her throat, in the tense clench of her jaw. Her body screamed to stay there, to keep getting lost. But her mind—half-drowned, still cloudy—suddenly remembered.

Usopp. Kaya. The damn museum.

With an exasperated snarl, she pulled back just enough.

Her hand trembled as she grabbed the phone. She swiped to answer, like she was tearing something out of herself.

“What?” Her voice came out rough, sharper than it should’ve.

“Sanji! Finally!” Usopp’s high, anxious voice burst through, completely out of place in that moment. “Get down here already, we’re waiting for you. I bought the museum tickets, and they were expensive as hell, so move it before I lose my mind.”

Sanji blinked, dazed, like someone had dumped reality over her head all at once. Her breath was still ragged, chest heaving like she’d just run miles.

But Zoro’s silence weighed more than any words. She was standing there, lips swollen and red, chest rising hard and fast, sweat glinting at the line of her throat.

“…I’ll come,” Sanji muttered flatly, and hung up.

The silence that followed was unbearable. Like electricity still crackling in the air—but broken, scattered. A line suddenly cut.

Sanji lowered the phone with numb fingers. Her head was blank, her body burning, still demanding what had been left unfinished.

“I can…” she started, her voice barely a thread, like she didn’t even know what she meant to say.

Zoro shook her head slowly. Her voice was hoarse, raw, still laced with desire, but steady.

“Go.”

Sanji looked at her like she’d been stabbed. Like that single word was the cruelest thing she could’ve said.

“Zoro—”

“Go,” she repeated, firmer this time. “I’ll be here. Waiting.”

Sanji clenched the phone so hard her knuckles went white. The temptation to stay was savage, animal. But there was something in Zoro’s voice—calm, steady, a vow—that held her in place. A promise that she wasn’t running.

Sanji chose to believe her.

She nodded, once.

Zoro didn’t move from the wall. She was still breathing like Sanji was on top of her, but her eyes were locked on her with a determination that left no space for doubt.

Sanji walked out, closing the door behind her with a sharp thud.

Zoro slid down the wall, too drained to hold herself up this time. She dropped to the floor, knees bent, her heart pounding so hard it hurt.

Fuck. Her head was wrecked, and her chest burned like it had been split open.

She needed a shower. A cold one.

…

Sanji’s footsteps echoed down the hallway, fast, not because she was in a hurry but because it was the only way to keep herself from turning back. Every step sounded hollow, bouncing off the worn walls.

She couldn’t shake the heat clinging to her skin. It still felt like Zoro was pressed against her, her mouth still lingering like a burn on her lips. An itch under her skin, unbearable, like she needed that contact again just to keep moving.

She clenched her fists until her nails bit deep into her palms.

What the hell had she just done?

What the hell were they doing?

The images looped again and again—every touch, every breathless gasp. Zoro against the wall, trembling under her hands, then that raw voice, those eyes avoiding hers, saying she’d wait.

Wait for what?

To talk it out?

To pick up where they left off?

To pretend nothing happened?

“Shit…” she muttered under her breath, though she knew it wasn’t anyone’s fault.

Her steps grew harsher, her mind finally starting to clear.

How had it even gotten to that point? Weren’t they talking? Wasn’t she supposed to be calling Zoro out on all the weird tension these past days? At what moment had she let herself get swallowed up so easily?

By the time she pushed through to the lobby and the afternoon light hit her face, she had to close her eyes just to stop herself from cursing out loud.

Usopp was waiting at the entrance, leaning against the railing with his hands in his pockets. The moment he saw her, he raised an eyebrow.

“Hey.”

“You look… weird,” he said bluntly.

Sanji forced a smile that cracked instantly. She ran a hand through her hair, letting out a bitter, short laugh.

“I had an… argument with Zoro.”

Usopp studied her, curiosity and concern written all over his face.

“But you worked it out?”

Sanji stared at him a moment too long. Her mind scrambled, like she was trying to remember the sequence of events.

“Actually, no… We didn’t talk at all.”

The silence stretched, uncomfortable, but Usopp knew better than to push.

“Well,” he said after a beat, trying to sound upbeat. “All the more reason you need to get out for a while. Come on, Kaya’s waiting.”

Sanji nodded, without conviction, but followed.

…

The outing felt surreal. Kaya was radiant, greeting them with a warm smile that instantly softened the air. Usopp, both nervous and excited, wasted no time tripping over his own words and making her laugh with that exaggerated clumsiness that always gave him away. Kaya’s laughter was light, musical, and for a fleeting moment it eased the heaviness in Sanji’s chest.

The museum was stunning, a massive space with soaring ceilings, impossible projections of light, and mirrors that multiplied everything into infinity. Glass floors stretched over dizzying abysses, and interactive rooms mixed sound and color into dreamlike displays.

Sanji walked alongside them, smiling now and then, tossing in a quick joke to keep up with Usopp so he wouldn’t notice too much. But her mind was somewhere else. Every reflection in those mirrors dragged her back to Zoro.

It all felt more unreal, more stupid. Everything that had just happened. Everything she had left unfinished.

One room projected constellations across the dark ceiling, stars spinning slowly as if the whole universe was caught inside. Kaya gazed upward, her expression soft and serene, like peace came naturally to her. Sanji stole a glance, wondering how someone could radiate that much calm in such an overwhelming space.

Later, in the hall of infinite mirrors, Kaya and Usopp’s laughter bounced in every direction, multiplied endlessly, mixed with distant footsteps and voices. Sanji barely recognized herself. In each reflection, all she saw was Zoro’s shadow lingering behind her eyelids.

“Hey, you like it?” Usopp nudged her shoulder, snapping her back.

“Yeah,” Sanji answered with a practiced smile. “It’s… beautiful.”

But her voice was hollow, so hollow even she didn’t believe it.

A while later, Usopp went off to grab food at the café, promising to be quick. Sanji stayed with Kaya in silence, watching as the glow of a blue hologram lit up her delicate features.

“You okay?” Kaya asked softly, disarming as ever.

Sanji took a beat. She rubbed her forehead like it might clear the fog.

“Yeah. Just… a lot on my mind.”

Kaya tilted her head, perceptive. “Is it about Zoro?”

Sanji tensed—and that was answer enough. Kaya’s smile carried quiet understanding, without pressing.

“It’s obvious you care about her a lot.”

Sanji swallowed hard. She looked aside, to the mirrors that multiplied her silhouette into endless versions. In every single one, she saw Zoro under her mouth.

“Yeah,” she admitted finally, barely audible. “Too much.”

Kaya’s curiosity was gentle. “Usopp told me she was coming with you. Did something happen?”

Sanji let out a dry, disbelieving laugh.

“Usopp thought we were dating. We’re not.”

Kaya raised a brow. “Really?”

“Really.”

The silence lingered.

Sanji drew in a breath, gathering courage, and blurted out:

“You… you’ve known Usopp since you were kids, right?”

Kaya’s smile softened with nostalgia.

“Yeah. Childhood friends.”

Sanji swallowed, heart pounding in her throat.

“How… how did you take that step? Weren’t you afraid it would ruin the friendship? That you’d lose it?”

Kaya didn’t answer right away. The question caught her off guard, though not in a bad way. She glanced down, thoughtful.

“Of course I was afraid,” she admitted at last, quiet. “It’s Usopp, you know? My best friend my whole life. I was terrified that if it didn’t work, I’d lose him forever. And losing him was what scared me most.”

Sanji’s gaze locked on her, clinging to every word.

“But… when you realize what you feel doesn’t fit inside friendship anymore, when it grows stronger every day… then the fear of losing them starts to feel smaller than the fear of never trying.” Kaya looked up at her, calm but resolute. “I’ve loved him since we were kids. One day I just knew I was ready to risk it all, even the friendship, just for the chance to love him for real. To let him know.”

Sanji pressed her lips tight, a knot lodged in her throat.

Kaya smiled faintly. “It’s only been a few weeks… but I think it was the best decision of my life.”

Sanji looked away, her skin burning, as if Kaya had spoken aloud everything she was terrified to admit.

To risk it all with Zoro?

To lose her—lose the one thing they had—for just a possibility?

She bit her lip, chest weighed down unbearably.

“You’re brave,” she muttered, almost envious.

Kaya studied her gently, without judgment. “Not brave. Just sure I loved him. And when you know… you can’t just stay still.”

Sanji swallowed, her eyes drifting back to the mirrors. In every reflection, she still saw Zoro.

She followed Kaya, but the heaviness in her chest wouldn’t lift.

It would’ve been fun to bring Zoro here someday, she thought. To take pictures, eat something nice together. If…

Fuck. Her head ached.

…

Sanji had rehearsed the moment in her head the entire walk back.

She had the script ready. She’d walk in calmly, ask how Zoro was doing, bring it up naturally. She’d say everything she’d been chewing over for days with a steady voice, like it cost her nothing. She’d be an adult—controlled, clear.

That was what she was supposed to do. Talk.

But the second she opened the door, it all collapsed.

Zoro was sitting on her bed, one leg bent up, the other dangling off the edge. Her damp hair dripped in dark strands over a plain T-shirt, clinging to her skin in spots from the heat. Elbows on her thighs, her gaze fixed on some dead point between her hands. A focus too sharp to be real, like she was forcing herself into stillness while burning underneath.

Sanji froze in the doorway a beat too long, swallowing hard. She stepped inside, and her throat locked up. The plan erased itself from her mind as if it had never existed.

“You got back quick,” Zoro muttered, not lifting her voice.

“Yeah… Usopp had to take Kaya home early. Her parents are a little strict.”

“I see.”

Silence followed. The air thick with everything unsaid.

“And how was—” Zoro lifted her eyes just slightly, but never finished.

“Come here.”

Even Sanji startled at the edge in her own voice. It was more a command than a request.

Zoro blinked, thrown off, like she didn’t understand what had just happened. She opened her mouth to say something, but Sanji never gave her the chance. In two strides she crossed the room, grabbed her with firm, desperate hands, and dragged her in before Zoro could react.

Zoro landed in her lap with a jolt, a clumsy crash that knocked them together hard. The contact was brutal, suffocating—the sticky heat of skin through fabric, the slam of their chests, their ragged breaths tangling into a frantic rhythm.

Sanji gave her no room to breathe. She leaned in at once, pressing her mouth to Zoro’s neck, to the damp line of her collarbone. A near-growl escaped her as she tasted that impossible heat, felt Zoro’s skin bristle under her lips.

Her hands shoved beneath the shirt without thought, long fingers tracing over bare stomach, sliding up and down with impatience. Zoro tensed, a startled gasp tearing from her mouth, but instead of pulling away she leaned forward, offering more space.

As if saying without word,

Take it.

Sanji clenched her teeth, her breath stuttering against Zoro’s skin.

“Fuck…” she rasped. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

Zoro’s hands dropped to her waist, hesitant, unsure. Her fingers fumbled at the hem of Sanji’s shirt. Then, like something inside her snapped—like the last thread of control giving way—her hips rolled forward, grinding down onto Sanji’s lap. Clumsy at first, but intense. Hypnotic.

The friction was minimal, awkward, but enough to tear shaky moans from both of them. Zoro trembled, gasped, and did it again. Slower, harder.

“Jesus…” Sanji nearly laughed, disbelieving, against her mouth. “Zoro…”

It had to be a dream. There was no way this was real.

No way her roommate—her impossible idiot—was grinding down on her like this. Hungry. Urgent.

And yet, there she was.

On top of her.

Clinging to her.

Sanji lost control. She bit harder into Zoro’s lower lip just as her hips jerked against Sanji’s thigh. The shudder that tore through Zoro was almost savage, a sharp gasp breaking free. Without thinking, Sanji flipped her over. She grabbed her by the waist and pinned her down against the mattress with brutal ease. The dry thud of their bodies hitting the bed was drowned out by Zoro’s ragged breath.

Her whole body trembled, her chest heaving. The look on her face was a cocktail of shock and desire. Like even she didn’t understand where she had found the strength to let herself go like this. To be moved around as if she weighed nothing.

Sanji laughed low, hoarse, her mouth pressed to her ear. Her fingers slid down her firm stomach, barely brushing, feeling every muscle tense under her touch. She’d been dying to get her hands on that spot for so long.

“You’re so sensitive. Especially here, aren’t you?” She nipped at Zoro’s earlobe and dragged her tongue between her piercings, ripping a shiver out of her that made her arch up against her.

Zoro had always been hypersensitive, and she knew it. Ticklish to the point of annoyance, unable to even touch herself without feeling overwhelmed. But now—now she wanted it. Needed it. With so much hunger, so much urgency that it burned away every other discomfort, every other thought in the world.

She was throbbing.

That sensation, that heat—she could finally name it.

Raw, aching arousal.

Sanji did this to her.

“Open your mouth,” Sanji ordered, her voice cutting through the haze.

“I… I don’t know…”

“I’ll teach you.”

Pathetic, Zoro thought. Pathetic how easily that voice tore her walls down.

The kiss shifted. It turned wet, deep, and Zoro let herself be guided, clumsy but willing. Every brush of tongue, every slick sound that escaped made her dizzy, her head floating in a haze. Shame burned hot—she was trembling, painfully aware of how unskilled she was. She’d never done anything like this. She had no idea how Sanji could put up with her inexperience.

But Sanji wasn’t just putting up with it—she was in paradise. Every awkward attempt, every shy brush turned into a muffled moan, was sweet, addictive, like a drug.

Zoro didn’t even realize when it started, it felt so natural, so inevitable, it shocked her it hadn’t happened sooner. She began grinding against Sanji’s thigh, harder, sharper, seeking friction exactly where she needed it most. Her body decided for her. The heat pooled at a single point, scorching, wet, tearing her control away.

“I’m sorry,” Zoro murmured, breathless, lips still pressed to hers.

“Sorry? What the fuck for?”

“I… I shouldn’t—”

“Shouldn’t what?” Sanji’s voice dropped into a growl thick with pleasure. “You’re doing just fine, Zoro.”

Her mouth brushed Zoro’s with each word.

“You’re doing fucking perfect.”

Zoro let out a broken moan, burying her face in Sanji’s neck as if to hide—but her hips kept moving, hungrier, harder. She barely hit the right spot, but every time she did, a violent wave of pleasure ripped through her, forcing her to repeat the motion.

The throbbing, rough pressure of the cloth rubbing against her clit flesh was addictive. The support she found on Sanji's thigh made it feel even better.

She needed more. She needed that impossible peak.

“You like that? Grinding against me, Zoro? You feel fucking good, don’t you?”

Sanji’s neck grew damp from the heat of a stifled, whimpering cry that Zoro tried to swallow. But she couldn’t hide what was obvious. Her hips betrayed her, faster, more erratic, her thighs shaking.

“Say it.” Sanji clutched her waist, locking her right where she wanted her, pressed against her thigh. “Tell me you like it.”

“Sanji…” Zoro’s voice was a broken plea, a whimper.

The second time she said it. And it hit just as hard as the first—harder, maybe. A gut punch that made Sanji certain of one thing. Nothing could stop this. She wasn’t going to let anything stop them.

God, she wanted her. No—she needed her. Zoro had become flesh and fire, an obsession buried under her skin. It didn’t matter that her mind was chaos, that resentment still smoldered deep in her chest.

All she could think about was sinking deeper into her, leaving marks, making sure Zoro could never erase her.

Sanji bit down on her ear, rage and hunger tangled in the act. “Say it. Say you like it or I’ll stop.”

Zoro squeezed her eyes shut, the threat scorching hotter than any touch.

“I… I like it.”

Sanji smiled, a satisfied breath slipping out against her skin.

Maybe if she did it right—no, if she did it perfect—Zoro would never leave again.

The thought was terrifyingly clear. Every touch, every gasp had to be unforgettable. Burned into Zoro’s body like a brand. Something no one else could ever compare to. So that after this, the idea of anyone else touching her would feel wrong.

She imagined tearing down every defense with her teeth, biting through that solid wall Zoro always carried. And once she was inside—keeping the pieces. Stashing away whatever was left of Zoro in her chest, burying it there, carving out a place and never letting it go. Making it irreversible.

It sounded wrong. Almost sick in her head.

But she couldn’t stop thinking it.

Zoro moved again, harder, and a gasp ripped from her throat. Sanji took advantage of the moment, tracing the curve of her waist until she found hot skin at her back, pressing down hard enough to leave finger-shaped bruises.

“Fuck, you’re burning up…” Sanji’s voice trembled despite herself.

“It’s… too much,” Zoro managed, desperate.

“Too much what?”

Zoro swallowed. “Too much good.”

That cracked, trembling word was enough to make Sanji lose it. She crushed their mouths together again, deep and impatient. Zoro’s tongue stumbled against hers, clumsy, unsure—but it only made her more perfect.

Sanji drank her in like it was oxygen.

She wanted to be good. Wanted to shatter Zoro’s limits, drag her to a point where she forgot how to breathe without her. Wanted her shaking, her legs burning, her heart pounding so hard it hurt.

She wanted every time Zoro closed her eyes to see only her. To make sleep impossible without the ghost of Sanji’s lips, the ache of her absence. She wanted to be unforgettable. To become an obsession Zoro couldn’t tear out of herself.

“You’re learning fast…” Sanji gasped against her lips, breath hitching. “Keep going.”

Zoro shuddered, dragging her hands down Sanji’s back, gripping her lower spine with brutal force, like she was terrified Sanji might slip away.

Sanji arched into the pressure, intensifying it. Then she started moving too, grinding back in a slow, deliberate rhythm against Zoro’s thigh. The friction was scorching, precise, deliberate.

It was ridiculous how good it felt. How a couple of movements that barely managed to rub them together after several clumsy attempts could take their breath away like that.

Zoro cried out, something close to a scream, her fingers clawing tighter into Sanji’s shirt as if the contact was unbearable and still not enough. The heat pooled between her legs, wet and overwhelming, filthy in its intensity. She shook from it, torn between pulling back and pressing closer—but she always pressed closer.

“Fuck…” she muttered against Sanji’s forehead, unable to hold it in.

Sanji’s mouth curled in a grin. She rolled her hips again, sharper this time, and Zoro broke with a louder, desperate moan. Sanji swallowed it, devoured it, as if that was the only thing she wanted in the world.

“You’re shaking,” she whispered against Zoro’s lips, sliding a hand down to her waist to force her back into rhythm. “You don’t even know how much I want you like this, do you? No idea what you do to me when you grind on me like that.”

Zoro couldn’t answer. Her lips hung open, her breath breaking into ragged pants. The wet friction was wrecking her, stripping her bare even with clothes still on.

She knew she was a mess in her boxers. As much as she was in everything else, in her cracking voice, in her trembling limbs.

Sanji dragged her mouth down her neck, biting and kissing without mercy, leaving red marks like she was claiming her. Her lips brushed sensitive skin as she growled through her teeth.

“I love the way you moan… the way you rub against me. You’re soaked for me, aren’t you? I can practically feel everything… all of it, right here on my leg.”

Zoro choked on a muffled moan, clutching at Sanji’s blonde hair, dragging her closer, like she wanted to disappear inside her.

The heat between them was unbearable, suffocating.

“Say it,” Sanji growled against her jaw, dragging her teeth up to her ear. “Say how much you want it, how much you want me to fuck you until you can’t breathe.”

Zoro squeezed her eyes shut, gasping, her voice breaking apart. “I want it… god… I want it so much.”

Sanji laughed low, shattered, her breath hot against Zoro’s skin.

“Then let me give it to you.”

Sanji’s hands descended slowly, as if savoring the torture of moving far too slowly. They slipped down from Zoro’s waist, pressing just lightly over the thin fabric of her sweatpants. It was the barest touch, almost innocent, yet enough to send a violent shiver tearing through Zoro’s entire body like a shockwave.

Sanji’s fingers—long, elegant, the same ones Zoro had caught herself staring at too many times before—when they sliced vegetables with surgical precision, when they held a cigarette lazily between her lips, when they swept her golden hair back with a distracted flick—those same fingers were here now, dangerously close to a place no one had ever been allowed to touch.

Sanji leaned down, letting her lips follow the trail her fingers had already mapped. She lifted Zoro’s shirt just enough to bare her stomach, only so she could watch the way those muscles tightened with every breath, with every calculated brush of her hand against the covered heat of her thighs.

And then she saw it.

The dark stain spreading through the fabric.

Undeniable. Impossible to ignore.

“Knew it. So soft…” Sanji murmured against her skin, her voice dripping with hunger, kissing the taut expanse of her abdomen as if she could taste the word itself.

“Shit… shut up,” Zoro growled, but her voice trembled, fractured, and her fingers twisted into the sheets like lifelines.

Sanji was everywhere. In the lingering smoke-and-soap scent on the sheets, in the heat suffocating every inch of the room. Zoro tried to look away, desperate, embarrassed, but every corner of her gaze landed on something that screamed the same thing back at her.

On the shelf.

On the desk.

On the window.

Memories, too fresh to escape.

Sanji, Sanji.

Sanji.

It was impossible to escape her.

Sanji’s smile curved against her skin, sly, deliberate. Her fingers traced slow, possessive patterns over Zoro’s hard stomach, like she was sculpting her, molding her into whatever she wanted.

“How far can I go, marimo?” she asked, her voice laced with playful edge.

Zoro’s eyes flew open, hazy, lost. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, how far do you want me to take this?” Sanji’s voice dropped low, rough, dangerous, as she tugged lightly at the waistband, teasing the barrier. “Is there anything you don’t want me to do?”

Zoro swallowed hard, her chest rising and falling in frantic rhythm.

Right then, she knew—she’d let Sanji do anything. The dirtiest, the filthiest, the most obscene thing her mind could conjure. If it was Sanji, she would take it all.

“I… I don’t know…”

“You have to tell me if there’s something you don’t want.”

“I will.”

The silence that followed was heavy, broken only by their ragged breathing. Sanji’s gaze lingered on the way Zoro’s chest rose and fell, and she allowed herself a smile against that trembling skin, drinking in the sight.

“I could eat you alive right now,” she whispered, kissing the spot where her lower belly tensed with each breath, leaving a wet trail with her tongue. She went lower, toward the faint green line just beginning to reveal itself.

“Shit…” Zoro gasped, half-groan, half-protest.

“Do you like it?” Sanji lifted her gaze, sharp, dangerous, almost cruel, waiting for Zoro to admit it.

“Do you always talk this much?” Zoro tried to sound tough, but her voice broke, unconvincing.

It was fucking annoying. The way Sanji spoke so calmly, almost casually, as if what she was doing held no weight, as if it wasn't destroying her. Every word, every intentional yet casual touch, made Zoro's stomach clench, something she didn't know how to handle.

She moved as if she had everything under control, as if Zoro's body had always been hers, as if she knew exactly where to touch to make her tremble. And the worst part was, it worked. Damn it, it worked too well.

Zoro could barely hold her gaze without feeling her insides ignite. It was as if Sanji could see her naked even though she was still wearing clothes, as if she could tear at her skin just by looking at her.

She was terrified.

Because she wanted more.

Sanji chuckled in a low, dark voice, and instead of responding, she slid her index finger down, brushing exactly where the soaked fabric clung. She pressed hard, purely intending to elicit a stronger reaction from her.

Her finger moved up, making circles where she thought the bulge of her clit would be, pressing against the fabric to rub it a little.

The heat hit instantly. Fierce. Overwhelming.

“I like knowing how the other person feels,” Sanji whispered, teasing, malicious. “Not much of a talker, huh, Zoro?”

Zoro’s eyes squeezed shut, teeth sinking into her lip. “I told you I’ve never—”

“Shhh.” Sanji cut her off with another kiss, lower this time, just a breath away from where she burned. “I know.”

Zoro’s body arched on instinct, muscles drawn tight, pushing into the hand tormenting her.

“Trust me,” Sanji murmured, before sliding her hand beneath the fabric.

If the damp patch on Zoro’s sweats had already betrayed her, Sanji was right to expect the boxers to be practically drenched.

Sanji allowed herself to play with Zoro, deliberately torturing her, stroking slowly, with barely any pressure, over the soaked fabric of her underwear. She brushed the top edge where her aching clit would be, moving up and down with cruel patience, every so often pressing in a way she knew Zoro would squirm harder than usual.

The heat radiating from Zoro was almost unbearable. Sanji felt it seeping through the damp fabric, a raw, throbbing pulse scorching her fingertips. And the more she toyed with her, the sharper her own need became—a knot of hunger twisting in her stomach, an ache blooming hot between her thighs

Until she couldn't take it anymore.

Her own urgency won, shattering any attempt at patience. She had to touch her, no barriers. She had to feel the burning skin of her pussy directly against her hand, without any fabric in between.

"I need to feel you."

Zoro nodded repeatedly, unable to say anything out loud.

If Sanji had had more patience, she would have teased her until she said it, but now she didn't.

With a slow, deliberate tug, she slid her fingers beneath the fabric, finally crossing the last boundary.

The contact was brutal. Liquid heat, sticky wetness, a softness that almost made her moan aloud, as if the pleasure were spreading to her.

Yes. That was what she wanted. That was what she'd been searching for.

That impossible heat.

That confirmation that Zoro was real, that she was trembling beneath her fingers.

Sanji closed her eyes for a moment, breathing deeply as if she wanted to memorize it forever.

Then she took Zoro's clit between her fingers, pressing it with both pads, playing with it.

The sound that tore from Zoro’s throat was immediate, brutal, unguarded. A broken moan that filled the room and vibrated straight through Sanji’s chest. Zoro bucked up desperately, her hips arching to meet her, while her hands scrambled for an anchor in Sanji’s shoulders, clutching like she might fall apart otherwise.

“Sanji—” The name was nothing but air, a rasped plea.

Sanji lifted her head just enough to watch her face, to drink in every twitch, every flicker of disbelief and need that crossed those sharp features now blurred by lust.

“Shh… it’s okay. Just feel me.” She silenced her with a wet kiss pressed to the corner of her lips, while her fingers drew lazy, relentless circles, firmer each time, sinking deeper into that molten heat.

Zoro’s gasp broke open into a guttural moan, shaking her entire frame. Sanji caught it with her smile, savoring it like the sweetest reward.

“Good,” Sanji whispered against her throat, dragging her teeth along damp skin. “That’s it… fuck, I love the way you sound when you can’t hold back anymore.”

Zoro’s hips started moving on their own, clumsy at first, but urgent, grinding desperately to keep up with the rhythm Sanji set with her finger. The wet friction intensified, slick, relentless. The obscene sound of the rubbing mingled with the ragged gasps that filled the room until it seemed as if nothing existed but that stifling heat between them.

“You’re soaking my fingers,” Sanji panted, her mouth pressed against Zoro’s neck, her hot breath wrapping around her skin. “So fucking ready for me—I bet I could slide them in like nothing.”

Sanji let two fingers go lower, making their way between Zoro's pussy lips, leaving only her thumb as a constant pressure on her clit. The fingers teased her entrance, getting wet with the excess viscous fluid.

“I… ah…” Zoro squeezed her eyes shut, her voice broken, trembling, as if every word cost her strength.

Sanji lowered her voice, almost purring, though the anxious edge in it betrayed her.

“Can I put them in, Zoro? Can I fuck you with my fingers? Please, let me?”

Zoro drew in a sharp breath, lips barely moving.

“I… I’ve never had anything inside…”

It shouldn’t have excited Sanji this much. But it did. It shot through her like a current, her chest tightening, her breath faltering, something deep inside her roaring with hunger.

Sanji closed her eyes for a moment, as if she needed to tame the wave of desire tearing through her. When she spoke again, her voice came out broken, pleading.

“I’ll be careful.” She kissed just below Zoro’s ear, slow, wet. “I’m fucking good with my fingers, you know? Let me show you. Don’t you want to find out?”

It was almost pathetic how her seductive tone bled into pure begging, raw need. She was a predator disguising her plea, and Zoro felt it, heard it.

The thought alone—that Sanji wanted her that badly, wanted her enough to beg for more—twisted something deep inside her until it was unbearable.

The silence that followed was an abyss. Zoro’s heart pounded so hard she swore Sanji could hear it. She swallowed; her muscles strung tight, ready to snap.

“Yes…” she whispered, barely audible. “Do it.”

“Are you sure?”

Zoro nodded, quick, too quick. “Yes. I want you to.” Her voice came out rough, embarrassed, but there was truth in every word.

“God, Zoro…”

Sanji let out a low, breathy laugh that vibrated against Zoro's damp skin, a husky, almost victorious sound. Her fingers accelerated slightly, cautious in their own excitement, just enough to draw another fierce shudder from her that ran up and down Zoro, forcing her thighs to clench violently around her hand, as if trying to capture that contact, hold it inside her.

The first finger entered easily, too easily. The warmth of Zoro's pussy greeted it as if it had always been waiting for this moment, practically inviting her to slide in, sucking her inside. Sanji stifled a moan of her own into Zoro's neck. It was perfect. The pressure, the softness, the way she surrounded her as if her body had been made to receive it.

"Fuck, Zoro..." she whispered, a tremor in her voice betraying how much it was affecting her. “You're so open to me… do you feel it? How effortlessly you receive me?”

Zoro squeezed her eyes shut, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Her back arched instinctively, seeking more, always more, even though her nerves kept her trembling.

Sanji didn't stop. She buried her face in her collarbone, leaving a wet kiss, a silent comfort as her thumb pressed against the swollen flesh of her clit, before continuing to push, slowly, deliciously, until she inserted a second finger. This time Zoro let out a strangled, broken gasp that turned into a low growl. Her entire body shuddered, and for a moment she doubted she could bear such pressure.

“That… that…” Sanji murmured, looking at her closely, almost devouring her with her eyes. “You're trembling, but you're letting me in anyway. Good girl…”

A blush burned Zoro's cheeks, and though she wanted to protest, the only thing that came out of her mouth was a ragged moan that gave her away.

Sanji smiled crookedly and began moving her fingers in a slow, deep rhythm, making sure each thrust made her contract around her, bending as if searching for the perfect spot. The wet sound filled the room, mingling with Zoro's messy gasps, creating an obscene symphony that seemed to have no end. Impossible to hold back.

“I… I love it…”

Sanji almost lost her mind. She hadn’t even asked. She hadn’t forced it. For Zoro to admit it like that, bare and undone with desire, was the most perfect gift she could ever give her.

“Louder.” Her fingers drove in deeper, crueler, the rhythm devastating. “I want to hear it from your filthy mouth, Zoro. Scream it if you have to. Let me know how good I fuck you.”

Zoro gasped harshly, her forehead dropping against Sanji’s shoulder, her body caught between shame and ecstasy. Because if Sanji could rip every moan out of her, every broken plea—if she could push her until she begged, until she shattered in her arms—then she’d know she had torn down that impossible wall.

And if that wall fell… this wouldn’t just be sex. It would mean she had carved out a space inside Zoro no one else had ever touched. A place to leave her mark, to brand her name, to settle into and never leave. Permanent. Unbreakable. In her heart.

“I love it! ” Zoro’s voice cracked, breaking into a ragged cry as her nails dug deep into Sanji’s shoulders, leaving furious red crescents that burned like fire against her skin.

Sanji held her breath, victory rushing like poison-sweet fire through her veins. She leaned down and dragged her tongue along the sweat-slick line of Zoro’s collarbone, tasting her as if she were drinking straight from her body.

“So… so good, so docile for me.”

Sanji's fingers moved faster, more precise, pressing the spot inside her that simply made her melt into the sheets.

She played with her clit once more, pressing her thumb again each time she moved her fingers out, only to slam them back in harder than before. Until Zoro couldn't hold on anymore. Her entire body arched against the mattress, her breathing ragged, her thighs clenching in a futile attempt to control the inevitable.

“Come on, let yourself go for me,” Sanji murmured, her forehead pressed against hers. “I want to feel you come on my fingers.”

Zoro broke. The moan came out loud, ragged, as she tensed beneath her, clenching around her fingers as if she wanted to keep them there forever. A violent orgasm shook her from head to toe. Sanji held her steady, caressing her even when she trembled so hard it was almost painful, even when her breath was barely a wet sob against her neck.

Sanji smiled contentedly, her voice still cracking with desire. “Just like that.” She gasped, as if pleasure was coursing through her veins too. “God, you're so beautiful.”

Zoro's breathing was labored, dazed, as if her own body had decided to betray her and move on its own. Nothing that was happening seemed real. It couldn't be. And yet, every pulse of heat beneath her skin reminded her that it was, that Sanji was there, touching her, disarming her.

She wanted to say something. To ask, to demand, to curse. She wanted to bite her tongue until it bled to keep the words from escaping. The confession she'd been practicing, the need she had for it to be real.

It was like walking on the edge of a cliff without knowing when she'd fall.

But Sanji didn't stop. She gave her no respite. She held her steady as she deliberately pulled down her sweatpants, freeing her until she was completely exposed. Zoro barely had time to react before Sanji pushed her leg up and swung her over her shoulder, spreading her open with obscene ease.

Her face was dangerously close to that burning, throbbing spot. Sanji licked her lips at the sight. Zoro's wet cunt, practically soaked, excessive fluid running down her thighs, the flesh of her lips red-hot, swollen with stimulation, burning from the recent orgasm she'd just had.

"Sanji." Zoro's growl came out husky, embarrassed. "Fuck, don't look."

"God, I love it when you say my name." Sanji whispered shamelessly, leaving a trail of wet kisses and cruel bites down her inner thigh. Each one higher. Each one slower. Each one more excruciating.

"I... just—" Zoro squeezed her eyes shut, still trembling from the first wave, as if she couldn't bear another.

Sanji smiled against her skin, planting a kiss right on the edge of the abyss.

“I know. But there's still so much of you I haven't tasted. Let me clean every drop, marimo. Let me eat you out.”

Zoro's gasp broke. Her hands dug into the sheets, as if they depended on them to keep her sane. She nodded, barely, unable to meet her eyes again.

She would never be capable of it at this rate.

“Fuck… you're burning for me,” Sanji murmured, brushing just a touch of her tongue, slow, teasing, next to her sex, but not touching it directly. Denying her any real relief.

“Cook—” The strangled cry that escaped Zoro when she truly felt her—when her tongue finally touched her right there—seared her lungs. It was a minimal contact, but devastating.

“That… that…” Sanji hummed contentedly, slowly; her mouth too busy. Then she sank deeper, drawing circles with unbearable calmness over her clit, relishing the desperation she unleashed. Her nose pressed against her pubes, relishing the sensation, pulling her closer to her face by grabbing her hips and thrusting.

“Damn it, keep going! Keep going, please, please!” Zoro moaned, broken, each word shaking in a ragged gasp that shattered any defenses.

“Open wider.” Sanji’s voice was a gentle command but impossible to disobey, and she pushed firmly against her knee, forcing her to open wider than she could bear. “I want you to show me everything.”

Zoro's growl was embarrassed, helpless, and she hid her face in the pillow. But she obeyed.

"That's it." Sanji plunged her tongue shamelessly inside her, tasting her, swallowing her as if she wanted to mark her from within. The moan she drew from Zoro was brutal, desperate.

"Sanji, no—not that deep—" The protest died in a high-pitched squeal as Sanji slammed down, pressing right where she was losing all control. Fucking her with her tongue so well that she simply couldn't find the words to complain.

"Shit…" Sanji looked up, her lips glistening, her chin wet, desire etched in every feature. "Do you know how hot you are? I could live off the taste of you. I could drag you into my bed every night and never get tired."

"Shut up…" Zoro moaned, her fingers tearing at the sheets, as if clinging to them could save her from collapse. She was already going white. She couldn't recognize her own voice anymore.

"No way." Sanji sank down again, sucking hard on her clit, cruel, adding a few teeth just above it.

Zoro's body no longer responded to her will. Every fiber trembled, every muscle hardened under the unbearable pressure of pleasure, growing again, faster, fiercer, dirtier than before.

She had barely recovered from the previous orgasm but she already felt the heat building again, climbing through her insides like liquid fire ready to consume her.

Fuck… was Sanji always like this in bed?

Every damn time, was she this storm, this relentless assault?

Did she always leave the other person breathless, unmoored, stripped of any strength to think?

The thought made her dizzy. Because if that was the case, how many others had felt this madness? How many had been devoured in the same way, consumed by that voracious hunger that seemed to have no end?

A growl caught in her throat, caught between pleasure and rage. She hated the thought. Hated imagining Sanji giving that mouth, that tongue, that obsessive attention to anyone else.

The mere idea twisted her insides in a way that had no name.

She didn’t want Sanji to ever touch anyone else like this again. She wanted to be the only one, the last one.

She heard Sanji slurping, drinking every drop that came out of her, and fuck, it made her clench in pure embarrassment at how much that action turned her on.

“Fuck, I can't, I can't—”

“You can."

"Mm! can'tcan't—"

"Come on Zoro, want to mold your damn insides for myself.”

Zoro’s world came to a halt. The words hit her like a punch to the gut, stealing the breath from her lungs. The mere idea of belonging to Sanji that deeply—of her leaving a mark so far inside that no one else could ever reach it—shattered her and rebuilt her all at once.

To be Sanji’s. To be shaped by her. To become something untouchable, unrepeatable, branded forever.

The thought was brutal. And the worst part was—she loved it.

It sickened her, made her feel dependent, enslaved by the heat and that tongue that refused to let her go. And yet, she wanted it with every fiber of her body. She wanted Sanji to break her apart and put her back together however she pleased. She wanted to be unforgettable.

The sound that tore from Zoro’s throat was high, pathetic—a broken cry that ripped through the air.

Humiliating.

Unbearable.

Summoning strength she didn’t have, she fisted Sanji’s hair and yanked her up roughly. The cook let out a startled moan, eyes blazing, lips swollen, chin wet and glistening.

Zoro dragged her close and kissed her violently. She tasted herself on Sanji’s tongue—sharp, messy, filthy as hell. Sanji growled into her mouth, caught off guard by the sudden shift, but she followed eagerly, hungrily, feeding the kiss with the same rage it demanded.

Zoro’s trembling hands slid down her body, gripping her hips, her waist, as if anchoring Sanji in place.

“What’s wrong, marimo?” Sanji murmured against her lips, a dangerous smile curling between their ragged breaths.

“It’s…” Zoro swallowed hard, her voice broken. “I… I want to make you feel good.”

Sanji nearly laughed. How could she be so tender in the middle of such filthy chaos? So fucking adorable.

“You already make me feel good just by letting me touch you.”

“But…shit, why are you still wearing all your clothes?”

Sanji arched a brow, teasing, provocative. “Is that what’s bothering you? You want me to take them off, Zoro?”

Zoro nodded, serious, almost desperate.

Sanji’s smile widened.

“All of it? Because I can still see that shirt on you.”

Zoro huffed, exasperated, and yanked it off with rough impatience. The sports bra still pressed tightly against her chest, but even so, her breasts looked huge beneath the fabric. Her abdomen rose and fell violently, marked with effort, slick with sweat. Every tense fiber of her body seemed to scream how much she was holding herself back.

Sanji couldn’t look away. Breathing suddenly felt difficult.

After a long moment, with trembling calm, she began to peel off her own shirt. The contrast was obscene in itself—Zoro, all fury and clumsy urgency, and her, playing with time as if nothing mattered.

“Want me to give you a show, Zoro?” she asked boldly, tilting her head as she slid the fabric down her shoulders, slow—too slow—mocking her impatience.

“Fuck, just move.”

Sanji arched a brow, letting the shirt slip lazily down her back and hang there for a second longer, as if bare skin wasn’t punishment enough.

“Pervert.”

She murmured it low, rough, amused, savoring the word as it left her lips.

Sanji had never been insecure about her body. She knew she could steal anyone’s breath with it. But here, under Zoro’s unwavering stare, she felt ridiculously nervous about how she might react.

Her pale skin gleamed with sweat; freckles scattered over her shoulders like lost constellations. Her small, firm breasts were bound in a simple pink bra, but under that gaze it felt obscenely intimate, vulgar in its vulnerability.

Zoro didn’t move. She only stared, devouring her with her eyes as if afraid to break something sacred.

When she finally dared to reach out, her fingers trembled, clumsy, unsure where to begin. Sanji caught them without giving her the choice and dragged them across her own body.

First her waist, soft and warm under Zoro’s calluses. Then higher, over her taut stomach, her ribcage rising and falling with shallow breaths. Each touch was hesitant, uncertain, as if Zoro still didn’t believe she had the right to touch her at all.

“Shy?” Sanji teased with a crooked smile, savoring the tremor in those hands.

Zoro growled low, turning her face away as if shame could protect her.

“Your waist… it’s so small.”

Sanji froze. Heat surged up her face, more devastating than any moan she had wrung from her before. Damn Zoro. How could she say something so simple and make it feel like a blow straight to her core?

Sanji leaned in, brushing her lips against hers without kissing her fully. “You like that?”

Zoro swallowed hard, her fingers clutching at her sides with clumsy insistence, gripping her as if she might slip away.

“You’re… fucking perfect.”

Sanji took it like a sucker punch—pleasurable and painful all at once. “Shut up, Marimo.”

In a slow, provocative motion, Sanji lowered her hands to the pink bra. She unclasped it with cruel calm, releasing the fabric as if it meant nothing, letting it fall deliberately, too deliberately, savoring the charged silence between them, fully aware that Zoro’s eyes hadn’t left her for even a second.

The air grew thick, hot, as if the walls themselves were holding their breath.

Zoro’s mouth felt dry and wet at once, every swallow stuck halfway. Her lips moved before her head did, leaning in with restrained violence to kiss Sanji’s collarbone. The touch was clumsy, nervous, but it traveled downward slowly, tracing the curve of her breast, leaving damp trails that mingled with sweat. Until she was pressed right between them.

Sanji let out a low laugh, involuntary, vibrating in her throat, sending tingles racing over her skin. It was strange—a mix of electric ticklishness and fluttering butterflies in her stomach, familiar, but never this intense.

Zoro’s hands, calloused and rough, rose hesitantly to cover her breasts. At first they faltered, brushing lightly with her fingertips, as if afraid to do something wrong. Then they grew bolder, closing around them with more strength, squeezing, exploring unfamiliar ground. Her thumb brushed over the stiff peak of her nipple.

Sanji shuddered, startled, because even though that spot had never been particularly sensitive, Zoro’s nervousness—the sheer fact that it was her—set her alight.

Their eyes met—Sanji lowering her gaze to watch her closely, Zoro lifting hers to catch every reaction as she mouthed at her breast.

You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.

She wanted to say it. The words sat heavy in her throat, but they wouldn’t come out. After all the shit she had already said tonight, that was the one thing that refused to leave her mouth.

“Do you want this too?” Sanji purred, sliding her fingers to the waistband of the black pants still clinging to her hips.

Zoro looked at her like she was on the brink of losing her mind, her dark eyes blazing.

“Yes.”

Sanji’s smile curved.

“Then watch me. Don’t look away.”

The growl that tore from Zoro’s throat was low, feral. The provocation burned her, stripped her bare—and the worst part was that Sanji knew it. She always knew.

Without thinking too hard, Zoro shoved her hands downward, hooking her fingers roughly into the waistband of Sanji’s pants. She yanked, impatient, almost furious, as if the mere sight of them still clinging to her body was unbearable torture.

Sanji arched a brow, amused, and instead of helping she let it happen with the most maddening calm in the world, rolling her hips slowly, teasingly, forcing Zoro to wrestle with the fabric.

“So eager…”

“Shut up,” Zoro snarled, dragging the fabric down with clumsy, determined fingers, pulling so hard she nearly tore it in the process.

Sanji laughed against her ear, the sound rough and electric, running down Zoro’s spine. She tilted her head to one side, looking down at her with that dangerous smile, savoring every second of her losing control.

“You haven’t even seen me all the way yet… and you’re already losing it.”

The pants hit the floor with a dull thud, revealing the final barrier, a tiny pair of black underwear, so small, so indecent, it seemed designed specifically to torture her.

Zoro swallowed hard, her throat dry, her eyes fixed on her as if she wanted to burn every detail into memory. The soft line of her thighs, the curve of her hips, the glisten of sweat along her skin. The underwear was soaked through, clinging to her, obscene—like Sanji had been touched all along, when in reality it was the other way around. As if her pleasure truly came from making Zoro fall apart.

Her hands shook, but they still found their way to Sanji’s bare waist, clutching her with a hunger so raw it felt like that heat alone might devour her whole.

Sanji leaned forward, brushing the corner of her lips, letting her feel the whisper of breath before smiling like she held the entire world in her palm.

“Well? Are you going to do something, or just stare?”

Zoro’s growl came louder this time, thick with frustration and need. In a surge, she yanked Sanji against her and kissed her hard. It was messy, desperate, but fierce—her lips crashing into Sanji’s as if she wanted to steal her air, terrified it might slip away. Her hands locked around her waist, crushing her closer, trying to fuse them into one.

Sanji moaned low into her mouth, startled by the intensity, but answered instantly, just as violently, drinking in Zoro’s raw hunger. She smiled into the kiss, as if that clumsiness was her favorite weakness.

When they broke just enough to breathe, Sanji’s voice rasped against her lips.

“That’s it, that’s how I like it.”

Zoro pressed her forehead to hers, her dark eyes blazing with that dangerous mix of nerves and desire.

“I’m taking this off.” Her voice was rough, broken, almost threatening as her fingers hooked into the elastic of Sanji’s underwear.

Sanji chuckled softly, her teasing tone a sharp contrast to her ragged breathing.

“Go on then, big girl.”

Zoro trembled as she slid the fabric down, inch by inch, like every patch of skin revealed was consuming her from the inside out.

Sanji was a mess. Her thighs glistened, the thin scrap of fabric damp and clinging, slick enough to betray just how far gone she was. Every shift of her hips made the light catch on the wetness between her legs, obscene and perfect. The scent of her arousal hung heavy in the air, dizzying, proof that Sanji had been unraveling for far longer than she ever let Zoro see.

Sanji didn’t look away. Her golden hair clung to her temples with sweat, her chest rising fast. She leaned in close, her voice dripping sweet into Zoro’s ear.

“Feel that, Zoro? I told you… you make me feel so fucking good.”

The whisper cut through her like a hot blade. Zoro trembled from head to toe. Every word Sanji breathed left her weaker, softer, more pliable—even though she had sworn this was supposed to be about Sanji’s pleasure.

And yet, she dared. Her hands, nervous but eager, moved down her bare hips, exploring the firm curve of her thighs, making their way between her blond pubes.

Zoro let her fingers explore, barely brushing with her pads as if afraid of burning herself, and then more decisively, embracing the hot skin of her pussy between her fingers. Her palms ran over the area, moving up slowly, daring to smear her fingers with her fluid.

Sanji let out a low, unexpected moan, and her head fell back, her lips parted, moist. It was barely a gasp, but for Zoro, it was a prize, a victory that set her chest on fire. She encouraged her to do more, to hungrily explore every inch of her skin, to drag her fingers faster over her clit, probing clumsily but urgently.

The sound increased, small, "Ah, ah, ah," following the viscous rhythm of Zoro's fingers, which became more and more faint the wetter she became.

For a fleeting second, Zoro believed she could keep going. That she could truly give something back for everything Sanji had made her feel, draw more of those sounds out of her, more moans, more of that dangerous surrender. Her breath quickened, her heart hammering in her throat, and the illusion of having control shivered through her whole body.

But then, the shove came. Her back hit the mattress with a dull, heavy thud that forced a grunt from her chest. She blinked, dazed, barely processing how Sanji had flipped her so easily, as if she had never had the initiative in the first place.

“What…?”

“You want to make me feel good, don't you?” Sanji asked, her voice full of hunger and need, her eyes burning, boring into hers like hot coals.

Zoro nodded slowly, dazed, her head spinning as if the air had been knocked out of her lungs.

“Fine.” Sanji smiled faintly. “Then do as I say.”

Her body moved immediately, parting Zoro's legs with shameless ease, exposing her wet pussy once more to the cold of the room. The gasp that tore from her was so loud, so embarrassing, that Zoro had to bite her lip until it hurt to stifle it. Sanji slid on top of her, settling between her thighs until their hips met.

Zoro felt dizziness as she began to process what she was about to do, as well as deep nerves and excitement.

The first pressure was gentle, experimental, as if testing the limit. Then, a slow, intentionally sensual movement caused a scorching, wet friction between them that ignited Zoro's entire body.

She buried her face in the pillow to keep from screaming, her teeth clenched, her muscles trembling with each thrust that made their pussies rub together.

"Move with me, Zoro," Sanji ordered, her tone low, "Need you to help me."

"Mm... yes, yes." Zoro responded between gasps, obedient and lost, letting herself be swept away by the maelstrom.

Sanji rubbed harder, setting an irregular, hungry rhythm, each stroke wetter, drawing increasingly loud gasps from Zoro and groans that Sanji could barely contain. The viscous sound filled the room, obscene, impossible to ignore. It was the echo of their shared need, as if their bodies spoke a dirty language neither of them could stop.

Zoro obeyed without thinking, following the movement clumsily, striving to rub the right spot of her cunt against Sanji's. Soon she abandoned herself to it, losing herself in the back and forth, in the friction that grew ever more precious, ever more unbearable. Her hands sought out Sanji's skin, tracing the sweaty curve of her back, moving down to grip tightly at her buttocks, pulling her closer, begging for more contact, deeper, faster.

"That's it..." Sanji moaned, her forehead beaded with sweat, her breathing in shambles. "That's it... that's it, Zoro. Don't stop."

Sanji lowered her head, nibbling at Zoro's neck, tasting the salt of her skin. She had already formed a mass of marks from the end of her collarbone to the base of her chin. But she wanted one more. One right in the center of her neck. The bite wasn't gentle; it was hungry, possessive, and left a dark bruise that Zoro barely registered between gasps.

Suddenly, Sanji sat up a little, her blond hair plastered to her wet face, looking down at her with those bright, crazed eyes.

"Take it off," She ordered, tugging at the elastic of the sports bra that still squeezed Zoro's chest.

Zoro blinked, dizzy. "What?"

"The bra. Off." Sanji's voice was a deep whisper, heavy with hunger. "I want to see you. All of you."

Zoro swallowed, trembling, her hands unsteady. But Sanji didn't give her a choice. She leaned in, biting down on the fabric of the strap and stretching it with her teeth, dragging the motion so slowly that Zoro's skin prickled.

Zoro groaned softly, trying to contain herself, and finally, with a growl of frustration, she roughly ripped off her top.

Sanji paused for a second, staring at her. Zoro's chest heaved violently with every breath, enormous, marked by tense muscles that glistened with sweat. It rocked with every damn movement. Sanji felt something inside her clench until it hurt.

She leaned down again, brushing her lips against Zoro's, not quite kissing them, as she rubbed harder against her pussy.

“Perfect…” she whispered, almost to herself, as if the word had escaped her.

The movement of her hips was slow, but increasingly accurate, managing to push her clit against hers, drawing harsh gasps from Zoro's throat. Sanji's hand rose to cup one of her breasts, kneading it firmly, feeling the marimo's breath break in her ear.

Her hand alone wasn't enough to take it all. Fuck, she loved it.

“You know they get more sensitive while you play with them?” Sanji murmured, her tone perversely didactic, squeezing just as she said it.

Zoro moaned sharply, gritting her teeth to keep from screaming.

“Do you ever close your mouth—” she growled, but her voice came out shaky.

Sanji smiled, leaning down just enough to catch the nipple with her tongue. She gave it a slow lick, then a playful bite, then sucked hard, hard enough to draw a loud gasp, almost a sob.

"God... Sanji..."

The blonde looked up, her lips glossy, her eyes burning.

"I love that sound..." she whispered against her mouth, barely brushing her lips without granting her the kiss. "Do it again."

Zoro shook her head, but her back betrayed her, arching violently against her when Sanji repeated the gesture, this time using her teeth to bite the nub of her nipple while simultaneously thrusting her hips harder.

"Holy— fuck." Zoro whimpered, her eyes glazed over, her sweaty forehead pressed against the pillow. "I can't, I can't."

Sanji smiled as if she'd just won a war. She lowered her other hand, running slowly over Zoro's firm stomach.

"Are you going to cry?"

Zoro raised her dark, cloudy eyes and looked at her with a dangerous mix of fury and need. "If you don't stop talking..." she growled, trying to sound firm, though her breathing wasn't, "...I'm going to flip you over and fuck you until you beg."

Sanji laughed, huskily, aroused to the core by that clumsy but delicious threat. She slammed her hips down, pressing her wet sex against Zoro's in a direct collision that drew a raw cry from both of them.

"Ah, Marimo is shedding a tear huh?"

"Sanji, ah, I swear—"

"Shut up— Oh fuck, ah, just let me ride you."

The sticky sound of their sexes colliding filled the room, mingling with the desperate gasps neither of them could contain.

“Zoro, Zoro, Zoro,” Sanji whispered against her mouth, her voice husky, breathy, marking time with her words as much as her body. “Knew you were going to move so good for me… fuck, look at you.”

Zoro gritted her teeth, eyes closed, as if resisting were even an option.

Sanji reached down, roughly gripping her chin, forcing Zoro to look at her.

“Don’t you dare hide. I want to see everything.”

Zoro moaned loudly, embarrassed, but obeyed, letting that gaze pierce through her.

“So pretty…” Sanji gasped, biting her lip violently. “You’re going to give me everything, aren’t you? All of you, just for me.”

Zoro's body trembled, but the gaze he raised to her wasn't one of fury or resistance. It was something else. Vulnerable. Fragile in a way Sanji could never have imagined.

Sanji grunted in response, speeding up her final movements, seeking to come with her this time. Sweat trickled down her back, her own broken gasps against Zoro's skin. "That's it... that's it, look at me... I want to see you."

Please, please, let me see you.

Zoro was soft. Not on her skin, not literally. But in her demeanor. In the way she surrendered to her, in the way she let herself be guided, in the way she allowed Sanji to take her to that edge without a fight. That hidden, unexpected docility squeezed her heart in a way that ached.

Maybe it wasn't a good idea. Maybe she shouldn't have risked crossing that invisible line that still kept them in limbo. Maybe in the end, Zoro would regret it, reject her, hate her.

But

How could she find the willpower to deny what now felt like a basic need?

Seeing her clouded, lost in herself, a version no one had ever seen before, and that she didn't want anyone else to see.

She knew every side of Zoro; she'd seen her indifferent, like most of the time, but she'd also seen her smile, embarrassed, angry, on the verge of tears from frustration.

And now like this. Looking at her as if she were the only thing she needed.

She was close.

Sanji lowered her head and kissed her hungrily, almost desperately, biting her lip, drinking from her mouth the moans Zoro couldn't contain. The movement of her hips accelerated, harder, cruder, until the headboard hit the wall hard, creaking under her weight.

Zoro lifted her hips, her toes clutching the sheets, a ragged gasp rising from her throat, her hands clenched against Sanji's waist, leaving red lines trailing down.

Sanji groaned, broken.

"Fuck, Zoro... look at me when you do this. I want to see you lose."

Zoro's eyes opened slightly, glassy, shining with an edge of fear and desire, before she let out a broken cry that marked the end of her resistance. It was so intense it looked painful, her eyes bulging in what seemed like pure overstimulation. Her pussy dripping, staining her thighs and Sanji's, soaking the sheets beneath them.

Sanji followed soon after, rubbing herself against Zoro's wet cunt, which was much more sensitive now and made her gasp at the pain that shot up her abdomen from the stimulation.

Zoro collapsed fully onto the mattress, exhausted, her chest rising and falling violently as if she couldn’t catch her breath. Every muscle in her body kept trembling, shaking with small, uncontrollable spasms, repetitive and relentless. She was wrecked, drenched, her forehead beaded with sweat and her lips parted in a clumsy attempt to breathe.

Sanji leaned over her, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of her lips. Then another on her cheek. Another on her forehead. And before she realized it, she was covering her with a slow rain of tiny, delicate kisses.

“Shhh…” she whispered against her skin, brushing her face with the tips of her fingers. “It’s okay. I’m here.”

Zoro could barely respond. A weak, broken sound was all that escaped her throat before her arms searched for Sanji, clumsy but desperate, clinging to her.

That’s what she had been doing all along. Holding on. Keeping her close. And now, even when it was over, she was still doing it.

Sanji didn’t hesitate. She settled carefully on top of her, not crushing her, but covering her with her body like a protective mantle. Her hands caressed Zoro’s arms, her tense shoulders, the thighs that still trembled beneath her.

“You did so good,” she murmured, brushing her lips against Zoro’s ear. “So, so good for me.”

Zoro squeezed her eyes shut, jaw tight, as if those words were too much. As if, out of all the things they had done, that sweetness was the most unbearable.

Sanji kissed her again—slow, patient, as if she had all the time in the world to wait for Zoro’s breathing to steady. Her fingers combed through her damp hair, tucking away the strands sticking to her forehead.

“Breathe with me,” she whispered, her own chest rising in a calm rhythm, slowing it down, guiding Zoro into stillness.

Zoro followed, slowly, her trembling easing bit by bit. Sanji hugged her tightly, closing her eyes against her neck.

Sanji didn’t move away, combing her fingers through Zoro’s hair, tucking damp strands behind her ear. When Zoro finally lifted her gaze, their eyes met. The moment was far too heavy. Sanji’s deep blue—so piercing it almost hurt. Zoro’s dark, soft, pupils blown wide. Sanji leaned in slowly, aiming for her lips. But Zoro turned her head just slightly, stopping her.

“Why?” Zoro murmured, her voice hoarse.

Sanji blinked, the flicker of hurt showing in her face. “Why what?”

“Why are you doing this… with me? Why now?” Zoro held her gaze, brow furrowed, like even asking the question burned. “You and me… I…”

Sanji swallowed hard. For a second, she thought about laughing it off, making it light. But the truth burned too much on her tongue. She let her forehead fall against Zoro’s.

“Because I want to. Because I can’t stand not doing it anymore.” Her fingers stayed tangled in Zoro’s hair, stroking at the roots.

“Even though I’m still mad at you.”

Zoro’s body tensed instantly.

Sanji sighed, pulling back just enough to see her face. “You ignored me, Zoro. Like I didn’t matter. And you don’t know how fucking much that hurt.”

Zoro shut her eyes, jaw tight. The contrast was brutal—the sharp, raw anger in Sanji’s voice against the softness of her touch, never ceasing. It only made the guilt worse.

Made her feel like an idiot.

The dark hallway, Sanji laughing with that girl, Zoro walking away with clenched teeth. The smear of lipstick on her skin.

Nami’s voice saying, “She gets flirty when she drinks.”

The weight pressing down on her chest as she walked alone to the dorm.

Back then, all she could think was that it wasn’t worth it. That nothing Sanji did meant anything. That no matter how much it looked like more, it just wasn’t.

Not the meals. Not the time. Not those smiles that felt like they were only for her.

Not the private nicknames.

Not even sharing smoke.

“I’m sorry,” Zoro muttered, lowering her eyes. “I shouldn’t have done that. Not to you.”

Sanji sought her gaze again, insistent, brows drawn tight. “Then why? Why make me feel like I don’t exist—especially you?”

Zoro swallowed, the knot in her throat strangling her words. For an instant, she heard Perona’s mocking voice over the phone.

“It’s obvious you’re head over heels, Zoro.”

And her own bitter reply.

“I don’t stand a fucking chance.”

She shouldn’t say anything. Best to stay quiet. To retreat. But Sanji was looking at her like she could read every crack. Like she refused to step back completely.

What other option was left but to push her away by force?

“I got scared,” she finally admitted, almost in a whisper. “Of what I feel. Of you.”

The silence grew unbearably thick. Sanji didn’t move, letting the words sink, drop heavy like stones into water.

Zoro lowered her eyes, her voice roughened by guilt. “And then… seeing you with her… I don’t know. I felt sick. Disgusting. I don’t have any fucking right over you. So why the hell did it matter to me?”

“I told you a thousand times, I wasn’t flirting with—”

“That’s the problem!” Zoro snapped, her voice rising. “It shouldn’t matter. You shouldn’t owe me explanations, dammit.” She drew a shaky breath and forced her voice lower. “I’m not… stable. I don’t even know how I managed to keep our friendship this long. I’m not good with people, I’m not good for myself. And this… all of this… it was just fucking with my head too much.”

Sanji watched her in silence for a beat. The tremor in her voice, the vulnerability she never admitted. And instead of fighting back, Sanji reached for her hair again, stroking it like that touch could make the unbearable softer.

“Zoro… do you like me?”

The air went still between them. Zoro pressed her lips tight, feeling the sting at the corner of her eyes.

“Yes. Yeah, I like you.”

Sanji closed her eyes briefly, like that confession was everything she’d been waiting for.

“You think I’d do something like this with someone I don’t like? Risk a friendship like yours just for a fuck?”

Zoro looked away, unsure. “I don’t know. Shit… it just feels like since that night, I don’t know much about you at all. I wanted to back off before I realized things I didn’t want to know.”

Sanji frowned. “So you ignored me to protect yourself? You think that was gonna hurt me less?”

“And what did you want me to do? Stay like nothing was wrong while you kept…” Zoro cut herself off, furious at her own words. “While you kept fucking with my head?”

Sanji clenched her teeth. “You could’ve said something.”

“I don’t know anything about this. I don’t know how it works, I’ve never—”

“I’ve been in love a hundred times, Zoro. I love too much, always have… but you.” Sanji’s voice dipped lower, trembling. “I swore I wouldn’t. I tried to stop it, to avoid the ending I thought was coming. But even when it was too much, even when I thought about pulling away, I couldn’t. I didn’t want to make you feel abandoned.”

“I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry.”

Sanji held her gaze, unwavering, brows furrowed as she steadied herself.

“I accept your apology.”

Zoro felt relief fill her chest, her breathing finally evening out.

Sanji brushed her cheek, wiping away a stray tear.

Then she laughed softly, bitter. “We probably should’ve talked before all of this.”

There was a brief silence, long enough for Zoro to really look at her, to take her in from head to toe, to process everything that had just happened.

The order of so many things hadn’t been right. Maybe she’d said things she’d regret later. Maybe they’d even remember this night as something a little painful, full of what hadn’t been said while they lost themselves in each other.

But even so—

Zoro nodded, lifting her eyes just a little. “I don’t regret it,” she murmured.

“Neither do I,” Sanji answered without hesitation.

The silence settled again. Sanji’s fingers found Zoro’s, and this time they intertwined without resistance.

“You know,” Sanji murmured, lowering her voice, “I had a whole script in my head on the way back from the museum. How to talk to you. How to say what I felt and what you make me feel. But the second I saw you in front of me… all I could think about was how badly I wanted to kiss you again. And well, you didn’t exactly stop me.”

Zoro felt her cheeks flush, remembering just how easily she’d given in, even though she too had planned to talk.

Sanji huffed, a tiny laugh escaping her. “Though I probably should’ve taken you on a date first.”

“You still can,” Zoro muttered, shrugging, trying to hide the way the thought made her chest leap.

“Yeah? You’ll put up with all my corny shit?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I will.”

The air grew heavy again, but softer this time. Not with anger—something calmer, tender.

Sanji’s lips curved in the faintest smile.

“And when I make love to you, slow and sweet? You’ll put up with that too?”

Zoro buried her face in her shoulder, burning. “Stop it.”

Silence, brief, just enough for their thoughts to settle again.

“What’ll change?” Zoro asked quietly.

“I don’t know. I guess we’ll do some couple things. Cooking together, falling asleep on each other’s shoulders, shopping…”

“We already did that.”

“Oh.”

Their eyes met, and the seriousness cracked. A laugh slipped out at the same time, soft at first, then freer, almost dizzying with relief—like letting go of all the weight they’d carried.

“We should shower.”

“I’m going first, I’m all sweaty.”

“What do you mean first? We’re going together.”

“Is that… a couple thing?”

“Not necessarily. I just want to.”

Notes:

Listen to Love Me by Buck-Tick and Everybody Here Wants You by Jeff Buckley!
The whole idea of Zoro trying to be dominant and Sanji thinking she’s gorgeous, playing along but maybe liking it a little too much, lol…

Archive of Our Own^beta

Actions

Work Header

LOVE ME

Angelgrowingwings

Summary:

Notes:

Chapter 1: Even Tears Cry the Color of Blood

Chapter Text

Chapter 2: Dreaming While I Sleep

Notes:

Chapter Text

Chapter 3: Everybody Here Wants You

Notes:

Chapter Text

Notes:

Series this work belongs to:

Actions

Kudos

Comments

Footer

About the Archive

Contact Us

Development