Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It started when Sanji was the last to learn about Zoro’s romantic orientation.

The whole crew, except the swordsman, was seated in the galley waiting for Sanji to serve breakfast, like they did every morning. There wasn’t much chattering because most of them were still hungover; they had landed on an island the day before, after weeks at sea, eager for new faces, fresh food, and cold beer. Sanji drank with his nakama and spent most of the night flirting with women at the counter, burning through all the money Nami had given him on their drinks.

“Breakfast is ready,” Sanji said, placing the plates in front of each one. Every meal was tailored: Nami liked her eggs soft-boiled, Robin always thanked him when he added fruit to her breakfast, Usopp appreciated extra pepper, and Luffy was fine with anything, as long as Sanji doubled his servings.

Setting Chopper’s plate down, he added, “Go wake up marimo, or he’s gonna sleep until noon again. Dishes are his today.”

“I went to his room, but he’s not there.” Chopper shrugged, looking puzzled. “I think he didn’t sleep on the ship.”

Usopp and Nami shared a suggestive look. Robin bit into her strawberries with a mysterious smile.

“See? I told you that you weren't giving him enough credit!” Franky pointed at them with a wide grin.

Nami chuckled, shaking her head like she couldn’t believe what she was hearing.

“Honestly, he’s just lucky he’s ripped. Otherwise, he could never get away with the aggressive stares he calls flirting.”

Sanji furrowed his brows. Zoro, flirting? He was starting to understand, or he thought so. Was that why the swordsman hadn’t slept in his bed?

“Oh. Marimo spent the night with a lover.” He placed Luffy’s plate in front of him last, and Luffy immediately shoved the food inside his mouth. Sanji sat down to eat with the rest of them.

The idea of a woman getting romantically involved with a brute like Zoro was one he preferred not to imagine. He was sure the idiot could never be as delicate, as gentle as she deserved. “Poor girl. I would never wish that on any lady in this world.”

The galley went into confused silence for a moment, then Luffy burst out laughing.

“Lady?!” The captain clutched his swollen belly. Sanji furrowed his brows as the rest tried to suppress their giggles.

Nami stepped up. “Shut up, Luffy! I believe the ladies on this island are safe, Sanji-kun.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

The others shared secretive looks, as if they were uncertain of whether they should clue Sanji in.

“Zoro was actually talking to a man when we left him in the bar yesterday,” Franky explained, dragging out his words.

“Poor guy,” Usopp laughed. “He was so scrawny. Zoro probably snapped him in two.”

Nami hid a laugh behind her hand. Brook would’ve blushed at the comment if he’d had cheeks.

“Don’t say things like that in front of Chopper,” Robin scolded. Nami elbowed Usopp under the table in agreement, though both were holding back chuckles.

Sanji shifted in his chair, head spinning. Did everyone know this but him? How? When had Zoro even shared it? Why was he the last to know? Even Luffy—Luffy, who was usually oblivious—was grinning, like it was old news. “Zoro is into men?”

As if summoned, the galley door creaked open, and marimo himself appeared at the frame. He looked Sanji dead in the eyes, his lonely eye flickering defiantly, and that was confirmation enough that Zoro had heard the question.

Sanji didn’t know what to do. He broke eye contact, turning to the food in front of him and stuffing a bite into his mouth just to keep himself occupied. He wanted a drag, but he had to keep it cool.

“Speak of the devil!” Nami greeted him with a teasing smile. “Morning, Zoro. Doing well? Did you have fun last night?”

Zoro scoffed and flopped into the empty seat next to Chopper. “Beat it, witch.”

On any other occasion, Sanji would’ve scolded the idiot for calling his beloved Nami-san that. But right now, he was pouring all his energy into figuring out if he’d missed any clues.. Was it obvious, and did he fail to notice? Or did Zoro actively try to hide that part of him from Sanji?

Nami, Usopp and Franky tried to fish for any details about Zoro’s night, but he shut them down and changed the subject. Once again, Sanji didn’t know if he just wasn’t one to kiss and tell or if he was trying to avoid the topic around him.

Sanji was quiet for the rest of breakfast.

The crew finished breakfast and left the galley one by one to tend to their duties. Since it was Zoro’s turn to wash the dishes, Sanji was left alone with him.

They didn’t really talk when Zoro was on kitchen cleaning duties. Sometimes, they would just do their own thing quietly, then Zoro would finish and head out to lift some weights or take a nap on the deck. Other times, when they were in a more energetic mood, Sanji would find something to complain about in Zoro’s cleaning, or insist he polish the pans properly, and Zoro would get pissed and throw a few insults back. It was always either silence or banter, never a proper conversation.

So naturally, Zoro grew uncomfortable when he realized Sanji was actually trying to start one.

“So, uhm…” The cook reached for a cigarette in his pocket and held it between his lips. He needed to keep his fidgeting hands busy. “Nice bar Nami-san found last night.”

Sanji was leaning against the table behind him, so Zoro turned to side-eye him. It took Sanji three tries before he could light the cigarette.

“Yeah.”

“Good beer.”

“Right.”

Sanji exhaled sharply.

“Chopper said you didn't sleep in your room—” he started, trying to sound casual. Zoro stopped scrubbing the plate he was holding. Sanji saw how his shoulders tensed under his shirt and stopped talking.

“What do you want, cook?”

“Nothing,” Sanji said, furrowing his brow. “I was just… talking.”

“Since when do we do that?”

The silence that followed was heavy and uncomfortable.

“Never mind. I just remembered I need to grab something from my room,” Sanji lied. He left the galley without saying anything else, leaving a trail of smoke behind him and Zoro with a bad taste in his mouth.

They avoided each other for the rest of the day. Sanji wasn’t in the mood to interact much after dinner, so he excused himself and went to bed early, where he tossed and turned while replaying moments with Zoro in a new light now that he knew the truth.

He thought of the time they went to the market to buy food, when the pretty lady selling carrots flirted with Zoro openly, and he didn’t respond. Sanji couldn’t believe someone could be so oblivious, but what if he wasn’t? What if he noticed, just didn’t care? And all the times he noticed Zoro looking at other men attentively. Sanji thought that was his way of assessing some kind of danger. Was he actually checking them out?

But the question that was keeping him awake: why was he the last one to know? He knew Zoro and Nami were close, it made sense she would know. Usopp and Nami were always gossiping, so that also checked out. And Robin was very observant. Did she tell Franky? Who told Brook? And what about Luffy? Did Zoro tell his captain himself?

Agitated by his thoughts in the dark, he decided to get up and walk around the ship to clear his head. Maybe light up a cigarette and smoke it looking at the ocean.

He left his room to head to the deck. He didn’t know what time it was, but when he walked past Zoro’s bedroom door, he noticed he couldn’t hear the idiot snoring like he always did when he was asleep.

Before he could think about it straight, he knocked on Zoro’s door three times. After a moment, he heard Zoro’s “come in”. Sanji turned the knob to open the door, but didn’t enter the room.

Zoro was lying on his back on the bed, shirtless, with his hands behind his head. The knock on his door was no surprise; Chopper often came and asked to sleep with him when he had nightmares and was too scared to sleep in his own room. Zoro raised his head to look at the door frame, expecting to see a little reindeer coming for comfort. His only eye widened in surprise when he realized it was Sanji standing there.

“Cook,” he said in place of a proper greeting, sitting up. “What are you doing here?”

If Sanji thought too much about it, he would end up avoiding the subject again, just like he did earlier. So he just blurted out, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

That question was so unexpected that Zoro couldn’t even think of something rude to reply. “Tell you what?”

“You know. That you like men.”

Zoro crossed his arms and fought the urge to turn his face to the other side. He had to keep staring at Sanji to show he wasn’t ashamed.

“Why would I tell you anything about that? We’re not friends.”

“We’re nakama.”

Sanji said that last part in a low tone. It was true, they weren’t friends, but they were crewmates. They lived together, shared a boat that was their home. They fought side by side to defend the others, to help Luffy fulfill his dream.

That had got to be worth something.

“Were you hiding that from me?” Sanji had to ask, even if he thought he knew the answer already.

Zoro finally broke eye contact. He swallowed and shook his head, looking at his lap.

“I have nothing to hide.”

“But were you? Answer the question.”

“No.” Zoro paused. “Maybe. I don’t know. I knew you were gonna be weird about it.”

“I’m not being weird about it!” Sanji protested defensively.

Of course, Zoro thought, he wasn’t going to admit it. Even though he had been silent all breakfast, then tried awkwardly to start a conversation, then spent the rest of the day avoiding Zoro.

And if that wasn't enough, now this was happening.

So, yes. Zoro didn't want the useless cook to look at him differently. He just wanted everything to be exactly as it was before.

“Of course you are, shit-cook! Knocking on my door at midnight, demanding an explanation.”

“I’m not—Look, I don't give a fuck about who you’re fucking, alright?” Sanji grumped.

“Great, then piss off.”

“I just didn't want you to think that I have any problem with you being… gay.”

Zoro cringed.

“Whatever. Don't care. Are you done? I want to sleep.”

Sanji threw his hands in the air, frustrated. “You don't ever sleep before three!”

“Get the fuck out of my room!” Zoro grabbed the closest thing in reach, his pillow, and threw it at the cook. Sanji slammed the door shut before it could hit him.

Sanji was so annoyed with the brainless idiot that he had to smoke three entire cigarettes before he could finally go back to bed.

Chapter Text

Zoro was relieved to find out that over the next few days, Sanji didn’t bring up the topic again and just acted like his usual, irritating self.

He would spend most of the morning in the galley prepping food for the day. If the weather was nice by mid-afternoon, he would come out to the deck to smoke quietly or pick a fight with Zoro, and they would spar for a few minutes. Sanji’s kicks were incredibly fast and strong, and the clashes put Zoro at the top of his game.

He would never, not in a thousand years, admit it to the cook, but it was his favorite way to blow off steam.

Maybe Nami noticed his mind was wandering, because after a few minutes of silence, she asked, “What are you thinking so hard about?”

She was lying on a reclined chair, sunglasses on, tanning in the sun. Zoro sat on the floor next to her, back against the deck railing and his three swords resting by his side. He had just finished a training session.

Zoro shrugged. “Nothing.”

She gave him a sly grin. “That checks out.”

He was going to tell her to shut up, but they were interrupted by Sanji’s approach. He came in their direction, holding a large glass by its stem, his long fingers wrapped around it; it was filled with a pink drink and neatly decorated with a small umbrella and a slice of orange.

“Nami-san! I made you a drink,” he warbled lovingly, placing the glass in the hand that she held out for him. “You have to stay hydrated under the sun.”

“Thank you, Sanji-kun.” Nami smiled at him, arching her back like a cat to adjust her position in the chair. She took a sip of the drink. “It’s delicious.”

“You’re welcome, my beautiful princess.” The idiot cook was hypnotized by Nami’s bare legs. “Please let me know if you need anything. My kitchen is at your service.”

She giggled. “Oh, that reminds me—I spoke to Luffy, and we plan to set sail tomorrow, so I think we should go to the market before the end of the day to stock up on groceries.”

“Of course, my dear,” Sanji replied, always devoted. “I’ll write up a list.”

Zoro rolled his eyes. The idiot cook was about to leave without even acknowledging his presence. Not out of the ordinary, but still annoying. He didn’t want to let Sanji go without pushing his buttons a little.

“Oi, waiter!” he called. “What about me? I’m thirsty, too.”

Sanji kept walking away, but his voice grew louder with irritation. “Go grab your own booze, stupid!” he snapped.

“Then what are you good for?” Zoro countered. “But sure, I’ll slice the chains in the pantry door.”

Sanji stopped on his feet and turned to face Zoro with anger. “If I find you putting your dirty hands anywhere near my pantry, I’ll kick your head off your neck!”

“Bring it on, shit-cook!” Zoro reached for his swords and stood up in a split second. Holding one in each hand, he went into a fighting stance. Sanji immediately matched his energy, lifting one leg to show he was not one to cower from the fight.

Nami sighed and rose from her chair, annoyance in her voice: “Fine. I’ll go drink this in the crow’s nest.”

The second time Sanji knocked on the door, Zoro was paying attention. He noticed it was too forceful and came from too high up to be Chopper’s.

He sighed. What was it this time? Once again, the cook was at his door, right when Zoro thought things were completely normal: taunting, bantering, and no awkward visits at midnight to talk about his sexuality. Well, apparently, he was wrong about that. He could not catch a break.

For a moment, he considered pretending he didn’t hear, that he was asleep, but that wouldn’t work. Besides, he wouldn’t hide in his room like a coward. He was going to open the door and tell the cook to fuck off and stop bothering him, and hope he would just drop it.

Zoro yanked the door open in one blunt motion.

As expected, Sanji was there. He looked more relaxed than usual, wearing a dark blue tee that contrasted well with his hair instead of the white shirt and black blazer. The idiot actually looked good.

Zoro blanked for a second, forgetting his plan to tell the cook to fuck off. Sanji took the opportunity to act before Zoro said something that would inevitably annoy him and make him regret being there.

“Thought you might like this,” he offered the bottle he was holding.

“What’s that?”

“I know you’re not used to good quality booze, but I thought your small brain would at least be able to identify it.” Sanji looked slightly upset. “It’s sake. The best on the island.”

Zoro inspected the bottle carefully. It was about three-quarters full, with a liquid inside that was shining like gold.

“They make it in a small facility at the foot of the mountain and export all around the world. Or at least that’s what the seller told me. You can have it.” Sanji shrugged.

Zoro narrowed his eye. “Did you poison it?”

"Of course I didn’t poison it,” Sanji scoffed. Why was talking to this shitty marimo so frustrating? “Why would I poison an expensive bottle of sake? You’d drink rubbing alcohol if someone offered.” His voice lowered, offended. “Poison you? Don’t be ridiculous. I can take you in combat.”

Zoro shook his head, as if disagreeing with the last part. “Then why are you giving me this?”

“I said it already, I thought you’d like it.” Sanji huffed. “You know what, never mind. Give it to me.”

The swordsman could swear he saw a hint of pink cover the other man’s cheeks, but it was gone quickly. So the cook had bought an expensive bottle to try, and was sharing it with him? Zoro wanted to press, but didn’t want the cook asking for the gift (was that what this was, a gift?) back.

“No chance,” Zoro refused, unscrewing the lid and taking a long sip. The beverage went down his throat smoothly, without the burn of the drinks he usually drank. It was herbal and a little sweet in the end, like ripe melon. Tasted fucking great.

Sanji didn’t insist. “Well, enjoy.” He put his hands in the pockets of his jeans, turning to head to his room. And then, just to make sure he’d leave with the last word, he added, “Don’t drink it all at once. You snore even louder when you’re drunk.”

Sanji didn’t hear the door closing behind him when he started walking away, but he imagined Zoro had gone back inside. After taking two steps, he was surprised to hear a rushed voice. “Oi, cook. Want to share?”

“Is it okay if I smoke here?” Sanji asked, pulling a cig from his pack and placing it between his lips. Zoro was sitting on his bed, legs bent, with his feet resting on the mattress. Sanji sat across from him in the chair, the only furniture Zoro had in his bedroom besides the bed and the wardrobe.

They took turns drinking the sake directly from the bottle.

“No. My room’s going to smell like shit.”

Sanji looked him dead in the eye and brought his lighter to the tip of the cigarette. “Your room already smells like shit.” Zoro sighed, but he would not fall victim to the cook’s teasing now that they were so close to finishing the bottle. So far, this whole interaction was not as awkward as he feared.

First, he asked Sanji about the place that made the sake, and the cook spent a few minutes repeating what he’d heard at the market about its production, sale, and export. Apparently, it was appreciated all around the Grand Line, with people going as far as paying thousands of berries for a bottle of the right season. To his surprise, Zoro found it almost entertaining, hearing the cook ramble about something he clearly cared about.

They also talked briefly about setting sail the next day and what to expect from the upcoming islands. They reminisced about the islands they’d visited since leaving the East Blue. It wasn’t the deepest conversation, but it was nostalgic, and more than they ever had before.

“Enies Lobby… not fun, exactly.” Zoro took another sip and dried his mouth with the back of his hand. “Robin was gone, Usopp left… felt like the crew was falling apart. I was so pissed at everyone. When we finally put our hands on CP9, I didn’t hold back.”

Sanji agreed. “It was a good payoff. But Thriller Bark… that was the worst, for you.” Then, in a lower tone: “I thought you would die.”

Zoro played with the lid of the bottle in his right hand. “I’m not that easy to kill, cook.”

“You were an idiot,” Sanji said, but it didn’t come out as aggressively as he wanted.

“What about you, then? You tried to go in my place,” Zoro countered. He waited because he wanted the cook to say something about that, but Sanji didn’t give him a proper answer. Instead, he threw his head back to exhale some smoke, eyes closed. Zoro wasn’t going to drop it this time, he didn’t know when he would have another opportunity. “First that. Then you asked me to kill you in Wano.” Sanji eyed him suspiciously. “Why?”

“I don’t want to talk about that,” Sanji stated, sinking into the chair.

“Tell me,” Zoro asked, a hint of vulnerability in his voice, something Sanji had never heard in all their time sailing together. For a heartbeat, he thought Zoro might add, please. Stupid. Zoro never said please, least of all to him.

Sanji sighed and reached for the bottle, his fingers brushing dangerously close to Zoro’s as he grabbed it by the neck. For a moment, he felt the ghost of a possibility linger in the air.

They went silent for a while, anticipation building. Sanji concentrated on the conversation again and figured marimo deserved to know, considering the weight of the request he had made.

“The Germa genes. I thought they were awakening and turning me into someone I’m not… I don’t want to be.” He took a long sip, pausing a few seconds after swallowing before speaking again. “I thought I had hit a woman.”

Zoro’s eye widened. “You’d never do that.”

“I know. But at that moment, I thought I had. And I’d rather die before turning into a monster.” Sanji’s expression darkened for a moment, then he shook his head, and his face was bright again. “Anyway, I’m fine now, so I won’t be needing your services. Stop getting your hopes up.”

Then, in a voice so low it almost seemed like a thought, he murmured, “Not sure I could do it, anyway.”

Sanji just stared at him blankly, not knowing how to respond to that. For a moment, the unfamiliarity of the situation felt strange: the strange intimacy of being alone with Zoro at midnight, sharing a bottle, sipping straight from it, trading confessions.

Zoro held his gaze, and Sanji seized the chance to study his face. The sharp angles of his jaw, the scar in his left eye, the arched eyebrows—it was all menacing, unfriendly. But there was something beneath that he was noticing just now: the straight nose, the depth of Zoro’s eyes. His lips. It was a sharp, masculine kind of beauty, so different from what Sanji usually admired, yet undeniable. He was handsome.

Sanji inhaled sharply to take the last drag of his cigarette. What was happening to him? His thoughts were all over the place.

“Ok, there’s your answer,” he broke the silence to dissipate the tension that had built. “Now you have to answer one of my questions in return,” Sanji said.

“Hmm,” Zoro grumbled, furrowing his brows, avoiding agreeing to that predicament.

Sanji thought for a second. “What happened to your eye?”

“No, not that one.”

“Come on, marimo!”

“Ask another.”

“Have you ever been with a woman?”

Zoro scoffed. “No. Not into them like that.”

“And what about men?”

There it was. Zoro crossed his arms, uneasy about the direction the conversation was taking. “Those are two questions.”

“It’s a follow-up,” the cook argued, putting both hands in the air as if surrendering. “I don’t mean to pry, and I won’t be weird about it. Just curious.”

“You’re curious about whether I’ve had sex with a man?” Zoro raised the corner of his lip in a smirk. “Yes, shit-cook. Of course I have.”

“And how was it?”

“Some of it was great, some of it not so much.” Zoro shrugged, trying hard not to acknowledge how weird it was to talk about his sex life with the cook. It was even hard for Nami, who was arguably the only person he ever shared this with, to extract anything from him. “Guess it depends on the person.”

“That’s fair,” Sanji said, reaching for another cigarette. Zoro looked at him with reprimand, but it did nothing to change Sanji’s mind.

Zoro was being open, Sanji thought. This is rare. We’re probably never going to do this again, so he went on. “And when did you realize? You already knew you were gay before you kissed a man?”

“Yeah, I just… always knew.” Zoro stretched his legs, trying to relax, but he wanted to shift the focus off him for a minute. “Why all the questions, cook?” he teased. “Are you questioning?”

Sanji scoffed, lowering his gaze to his lap with a small smile. “No, I love women too much.”

Zoro raised his eyebrows, puzzled. That answer was different from what he expected.

“It’s not exclusive, you know. You can be attracted to both.”

Sanji went quiet, brows knitting as if he were trying to work through what he’d just heard. He knew that, obviously. But it wasn’t his case. He had never seriously considered that, but it surely couldn’t be. It didn’t make sense.

“Oi, cook. I was just playing.” Zoro clarified, scratching his neck. “I’m not saying you—”

“No, I know.” Sanji forced a smile and made a dismissing gesture with his free hand. “Don’t worry about it.”

He stood up from the chair, shook the empty bottle, and though he enjoyed the company as weird as that sounded, he wanted to be alone now.

“I have to go back to my room, it’s late,” Sanji said, heading to the door. When he turned the knob, he added in a gentle tone, “Good night, marimo.”

“Thanks, cook,” Zoro said. “For the booze.”

“Thanks for sharing.”

Sanji closed the door behind him. Zoro rolled onto his side, burying his face in the pillow, biting back the urge to scream.

Chapter Text

Of all the things Sanji was sure about, one stood above the rest: he wasn’t attracted to men.

He was alone in his room, lying on his back with a cigarette lit between his fingers. He didn’t know what time it was, but the ship was completely silent, and all he could hear was his own breathing and the waves rocking it. The smoke curled upward, dissolving into the dark. At this rate, the pack would be empty before dawn.

A week had passed since he shared that bottle of sake with Zoro. Since then, something sparked in his head.

It’s not exclusive, you know. You can be attracted to both.

Of course, Sanji knew that already. But he never considered that it could be his case. Because, well, it wasn’t.

Before their conversation, he never imagined being with a man. Now that intrusive idea popped into his head multiple times in the span of a few days. Sometimes he shoved the thought aside and forced himself to think of anything else. But there were moments when he allowed his thoughts to go free, and it stirred feelings he had never experienced when picturing himself with a lady.

And the strangest part was that every image featured a body he knew all too well, thanks to how many times he’d fought against it.

But that meant nothing. The stupid swordsman was the only person he’d ever had such a conversation with, so that was probably the only reason his brain was mixing things up.

Since that night, they’d stumbled into chances to interact in ways they weren’t used to. Sanji knew some of those were his doing—he sometimes pretended to take longer to find something Zoro asked for in the pantry, just to see if he would start a conversation as he waited, and twice Sanji had deliberately handed him a plain glass of water (no decoration, of course) when he went to serve Robin-chan and Nami-san a beverage, just to remind him he should alternate a little between water and beer to avoid health problems, considering all the alcohol he abused.

That day, when Sanji was preparing lunch, Zoro walked into the galley. He hesitated for a second, and that was enough to annoy Sanji, as he’d been on edge these past few days.

“Want something?” he asked, without interrupting his work of washing a carrot.

“Just came to grab some water,” Zoro replied. “Didn’t drink any yet today, and it’s almost noon.”

It is possible to teach an old dog new tricks. Sanji scoffed at his vegetables in disbelief. Zoro’s stealthy footsteps approached him, the presence impossible to ignore.

“Do you want any help?” Zoro tried to sound casual, but the offer still caught Sanji off guard. “I can chop ‘em. I’m good with blades.”

Sanji squinted with suspicion. He turned to look at the other man, but marimo was standing next to him with a neutral expression. Almost… friendly. Weird. But, to be fair, he did not seem like he was going to stab his cook as soon as he found an opening.

So, Sanji opened the second drawer to pick up a knife and handed it to Zoro. “Sliced, not chopped. And make them as thin as you can.”

Sanji didn’t like men. But he reserved a special hatred for the one currently seated beside Zoro, hand on his thigh.

They had finally reached land again during the afternoon, and the crew’s tradition was to immediately find a place to meet locals and have some fun. This lounge was Usopp’s idea, and a little fancier than the bars and restaurants they had visited recently, but not necessarily a bad thing.

The bad thing was that the place was filled with snobby playboys, just like the pink-haired one Zoro was talking to right now.

The stupid, brainless, good-for-nothing mosshead went to refill his cup and the guy approached him, offered to pay him a drink, and now they were talking for almost twenty minutes. It was ridiculous. He had no idea Zoro was that easy.

“Oi, Sanji, are you there?” Usopp waved his hand in front of his face.

Sanji downed the last of his whisky. He had tuned out the laughs and chattering of his crewmates sitting at the round table with him, so he had no idea what the current topic was.

“Sorry, what?” he swallowed and pulled his eyes away from the counter, trying to come back to the conversation. The drink burnt his throat, and the effect he was looking for was almost immediate.

Usopp turned his head to see if he could find what Sanji had been focusing on, and his eyes widened a little when he saw the closeness of the two men. Zoro was running his finger along the rim of the cup while he listened to the other talk, his body leaning in. A clear sign of interest.

“I guess Zoro’s getting lucky again tonight”, Usopp chuckled. “Fuck, I miss Kaya.”

“You think so?” Sanji asked in a detached tone, reaching for Nami’s cup that was still half-full. She protested with an indignant hey!, but didn’t pull it back.

“Positive”, Usopp confirmed. “That guy is Zoro’s type.”

A fire was burning inside the cook’s chest. He did not want to be in this conversation, and yet he couldn’t help but ask, “What is his type?”

Usopp raised his fingers to list each characteristic. “Strong but slim. Kinda preppy. Good hair. Pretty.”

“I see.” Sanji tipped back Nami’s glass and downed the last of the sugary drink. When he placed the glass back on the table, he thought of how fun it would be to leave this place, lie on the tracks, and wait for the Sea Train to flatten him.

Roronoa Zoro was the first mate and swordsman of a pirate crew worth billions of berries, meaning he had developed an unmatched sense of awareness of what happened around him.

Maybe it was this awareness that allowed him to notice a drunk, blonde man circling tables to walk in his direction long before he actually approached them.

The guy he was flirting with was blabbering about some place on the island he liked to go to watch wrestling competitions, completely clueless to anything around them, so Zoro followed Sanji through his peripheral vision to check what he was up to.

When the cook was close enough that Zoro thought he might crash into them, Sanji swerved and threw himself against the counter right next to the pink-haired man.

“Negroni,” he asked the bartender in a crisp tone, then put some berries in front of him, dropping the coins with a loud clink to draw attention. “Please.”

The man in front of Zoro finally stopped talking. He pulled away from the swordsman and turned his body to see what was the source of the noise.

Sanji feigned surprise. “Oh, look who’s here. Hello, marimo!”

Zoro glared at Sanji, murderous thoughts filling his head. What the hell was the idiot doing? He looked a little tipsy, his eyes lower than normal, his hair disheveled. Zoro had a bad feeling about this, but he wasn’t quick to respond in any situation except physical fights, so Sanji went on to address the third man. “Hi, I’m Sanji. Nice to meet you. And you are…”

“Busy,” Zoro growled before Sanji could get his answer. “Get lost, cook.”

At this moment, on the other side of the room, Nami noticed the scene happening at the counter. She elbowed Usopp. “What the hell is Sanji doing?”

Usopp assessed the situation for a couple of seconds, then shrugged. “No idea.”

“Can you go check, please? He’s had a lot to drink,” Nami pleaded. Usopp sighed at her request, but didn’t protest. He was going to have to drink more next time if he wanted to be the drunk idiot instead of the one taking care of them.

Pretending to be offended at Zoro’s dismissal, Sanji pressed a hand to his chest. “Mind you, I’m waiting for my drink.” Then, turning to Pinky. “He’s so rude, never wants to introduce us to his friends.”

The guy furrowed his brows, as if trying to put the pieces of a puzzle together. “‘Cook’? You’re Sanji—as in Blackleg Sanji?”

Zoro’s eyes widened a little. He shook his head, trying to be subtle enough to send Sanji a message without being noticed, but the cook just ignored him and laughed. “You know me? Oh, I’m flattered.”

Zoro immediately put his hand to his face and started massaging his temples. This was going downhill fast. Pinky turned to him, eyebrows raised and a wry smile.

“So you are Roronoa Zoro.”

But before Zoro could try to save his date by coming up with an explanation as to why he had told this guy his name was Leo (Zoro, the pirate hunter? Yes, people told me we look alike), Usopp popped up and joined their little rendezvous. Zoro had never been happier to see him than at that moment.

“Oi, excuse me, sorry to bother. Sanji, can you come with me for a second?”

Usopp held Sanji’s arm with both hands and pulled him, but the cook resisted. “I’m waiting for my drink! Why is everybody so—”

“Negroni,” the barman declared, placing the glass on the counter.

Usopp breathed out loudly. “And there it is! Come on, let’s go!” he jerked Sanji’s arm.

But Sanji wasn’t done. He didn’t want to go, let the two get back to his conversation, because then Pinky would put his hand back on Zoro’s lap, lean closer, and Sanji would have no choice but to vomit on his own feet, and he actually liked those shoes.

A little voice in his head told him he was taking this way too far, but he wasn’t sober enough to give it any consideration. So he took advantage of Usopp’s sudden movement to pull him and pretended to trip.

The contents of his glass flew through the air and landed in Zoro’s shirt, soaking his chest with red liquid. The swordsman jumped from the stool with surprise.

“What the fuck, cook!” he shouted. “Are you crazy?”

“Sorry, marimo. Accident.”

“Shit! I’m sorry, Zoro,” Usopp said as well, since he believed he was partly responsible for the mess. “Sanji’s had too much to drink. I’ll take him back to the ship now.”

Sanji was about to protest, I don’t want to go back, you’re not the boss of me, but Zoro was glaring at him like he was waiting for them to be alone to murder Sanji (and so it would come full circle, wouldn’t it? Marimo killing him by slicing him into thin pieces. Oh, the irony.) “I’ll take him, Usopp,” Zoro said. His voice was low and controlled, but Sanji could see he was not happy. “I have to change my shirt anyway.”

Zoro grabbed Sanji’s bicep, much less gently than Usopp, and started dragging him to the exit. Sanji accepted his fate; at least it was over, or at least he thought so.

But Pinky, who had been quietly watching the situation unfold, reached for Zoro’s other arm and held his wrist. The swordsman turned around to find the man looking at him with hopeful eyes. “Will you be back?” he pleaded. The fire burning with rage inside Sanji’s chest reignited.

What was it going to take for this pink rat to give up and scram?

“Mm… yeah,” Zoro answered. And even if it sounded cold and unsure, it was the final nail in Sanji’s coffin.

Sanji expected Zoro to snap at him as soon as they left, and—since he was tipsy and his reflexes were compromised—that meant he was also mentally preparing to get beaten up.

So when they exited the bar and stepped into the quiet, starry night, it was a surprise that the swordsman just let go of him without saying a word and started walking away.

“That’s not the right direction, marimo,” Sanji warned. Zoro stopped in his tracks. He then sighed, turned around, and went in the opposite direction; he crossed paths with the cook without so much as a glance, and even though the weather was nice and warm, it made Sanji feel cold.

He followed Zoro, keeping a couple of steps between them. His thoughts were a mess. He couldn’t understand the feelings that surfaced when he saw Zoro with that other guy that night; even with all his efforts, he wasn’t reaching a good enough explanation for that reaction. So, for now, he decided to blame it on the alcohol and give it another try tomorrow.

Sanji thought Zoro was being mean, giving him the silent treatment like that. He lit up a cigarette to calm himself down and exhaled the smoke. The familiar burn soothed him. “I thought you’d be all over my throat right now,” he slurred.

Zoro’s reply was dry. “Why’d you do that for?”

“Told you. It was an accident.”

The swordsman sighed audibly, clearly frustrated. Maybe he doesn’t believe it, Sanji thought. Does he know I did it on purpose? But Zoro didn’t push it; instead, he just went silent again and continued walking. This restrained side of Zoro’s anger was unfamiliar, much worse to deal with than what Sanji was used to.

He wanted the old version back. “Go ahead, marimo, do your worst,” Sanji teased. “The booze I had might put us on equal footing.”

Zoro didn’t take the bait. His tone was annoyed, “Back off, cook. I just want to get to the ship so I can change.”

Sanji’s temper was rising again.

“Are you that eager to go back to that loser?”

Zoro rolled his lone eye. “Why do you care?”

“I don’t!” the cook protested. He felt like he was being backed into a corner, but didn’t want to be left alone with his thoughts again, so he blurted out the pettiest thing his mind could conjure. “Well, you should thank me, that guy was ugly anyway.”

Zoro scoffed, “He wasn’t.”

Sanji’s blood boiled. “He was!” he bit back like a stubborn child.

“What do you know?” Zoro was now positively irritated. How was it possible that the cook always managed to push his buttons? “Of course you think that, you’re not into men!”

Sanji wanted to protest, say he didn’t need to like men to know when they were objectively beautiful; in fact, for Zoro’s information, he did find some guys attractive, yes, he had a whole list of attractive guys he could name, except for the fact that at this exact moment only one popped in his head, not that it meant anything, of course, because, again: he didn’t like men. But his ears went red at this train of thought, and he decided he had embarrassed himself enough for one night and maybe, just maybe, the most intelligent thing he could do at that moment was to shut up, since the Sunny was already in sight.

Zoro was taking his wet shirt off when he heard the knock on his door. There was no wait, no manners this time, though. The door was thrust open before he could even say anything.

The cook was standing at the frame, his hand still holding the doorknob.

“You’re so stubborn,” Zoro complained. “I told you to go straight to bed.”

“Don’t go back to the bar.”

The swordsman stepped back. “What?”

“Don’t go back to the bar,” the cook just repeated, as if the problem was with Zoro’s hearing and not with that nonsensical request. He stepped inside the room, and the air in there seemed to suddenly vanish.

There was an urgency in Sanji’s eyes. His cheeks were flushed, his chest rising and falling frantically. Zoro was starting to worry. “Why?”

“Don’t go back to him.”

The swordsman swallowed. “You’re not making sense,” he managed to blurt out, but he could feel his brain shutting down because Sanji took another two steps and closed the distance between them.

They were face-to-face now, closer than they’ve ever been, even closer than in a fight. He could hear Sanji’s pounding heartbeat, and his own pulse rising too to match him.

Zoro couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. If he dared to, the spell would be broken.

“Stay here instead.” Sanji pleaded. “With me.”

And Zoro admits—it was his gaze that dropped from the cook’s eyes to the flushed lips that let out shaky breaths.

But it was Sanji who leaned in first.

Chapter Text

Zoro wasn't surprised to wake up alone in his bed.

He rolled over, eyes still closed, and inhaled the lingering scent left in his sheets; it smelled of tobacco and something spicy, warm and inviting. Fuck. Memories of the previous night flooded him like water bursting through a dam, and the idea of getting up and facing the aftermath of those events was too heavy a weight to lift.

Sanji leaned in. His mouth met Zoro’s in an anxious, lingering kiss, and for a moment Zoro didn't react, overwhelmed by surprise. But when Sanji placed his shaky hands on the sides of Zoro’s ribs and pulled closer, the clash of their bodies struck him like lightning.

He cupped Sanji’s face with both hands, deepening their kiss, his tongue slipping between the other's teeth with urgency. Zoro could feel the warmth of alcohol in his breath and wanted to drown in that taste. His heart skipped a beat when Sanji's fingers dug into his bare skin.

“Fuck,” Zoro pulled back for a second to catch his breath. The cook's face was flushed, his eyes still closed; while Zoro watched, a crease formed between Sanji's brows.

“What am I doing?” Sanji whispered to himself, his voice rushed.

Zoro wasn't sure either, but didn't want him to stop. He pressed his forehead against Sanji's and inhaled, taking it all in, trying to burn this moment into his memory and convince himself it was real: Sanji's scent, the shake in his breath, his taste in Zoro's mouth.

Sanji’s hands slid up the swordsman’s chest and met at the back of his neck to pull him into another kiss that he immediately returned.

Without parting their lips, Zoro grabbed Sanji's waist with both hands, pushed him against the wardrobe, and crushed his own body against the other’s. He slid one of his legs between the cook’s thighs, pinning him against the doors. Sanji was grateful, because his legs were about to give out—and considering they were the strongest part of his body, that said everything about marimo’s effect on him.

Zoro put one hand over Sanji's throat. Tilting the cook's head back, he kissed and licked from under his ear to the curve of his neck, digging into the collar of the shirt.

Sanji moaned.

The sound was so hot it could’ve made Zoro drop dead on the spot. After all the efforts the cook had made to kill him, this was the method that would finally succeed: moaning in his ear. Zoro pressed harder against Sanji.

“This isn't—fuck, stop,” Sanji suddenly pushed his hands against Zoro’s chest, shoving him aside. His voice was urgent and high-pitched.

Zoro took a step back, surprised. Both were panting. It took a few seconds, but the evident distress in Sanji's face grounded him again. The cook had his eyes squeezed shut and a hand touching his own hair; he was shaking.

Sanji crossed the short space of Zoro's bedroom and sat on the edge of the bed. He leaned forward. He planted his elbows on his knees and lifted his hands to hide his face.

“I don't—shit! Shit. You’re fucking with my head.”

“Cook, are you okay?” was the only thing Zoro managed to ask. He cursed at himself for the stupid question, since the answer was right in front of him, but so much had happened in the last minutes that he found it hard to be at the top of his intellectual game.

“No.”

Zoro had a tight feeling in his chest. Did he push too far? It was Sanji who started their kiss, wasn't it?

He took two steps closer and kneeled in front of Sanji. They would be eye to eye like this, if only the cook lowered his hands and looked at him. He was painfully aware of how unfamiliar this situation was, how much of a shift it was from their usual dynamic, but he needed to know, “Did I do something wrong?”

“No,” Sanji shook his head. His voice was weak. “It's not your fault. I'm just… I don't know what's happening to me.” He finally dropped his hands to his lap.

When his eyes met Zoro's, the swordsman saw something that he’d never seen before, even after all those years facing pirates that combined were worth billions of berries: Sanji looked scared. “My head's been a mess lately.”

Zoro held the gaze for a while, silent. He was not good at these things—talking and comforting others. For the first time in his life, he wished it came easier to him; he wished to know the right words to say, the right thing to do.

“You should rest, cook. You’ve had too much to drink,” he offered, placing his hand on Sanji's knee. It seemed like a safe, comforting gesture. “It’ll feel better in the morning. Then we can…” he stopped mid-sentence. They could, what? Talk about it? “We’ll see.”
Sanji nodded.

“You’re probably right.”

When Sanji accepted the suggestion, Zoro expected him to stand up and leave to find his own bed. Not that Zoro wanted Sanji to go; it was the opposite, in fact, but he thought the cook was uncomfortable in his presence and would prefer to spend the rest of the night in the privacy of his room.

So he snapped his mouth shut when Sanji took off his shoes instead and lay on the bed. He rolled to his side, facing the wall, and closed his eyes.

“Fuck, I'm exhausted,” Sanji grumbled.

All Zoro could do was watch with disbelief. The image of Sanji lying on his bed was not news to his imagination, if he was being honest. But the fact that it was happening now, in front of him, after such an unexpected turn of events, was baffling.

“It’s creepy if you just stand there,” Sanji complained. His voice was softer now. He reminded Zoro of a pet curling up to sleep. “You can lie down, too. I won't freak out.”

It was as if someone had pulled the plug on his consciousness.

Don't think about it.

He conjured all his brain power to move in the direction of the bed and lie down on his back next to the cook. Zoro breathed in and out slowly, stiff as a board.

“Marimo… Will you stay here?”

Zoro blinked. Was Sanji still worried about that? As if Zoro could go back to the bar, hell, as if Zoro could do anything but just stare blankly at the ceiling and try to process the fact that Sanji turned his whole world upside down in a matter of minutes and was now falling asleep at his side.

He urged his stupid heart to slow down.

“I'm not going anywhere.”

“Morning,” Zoro greeted as he entered the galley. It was after ten; the sunrays shone through the circular windows, making the whole room bright with light. His crewmates had already eaten breakfast, and the table had already been cleaned; there was only one plate left for him, with pork sandwiches neatly cut into triangles.

The only people in the room were Sanji, preparing what seemed like a marinade at the counter, and Brook, washing the dishes. Zoro rested his swords against the table.

“Good morning, Zoro-san,” the skeleton replied.

Sanji didn’t say anything, nor even glance at Zoro to acknowledge his presence. The swordsman furrowed his brows at that.

He walked in Sanji’s direction and leaned the side of his body against the counter, next to where Sanji was adding another pinch of pepper to a bowl. The cook kept mixing, still trying to avoid any reaction even though Zoro was so close that he could feel the warmth of his body and the same scent he had slept to the night before.

Zoro crossed his arms. “How are you feeling?”

“Me?” Sanji shot him a murderous look, then turned his head quickly to see if Brook was paying attention to them. “I’m fine.”

Zoro clicked his tongue. He edged around Sanji to get to his other side and touched Brook’s bony elbow. “I got this, Brook.”

“Are you sure, Zoro-san? I'm almost done,” he asked, but Zoro nodded and gently took the sponge from his hands. Brook smiled. “Thank you.”

The skeleton understood his cue; he grabbed his violin and left the galley humming. Zoro started washing the remaining dishes.

“What the hell, marimo?” Sanji shot as soon as the door closed behind Brook. “Talking to me like that in front of the crew.”

Zoro wanted to argue that the cook was being dramatic, but since almost all of their interactions consisted of bantering, it was possible that the way he had spoken would draw the attention of more observant crew members. “I was just checking on you,” he offered instead.

Sanji’s voice was cold. “I said I’m fine.”

They fell into uncomfortable silence again. Zoro noticed Sanji was tapping his feet, as if anxious to be done with the preparation he was working on. He clearly showed no indication of wanting to talk, but Zoro was not capable of moving on with his life without any mention of what had happened just a few hours before.

He finished rinsing the last pan, turned off the tap, and dried his hands on his clothes. Taking a deep breath, he turned to look at the other.

“About last night, I—”

Sanji scoffed, his eyes still locked on the food before him.

“Shit, I was so hammered. Can't remember a thing,” he cut off before Zoro could finish his sentence.

The swordsman blinked, stunned. Then his jaw tightened.

“Fuck you. You’re not playing that card.”

Sanji shrugged. “I don't know what you mean.”

“You can't be serious,” he squinted.

“I am dead serious,” Sanji retorted, finally turning to look at him with an annoyed expression. His hand was still gripping the counter. “Forget about that, okay? Your breakfast is on the table.”

Zoro’s eyes flickered.

“No. You came to my room last night. You kissed me, remember?” he snapped, stepping closer to Sanji, his voice rising a tone. “Asked me to stay with you. You slept in my fucking bed!”

“Shut up!” Sanji hissed. He shot a cautious look at the door, scared that someone might have heard them.

Zoro lowered his voice again, but his tone was still deep with anger. He put his face closer to Sanji’s. “Does any of that sound familiar?”

“Stop pushing it. Idiot marimo.”

“I will when you stop lying.”

Sanji shut his eyes and ran his hands through his hair, trying to calm down. He needed a smoke again. In fact, he had been going through his supply twice as fast as usual; if they didn’t reach land soon, he would run out of cigarettes, and his only other option would be to beg Chopper to knock him into an induced coma.

He opened his eyes. Zoro was still waiting, but he had backed off.

“Why does it matter? I told you to forget about it!”

The swordsman scoffed and shook his head in frustration, shooting Sanji a disappointed look that carved a hole in the cook’s chest. He went to grab his swords that rested by the table.

“You're a joke.”

“Fuck off,” Sanji retorted, but Zoro was already storming out.

The door crashed shut behind him.

Zoro didn’t show up in the galley for the rest of the day.

He was so pissed at the cook that he couldn’t even take his routine naps on the deck; his mind would repeat their dialogue every time he closed his eyes, leaving him irritated and energetic, and ruining any attempt he made to relax. Nami called him out for his attitude when she tried to ask him why he hadn’t returned to the bar the night before, to which he responded that she should mind her own damn business. So, to avoid creating even more conflict with other crewmates, he decided to keep to himself at the gym. He had spent the whole day training, trying to exhaust his body until he wouldn’t have the energy to think once he hit the bed.

It was probably because he refused to eat all day, but the loads he was used to pressing felt much heavier. He was lying on the bench midway through his set, sweat rolling down his forehead, when he heard footsteps.

“Hey. You didn't show up for lunch and dinner,” Usopp’s voice surprised him.

Zoro finished the two remaining reps before answering. “Not hungry.”

“You sure? Sanji asked me to bring this to you.”

Sanji. Zoro’s chest tightened. He didn’t sit up.

“Give it to Luffy. Bet he still has room for it.”

“Of course he does, it's Luffy we're talking about.” Usopp chuckled. Zoro just stared at the ceiling, absent-minded, trying to catch his breath to start a new set. He could feel Usopp’s eyes studying him. “Hey… are you okay?”

“I’m fine, Usopp,” he reassured.

A few seconds of silence, then the sniper asked, trying to be empathetic, “Are you still mad at Sanji for ruining last night?”

Zoro froze. It took him a couple of seconds to understand Usopp wasn’t talking about what happened in his room—of course, because how could he know about that—but rather about the cook spilling the drink on him at the bar. It felt like that scene happened ages ago.

“Something like this,” Zoro shrugged, hoping that would be enough to get Usopp to stop talking.

“Well, go easy on him. I think he feels guilty.”

“Why do you say that?” Zoro furrowed his brows.

“I dunno.” Usopp’s voice was casual, like he wasn’t giving that much thought to what he was saying. “He made sea king for dinner. Isn't that your favorite?”

Low blow. It was, indeed, Zoro’s favorite. Why would the stupid cook do that?

“I'm always mad at him anyway.” Zoro grabbed the bar and lifted it over his chest again to start a new set. “No difference.”

“Yeah… you’ve got a point,” the other agreed. “Okay, let me know if you want to talk about anything. I’m gonna go give this to Luffy.”

Zoro nodded. He heard Usopp’s footsteps fading away in the distance as he walked down the corridor.

His stomach growled.

It was Robin who was supposed to be on lookout duty but, when Zoro entered his room after showering and realized the sheets still reeked of Sanji’s scent, he decided he wasn't going to manage to fall asleep in his own bed. He asked her to trade shifts.

The night was bright and warm like the one before. Zoro sat on the deck in his usual spot, back against the rails, his three swords by his side. His eye was closed. He shouldn't, but it would be easy to take a nap there, where the air was fresh without any hint of cigarettes.

Unfortunately, his luck didn't last. He heard someone approach him and stop by his side.

A lighter clicked. Then the sound of an inhale, and an exhale.

“So, what's your plan? Starve yourself to death to make a statement?”

Zoro opened a slit of his eye to look up at Sanji. He towered over him in the moonlight, wearing the usual white shirt and black pants.

“Not eating any of your crap until you start telling the truth.”

Sanji scoffed.

“You're so damn stubborn.”

Zoro closed his eye again and crossed his arms over his chest, pretending to go back to his nap, even though he was painfully aware of Sanji's presence and even the faintest sound he made.

The cook took a drag, and then another; he smoked so quietly for a minute that Zoro thought he had given up on saying anything. But, after a deep exhale, he asked quietly, “Why is this so important to you?”

Zoro knew the answer to that question. He looked up to Sanji and raised his chin.

“You don't get to use me and play dumb the next day.”

“Use you?” Sanji raised his eyebrows.

“Admit it. You had a few and you were curious, so you came onto me. You didn't like it. Fine. You're not into that.” Zoro’s voice was sharp. He didn't flinch. “But you knew what you were doing. You didn't forget shit.”

Sanji held Zoro's gaze for a while, mulling the words he had just heard. Maybe it was the cigarette, or the warm night, or the fact that they were alone on the deck without anyone to overhear them. Maybe it was because Zoro didn't mock him and didn't tell anyone about what happened between them; whatever the reason, Sanji wasn’t as anxious as he had been in the morning, so he thought he could handle this with more maturity this time.

“You're right. I shouldn't have lied,” he admitted. “I remember what happened.”

“Thank you,” Zoro's voice was heavy with sarcasm. “Was that so hard?”

“A little.”

The swordsman sighed and threw his head back to stare at the full moon, high in the sky.

“I get it, cook. It didn't mean anything,” he reassured. “Relax.”

“Yeah…” Sanji agreed. There was a hint of hesitation in his voice that puzzled Zoro. “Can we put this in the past now?”

“Sure. Whatever,” Zoro shrugged, closing his eye again. He hoped that would be enough to signal the cook that he was done with the conversation.

He heard the sound of Sanji shuffling in his pocket, then placing something next to Zoro's stretched leg. Zoro didn't peek to see what it was until he was sure the other was gone for long enough.

Carefully wrapped inside a napkin, Sanji had left him three sea king oniguiri.

Chapter Text

After all the ups and downs with Zoro, they had settled back into a routine. Meals were shared in the galley, with Zoro complaining about the cooking and then asking for seconds. No awkward conversations. No hunger strikes. No drunken antics to pretend he’d forgotten. Zoro never mentioned anything that happened between them again, and apparently didn't talk about it to anyone; none of their crewmates asked Sanji anything, nor showed signs of knowing.

Half of Sanji was relieved: he didn’t need more reminders of that night. But the rest wasn’t so sure. Alone in bed, memories of their kiss clawed at him, leaving questions he didn’t know how to answer. He feared the image he liked to paint of himself wasn't the real Sanji.

It was after one particularly rough night that Sanji approached Zoro on the deck. He was taking his afternoon nap, the lazy marimo. Sanji nudged his shin, just enough to wake him.

“Will you fight me? I need to clear my head for a while.”

It wasn't the idea that was out of the ordinary, but rather the way the request was phrased. Usually, when one of them wanted a fight, they would start with a ridiculous taunt and escalate it. But maybe Zoro sensed that something was off with Sanji this time, and didn't question further. He grabbed the swords by his side and got up from the ground.

“My pleasure.”

When they docked for a couple of days in peaceful islands, which was the case this time, Sanji would often let the crew eat and drink more than usual to compensate for the more restricted diet they followed when at sea. After all, besides cooking every meal with enough nutrients to make everyone healthy and strong, it was his responsibility to manage and, if needed, ration the food to ensure they wouldn't starve.

He would always explain this reasoning to Luffy when he begged for more, to which the captain would argue that they could always resort to their emergency food, also known as Tony Tony Chopper, until Sanji finally decided he’d had enough of that and it was time to kick Luffy out of the galley.

It took only a couple more days for their food supply to run low, so he had to stop by the island's market again. It was Franky who was helping him with shopping this morning.

“How much for the apples?” Sanji asked the vendor at the fruit stand. It was a beautiful woman with blonde, wavy hair and brown eyes. She wore a green apron around her waist.

“400.”

“And the cherries?”

“700 for the small bag,” she replied. Her tone was sweet and patient as she gave him a shy smile.

Franky observed the scene in puzzled silence. She was the kind of woman Sanji would usually be throwing compliments at and swooning for, but the cook just scratched his chin absent-mindedly.

“That's expensive. I wanted to bake a pie…”

“They don't grow on the island, sir, so we have to import them. But I can give you a discount…” she suggested. Her voice rushed as she continued, “How's 550 and a coffee for the cherries?”

“A coffee?” Sanji jerked his head up to look at her, a look of surprise stamped on his face.

Her cheeks turned pink. “I close the stand at five. If you meet me here, we can grab something in the market’s café.”

Sanji blinked and finally seemed to realize the person in front of him. His face went red. He clumsily reached into his pockets, pulled a couple of bills to pay her, then inhaled hard to recompose and channel his most charismatic self.

“It’s a date, my love,” Sanji took her hand as he gave her the money, brought it to his lips, and kissed it gently.

There he is, Franky thought.

She chuckled, bringing her free hand to cover her mouth. “I’m Lena, by the way.”

“Sanji. I'll see you at five.”

Training with Zoro in the afternoon had become a consistent event, to the point that it quickly became one of the favorite parts of Sanji's day, probably because it was the only way he felt comfortable spending time alone with him without overthinking and spiraling to madness. They would spar until they were both worn out, and then Sanji would go straight to the bathrooms to take a shower and cool his head off from seeing shirtless marimo panting and covered in sweat.

That day was no different. It was hot, but they could always count on the sea breeze to cool off. Zoro was fighting with only one sword, practicing his ittoryu.

Sanji saw an opening. He spun and aimed his heel at the left side of Zoro's unprotected ribcage. The kick was strong enough to send the swordsman flying if it landed. But, instead of jumping back and parrying the blow with the sword, like Sanji expected, Zoro used his free hand to grab Sanji's leg by the shin and stop him in place.

The unexpected touch sent shivers up Sanji's leg. He stared at Zoro. He looked… different. His face was brighter, with sharper lines. Even with sweat dripping from his jaw, he looked clean; his hair was neat, instead of the usual green mess.

He was so damn handsome that Sanji froze for a fraction of a second.

Zoro spun the sword in his other hand, blade facing backward, and hit Sanji hard in the face with the hilt. The cook fell on his back, holding his mouth with his hand.

"Fuck,” Sanji groaned, looking at the wide blue sky above him. He was seeing stars.

Zoro kneeled beside him immediately.

“Shit! Why didn't you duck?” he demanded, pulling Sanji's hand to see the damage he had caused. His eye widened when he saw the small trail of red on the cook's lip. “Chopper!”

Sanji shook his head.

“No need for that. I'm okay.”

“I thought you'd dodge,” Zoro explained apologetically. He ran his thumb over Sanji's lip to clean the blood, and Sanji's heart skipped a beat. “You're always so fast.”

The sunlight poured behind Zoro, forming a halo around the face that studied the cook with a worried look. Sanji could swear he was seeing a fucking angel.

“What?” the swordsman asked, flustered by the other's intense gaze.

“Did you do something with your hair?”

A rosy tint spread across Zoro's cheeks. His hand went up to scratch his neck. “Nami cut it for me this morning.”

Sanji nodded, still a little lightheaded.

“You look good.”

An amused scoff. “How hard did I hit you?”

There was a playful smile in Zoro's eyes. The blonde blinked twice and looked back at the sky. Not hard enough, considering I'm still awake and talking stupid shit.

“Sanji!” Chopper's voice burst their bubble. “What did I tell you two? Stop hurting each other, or we'll have a problem when we actually go against enemies!”

“I didn't mean to—”

“I'm fine, Chopper, I swear.” Sanji cut Zoro off. “It was my fault.”

The reindeer shot Zoro a disapproving look, then turned to the cook to analyze his wounds. His small paws pulled the hurt lips to see better and pressed them lightly. Sanji didn't flinch.

“It's just a small cut on the inside, no need for stitches.” He grabbed a piece of cotton from his bag, rolled it into a ball, and placed it inside Sanji's mouth. “Just sit down and press it there to stop the bleeding.”

Chopper helped him sit up.

“Thank you, Chopper.”

“And enough bantering for today, you two! Doctor's orders.”

Sanji sighed and nodded. Time to call it a day; he needed a cold shower. “I'll get back at you tomorrow, marimo.”

When Sanji knocked on Zoro’s door that night, he didn’t answer.

Sanji knew he couldn’t be sleeping, because it wasn’t too late in the night yet—and, even so, a knock would usually be enough to wake him up, since the swordsman was always alert to possible enemy attacks, regardless of the hour of the day. So, he turned the knob slowly and pushed open the door.

Zoro’s room was empty, as expected. It smelled like him. The sheets were rumpled on his twin-sized bed, there were some dirty-looking clothes in a pile on the chair, and sitting against the wall next to the headboard was a bottle of an alcoholic beverage. Sanji snorted.

He walked inside, closing the door behind him. It felt like he was doing something forbidden, invading Zoro’s space like this. He stretched his arm to touch the wardrobe he had been pushed against when they kissed, and something fluttered in his stomach.

It was so absurd, the way the memory was enough to cause the physical reaction he spent the whole evening chasing.

Sanji sat on Zoro’s bed and closed his eyes, inhaling the musky air of the room. He fished a cigarette from his pack and burned to see if it helped him think straight.

Just a couple of hours ago, Sanji had gone back to the market to meet the woman from the fruit stand as they had agreed in the morning. They grabbed coffee, and he walked her home, and they kissed when he left her at her front door. She smelled like peaches in the sun; Sanji put his hands around her waist and pulled her closer, and she leaned against his chest. She was kind, warm, perfect—but his pulse hadn’t raced, his chest hadn’t jumped.

And yet here, in Zoro’s room, his body remembered everything.

“Can’t you smoke in your own room?” a voice cut through his thoughts.

Sanji turned to the door. He wasn't nervous or confused like the last time he came to Zoro's room, but he still felt his heart race when he found the swordsman entering the room half-naked, only covered by a towel hanging around his waist. His hair was wet and water droplets ran down his shoulders.

“I had to light one. Where were you?” Sanji stammered, looking away.

“Showering. Isn’t that obvious?”

“With that?” the cook asked indignantly, pointing to the three swords Zoro was carrying in his hand. He was glad to find the information unhinged enough to distract him from the tanned abs in front of him for a while.

Zoro closed the door and laid them against the wall next to it.

“I don’t shower with them, idiot. I just keep them in reach.”

“Well, it took you long enough.” Sanji retorted. He focused on Zoro's face to recollect himself. “But I guess it makes sense, if you only wash yourself once a week.”

Zoro shot him a look of contempt and went to fetch something from the wardrobe, turning his back. “Hope you didn’t break into my room just to thrash-talk me.”

“The door wasn’t locked,” Sanji corrected. He watched Zoro's back muscles contract and relax as he shuffled through the clothes. “But no. I wanted to talk.”

“Yeah? So talk.”

Sanji breathed in and out slowly. “I realized I never said I'm sorry.”

Zoro stopped for a second and turned his head just slightly. “For what?”

“For lying. Saying I didn't remember what happened.”

The swordsman pulled a pair of comfortable pants from his wardrobe and put them on, dropping the towel he was using to hide his legs and showing his naked back. Nudity wasn't news for them—they had been to baths and saunas together with the other guys in the crew. But they were alone now, and they had kissed before, and Sanji was just a man after all, so he fought the urge to light up another cigarette because he didn't want to start a fight.

If Zoro found that weird in any way, he didn't show. Tying the string of the pants around his waist, he turned to face Sanji again.

“Never expected an apology.” He shrugged. “I just wanted honesty.”

“Still, I’m sorry for the way I acted,” Sanji held the gaze. “You deserved better.”

Zoro's eye widened. Those words were so unexpected that he had to stop for a while to process them. He studied Sanji's face, trying to understand what he meant, as if his eyes could reveal his true intentions, but once again Zoro realized he wasn't good at that—reading others.

The cook was watching him with expectation. Zoro moved to sit on the bed next to Sanji. Their arms didn't touch, but Sanji could feel the space between them crackle with electricity.

“I was… hard on you,” Zoro finally broke the silence. “It isn't easy, figuring this shit out. I shouldn't have pushed it.”

Sanji turned his head to look at Zoro's profile. He was once again distracted by the beautiful lines of his face: his chin, his cheekbones, his nose.

“Yeah… I was confused. It threw me off.”

Still staring ahead, Zoro let out a faint smile.

“I get it. But no need to overthink anymore, curly,” his tone was playful. “Now you’re sure of what you like and what you don't.”

Sanji swallowed. The idiot marimo still didn't get it. “You got that part wrong.”

“What?”

“The kiss. You think I didn't like it?” his voice was lower now, like he was confessing a secret, but there was no hesitation.

Zoro turned his head to face Sanji. His mouth went dry all of a sudden. “Did you?”

Sanji scoffed and looked away for a second. Then his eyes went back to the swordsman. “I tried to deny it. Told myself a thousand times that it meant nothing.”

None of them said anything for a few seconds as the words sank in.

Zoro shook his head. He didn’t want any more drama; he was afraid that their dynamic wouldn’t be able to recover from another wave of impulsive actions and subsequent denial. He furrowed his brows and faced forward again, bringing his right hand to massage his temples in an attempt to soothe himself.

“Are you drunk today?”

“No—” he felt Sanji's light touch on his wrist, but the contact made him instantly pull away from the cook.

“Don't do this to me again.”

He heard Sanji exhale sharply.

“Zoro… I was a dick, and I'm sorry. I really am.” The sound of his name coming from the cook’s mouth sent shivers down Zoro’s spine. “If you want me out of here, say the word and I’ll leave.”

Zoro didn’t respond. It was not what he wanted.

“But I’m not playing this time,” Sanji finished. He rested his forehead on Zoro’s shoulder, inhaling the unusual scent of soap from his bare skin, and once again tried to reach the swordsman's hand with his own. This time, though, there was no rejection.

Zoro turned his head to bury his nose in Sanji’s hair. “You’ll change your mind in the morning.”

The cook pulled back just a few inches to raise his chin and look him in the eyes.

“I’m done lying. To both of us.”

Zoro scoffed, though a humor-laced smirk played across his face.

“Sounds too good to be true,” he replied, and let go of Sanji's hand. The gesture made the cook's heart sink, but the emptiness didn't last, because the next second Zoro's thumb came to stroke the swelling in his lip caused by their fight that same day. It was barely noticeable, but they were so close Zoro could see it. “Sorry for this.”

Sanji couldn't come up with anything to reply; he just blinked, his mind completely taken by the heat in his lower belly caused by Zoro's rough finger over his mouth again. There it is, he thought, the spark. This was the touch his body craved for, the feeling he had been trying to replicate since the night after the bar.

He closed his eyes. Zoro’s hand cupped his chin, and they kissed again. This time, there was no urgency, no turmoil in Sanji’s mind. Only his body burning everywhere they touched, his heart pounding, and a yearning to pull closer.

He shifted, one hand sliding behind Zoro’s neck, the other brushing over the abs he’d dreamed about too many times. Zoro sighed, satisfied, and grabbed Sanji by the slim waist like he weighed nothing to pull him to straddle his lap.

Sanji moaned again—and that, Zoro was certain, was going to be the end of him. The sound alone in the position they were in was enough to make him grow hard.

He stopped their kiss for a moment to catch his breath.

"Want me to stop?”

“Fuck, no—” Sanji thrusted his hips harder against Zoro's, and the swordsman reacted with a low, guttural sound that melted something inside him. “I'll kill you if you do.”

Zoro half-laughed against Sanji’s neck and kissed his collarbone, still not believing his luck. His hands rushed to work the buttons of the white shirt.

He was going to give Sanji a night he’d have a hard time pretending to forget.

Chapter Text

Zoro was not surprised to wake up to an empty bed again, but the traces of another man's presence were all around the room: a single blonde hair on the pillow, Zoro's clothes scattered around where he’d thrown them carelessly, the stub of a cigarette lit after sex.

He headed to the galley to find not only the cook, busy with some meal preparation at the counter, but also Robin and Chopper. The two sat at the table, two books opened in front of them and another four piled up. It was Robin’s turn to do the dishes; five summoned hands were busy washing and drying the plates.

“Morning, marimo. Is this a special day?” The cook greeted him.

Zoro eyed him with suspicion, trying to gauge what version of Sanji he was getting that morning, and caught the hint of a smirk.

“Not particularly… Why?”

“Well, you're wearing something for once.”

The cook always scolded him for sitting shirtless at the table, claiming it was ogre behavior and that he didn't have any manners. This time, though, they were both well aware that Zoro had no option but to go fully clothed if he wanted to avoid questions about the scratches and hickeys all over his chest and back.

He glanced at Robin and Chopper warily, then squinted at Sanji. “Shut up, shit-cook.”

Sanji had the nerve to chuckle. Zoro cocked his head at the audacity, but knowing he couldn't give Sanji the answer he deserved without the others hearing, he decided to drop it just for the moment.

He asked Chopper what they were doing instead, just to shift the focus of his attention, and then tuned the doctor out as he sat at the end of the table and ate the tamagoyaki left on a plate for him. After a couple of minutes, Robin’s hands finished drying the set of plates and cutlery. Sanji showered her with thanks and compliments as she left with Chopper and their books to continue their studies in the ship’s library.

Zoro stood from the chair to bring his own utensils to the sink next to where Sanji was working.

“You noticed the shirt, huh?” he asked as he rinsed the plate he used. “Didn't seem to have a problem with me being naked yesterday.”

Sanji rolled his eyes, feigning annoyance, but Zoro noticed the heat on his cheeks.

“Ugh. You’re such a brute.”

“And you’re clever, cornering me in front of Robin and Chopper.”

“Everyone’d notice if I suddenly stopped with the taunting,” Sanji reasoned, half-focused on the food in front of him. “Plus, I like doing it.”

Zoro pursed his lips to hide a smile at that last part. He dried his hands on his pants and turned his front to the cook.

“What are you doing there?” He pointed his chin at the tray of sweets Sanji was making. He was always preparing something; the work required to keep the strawhats well-fed seemed never-ending. “We just finished breakfast.”

Sanji opened the drawer beside Zoro’s leg to fetch a small spoon to spread chocolate on the top of the sweet. His hand briefly touched the swordsman's thigh, and Zoro thought it was pathetic that he got the thrills from just that.

“Just a batch of éclairs for later,” Sanji explained. “Chopper said he'd been craving some.”

Zoro nodded and observed him work in silence for a couple of minutes. His fingers were delicate and agile, completely opposite from Zoro's big, calloused hands. His eyes were fixed on the pastry, brows furrowed with concentration; he was so absorbed that he didn't seem bothered by having an observer.

“Hand me the hazelnuts, will you?” Sanji asked. “They’re in the pantry, second shelf to the right.”

Zoro nodded and walked away to do as he was told. The galley was the only place Sanji could boss him around and get away with it, or at least that's what he liked to tell himself. A combination lock and a chain held the door closed. He shook it to make noise and turned his head to say, “Locked.”

“Oh, right.” Sanji dropped the spoon he was holding next to the tray and came closer. “Never mind then, leave it to me.”

“Just tell me the password,” Zoro grunted, but Sanji pushed him aside and started turning the numbers to line up the correct combinations.

“In your dreams.”

The lock clicked open and Sanji pushed the door to enter the small, dimly lit space.

“Mm,” Zoro hummed, his voice suggestive as he followed Sanji inside. The cook started rummaging through different-sized glass jars filled with ingredients Zoro couldn't name. “I don't get any pantry privileges? After all, I'm sleeping with the cook.”

Sanji stopped in his tracks. He let out a sharp breath. “Sleeping? We only did that once,” he corrected.

“So…” Zoro stepped closer—too fucking close, Sanji thought. His eyes fluttered shut as two rough fingers skimmed down his back, dragging heat through the thin fabric of his shirt. When Zoro spoke again, his voice was a husky whisper in Sanji’s ear. “Not happening again?”

Shivers ran down Sanji’s spine as he turned to face him.

“I didn’t say—” but he stopped short when he opened his eyes and found Zoro’s mouth dangerously close.

He swallowed.

“You wanted pantry privileges?” Sanji asked, eyes fixed on Zoro's lips. “Close the door.”

Zoro smirked and rushed to follow the orders for the second time, like the obedient dog he was. When he turned back around, the cook was already pulling the front of his shirt to crash their bodies in a kiss, urgent and hungry like it always was when Sanji took the lead. Zoro slid his hands under Sanji's shirt and dug his fingers into the warm skin of his lower back, pulling closer.

The grind of their hips was enough to make Sanji dizzy. He slipped his tongue deeper inside Zoro's mouth; he wanted to make the kiss deeper, filthier—

He felt like he was pushed from the edge of a cliff when they both heard a voice coming from the galley.

“Saaaanjiiii,” Luffy called loudly, “Where are you?”

Zoro stepped back, alarmed. Sanji leaned against the wall, dizzy from the sudden distance, and raked his hands through his hair.

“I'm so hungry…” the captain whined like a child.

Sanji shook his head to ground himself again.

“That’s impossible!” he shouted, still a little strained. He prayed his voice wouldn't betray him. “You just had breakfast!”

“I need more…” Luffy argued. Sanji heard a thump against the pantry door that he assumed was him hitting his head dramatically. “Hey, have you seen Zoro? He left his swords here.”

“I'm here,” Zoro replied.

Sanji’s eyes widened, but Zoro made a hand sign telling him to wait.

“Zoro!” Luffy’s tone was excited now. “How’d you get Sanji to let you in there?”

The swordsman inhaled and exhaled slowly to steady his breath, then opened the door in a single confident movement.

“He asked me to kill a bug.” Zoro’s voice was casual. Then he smirked like he was telling Luffy a joke. “Did you know the love-cook is afraid of spiders?”

“I'm not—” Sanji started to protest, but Zoro raised his eyebrows at him defiantly. He wanted to kick the expression out of that idiot marimo’s face. “It was a big one.”

Luffy glanced between them, oblivious to whatever he’d just interrupted.

“Can I eat those?” He pointed with his thumb to the batch of éclairs Sanji had been working on.

“Absolutely not! They're for later,” he sighed. “Luffy, go wait on the deck and I'll bring you something, okay?”

“Okaaay.” The captain whined again. He started dragging his slippers across the floor as he made his way to the exit. “Don't take too long or I will die.”

The cook waited until Luffy was far enough to cross his arms and complain, “Kill a bug?”

Zoro shrugged. “It worked.”

“Do you think he noticed?” Sanji asked, but the stare he got in return was enough to reach the conclusion that the question was stupid. “Yeah, you’re right. It's Luffy.”

Sanji walked back to the counter. Zoro came closer again, but kept a safe distance this time. “Still want any help?” he asked.

“No, I’m almost done.” Sanji shook his head, “And you distract me. Go somewhere else.”

Zoro huffed a laugh, grabbed his swords, and left Sanji alone to finish his job.

From that day on, Sanji didn't knock anymore.

Zoro started leaving his door unlocked. Sometime in the night, Sanji would slip in, no questions asked, unless one of them was on duty. He learned to recognize every step in the hall, every creak of the floorboards, building anticipation for the moment Sanji slid into his bed.

Their dance always followed the same pattern: it started with sarcastic jabs, just for the thrill of it. It was familiar, helped ease the mood, but it was also foreplay at this point. The taunts didn’t lead to fights anymore, though. Instead, they ended with Sanji’s legs locked around Zoro’s hips. It was rough and sloppy, and showed a side of Sanji—intense, driven, and unyielding—that Zoro had only ever seen when he was pouring himself into the things he was most passionate about.

But Zoro was terrified of getting his hopes up, so he shoved the thought to the back of his head.

In just a week, Sanji had already become the partner Zoro slept with the most. He’d been with other men in the past, but those were mostly one-night stands; otherwise, three or four times was all he ever managed before setting sail again.

One of those nights, Zoro was on top of Sanji again, the rhythmic sound of panting and bodies crashing muffled by a storm outside. Zoro’s vision blurred, the world narrowing the way it always did when he was close.

“Fuck,” he grunted against Sanji's neck, “you feel so good.”

He’d noticed how Sanji thrived on praise, how one rough word in his ear could tip him over the edge. It was fucking delicious. Sanji let out a whine as his whole body tensed; Zoro was well-versed in his reactions to know it meant he was about to come, too.

“Don’t stop,” Sanji pleaded.

He kept the pace. “Fuck. You’re so—I fucking love this, cook.”

Sanji threw his head back with a ragged moan, lost in it, and Zoro couldn’t hold back any longer.

Later, lying flat on his back, waiting for his heartbeat to settle, Zoro wondered if he’d said too much.

The third and final act of their night routine would always start with Sanji smoking a cigarette after sex and end with him slipping out while Zoro was asleep. Zoro could never tell the exact moment, but even when he waited for Sanji to fall asleep first, there was always some point late at night, or maybe early morning, when Sanji left, and Zoro still woke up alone.

And Zoro didn't want to be greedy, no, he was happy with what he was offered—hell, it was more than he’d ever dared to hope for, but his traitorous mind still pictured how it would be like to open his eyes and see Sanji there beside him: sleepy face, messy hair, and everything he wished he had the right to.

That was probably too much to ask.

Zoro stared at the ceiling, lost in thought. Sanji lay on his stomach next to him, cigarette in one hand, the other tracing idle shapes over Zoro’s shoulders and chest. Zoro had stopped bothering him about the vice; he almost liked these moments now, both lightheaded and relaxed, still naked, smoke spiraling around the room.

“My sleep schedule’s all messed up,” Sanji muttered, fingers drifting over Zoro’s scar. His skin burned under the touch. “And that’s your fault.”

Zoro only watched him take another drag. He didn't give a shit about Sanji's sleep schedule, or his own, or anything else for that matter—not when this felt like his own slice of heaven. He caught Sanji’s hand in his own, pressing his thumbs into the center of the palm before gliding upward to the base of his fingers. The cook quietly took in Zoro’s fingers tracing every crease and ridge, covering each inch of his hand.

When he let go, Sanji lazily reached to stub the cigarette in an ashtray by the window and gave the other hand.

Zoro felt his chest tighten. He started again, repeating the same touches, slow and steady.

And he knew—he was completely fucked.

The following night, when Sanji opened the door earlier than the usual time of their encounters, he found Zoro on the bed, curled up on his side, facing the wall with a pillow over his head. He hadn’t shown up in the galley for dinner, and when Nami asked, Chopper mentioned he’d visited the infirmary earlier for some medicine.

“Are you sleeping already?” Sanji whispered, low enough not to wake him.

“No,” Zoro mumbled, “just resting.”

The bed creaked under Sanji when he sat next to the swordsman.

“If you're tired, I can do most of the work today,” he joked as he put his hand on Zoro's neck—not to tease, but rather to see if his temperature could indicate the start of a fever.

Zoro removed the pillow from his face and put it under his head instead, eyes still closed. “Sorry, cook, not gonna happen. My head is killing me.”

Sanji ran the hand that was on Zoro's neck down his shoulder and stopped at the bulky muscles of his arm. A twinge of disappointment ran through him, even though he knew he had no reason to feel it. “Okay. I'll let you rest, then.”

Zoro turned his head and reached for Sanji’s hand. “You can stay.”

“But you said—”

“That I don't want to fuck, you pervert,” Zoro's tone was impatient. Then, hesitant for a moment, “But you can keep me company.”

Sanji blinked.

“Oh. Okay,” he looked around, unsure of what to do in this case. “Make some room, then.”

Zoro scooted over, satisfied, and snuggled the pillow to make himself comfortable again. The heat of the cook's body when he lay next to him on the bed was awfully familiar.

Something hard pressed against Sanji's neck. He reached to grab it. “What's this?”

“A book.”

“No shit,” Sanji grumbled. “What's it about?”

“Mm…” Zoro started lazily as he moved back to his position facing the wall. “A boy finds a sword that everyone in the village thought to be a myth, so he has to go on a journey to fulfill the prophecy… The sword talks to him, wants to guide him, but he kind of hates it because he's not a swordsman and doesn't want to be a hero.”

Sanji shuffled through the pages, skimming the paragraphs. “Sucks for him.”

“Yeah…”

“And then?”

“He meets a girl, just a couple of years older than him. She had been looking for the sword since she was a kid, so she gets pissed that he found it before her, but eventually agrees to mentor him.”

“Interesting. And what happens next?”

Zoro yawned.

“Lots of stuff, cook. Can’t tell you the whole plot, you’d have to read it.”

“Stupid marimo. Can’t you summarize?” Sanji protested, but the only response he got was a well-humored snort.

Sanji stopped on a page right after the middle that had been dog-eared, because of course the brute marimo wouldn't use a bookmark like any decent person. He unfolded the corner and pressed his thumb to try to remove the crease. In the scene, the hero tried to do something the girl had taught him; he failed over and over again, dozens of times during the whole night, until he finally managed to get it right once when dawn broke. She woke up to find him exhausted, but proud.

“I see why you like this book,” Sanji observed. “You’re just like the boy.”

Zoro shrugged.

“My favorite is actually the girl.”

Sanji tilted his head. “Really? Why?”

“Reminds me of someone.”

The cook furrowed his brows. He knew this had to do with Zoro's past, the part of it he never talked about. He waited for a while to see if there was going to be a follow-up with any further comments, but there wasn't, and Sanji decided not to push it. He didn't want to intrude on a subject so personal.

“Do you want me to read it to you?” Sanji suggested, half because he wanted to break the silence, half because he was actually interested in the story.

“That’d be… nice.”

Sanji nodded and started reading out loud from the top of the page.

The book played like a movie in Zoro's head, narrated by the cook's soft voice. His shoulders sagged. It sent him to such a peaceful state of mind that he felt like he was floating with the boat, his migraine weakening at the second.

Half-asleep, he turned in the bed and wrapped his arm around Sanji’s waist. He felt a hand caressing his hair and gave in to the slumber.