Archive of Our Own ^beta

Shhk, shhk, sh– 

Orange light flicks on and off, illuminating the cook’s face. Eyes downturned and hand cupping his cigarette, Sanji releases a careful sigh of relief as the tip of his smoke stick comes alive. 

“Busy night.” 

Blue eyes flick to the side, a tired smile shifting his expression at the slightest bit. Drowsy eyes meet his, as Sanji turns around to face the swordsman, tracing a step back the lean on the rough railing. 

“Indeed. Can’t complain though, those kids needed it after the horrors that went on in that island.”

The blond breaks eye contact, expression morphing into a look of anguish for a quick moment before schooling his face back into a neutral look. 

Something tells him that the cook isn’t just exhausted because of the celebration. Since travelling through the seas, the crew has encountered evil in different forms. Despite that however, the cook has seemed to be able to compartmentalize better than most of the crew. 

It wasn’t that he saw distress towards these things as a weakness, but after seeing slaves with explosive collars being walked around in Sabaody and all sorts of limbs stitched together in Thriller Bark, Zoro wonders what sets the recent events apart. 

Worry strikes in his heart as he realizes how successful Sanji has been so far with concealing his inner turmoil, escaping everyone’s notice. Escaped everyone’s notice, but his. 

Since discovering what led to the children of Punk Hazard to be an abnormal size– discovering the horrors that Caesar has subjected them to, Zoro started picking up brief signals of uneasiness from the cook.

Shaky breaths, winces, unusual silence– unsteady hands. The tug of concern quickly enveloped the swordsman’s mind. Something’s bothering the cook. 

Never having been adequate with words, Zoro mainly relies on his presence to extend his solace. But with the chaos that inevitably ensues their every adventure, he wasn’t able to stick around Sanji.

Not until now.

So he crosses the space between them, toe to toe in an entirely different context. His heart skips a beat as the cook casts his eyes up at him, blue eyes widening slightly in surprise. They’re usually only ever this close when arguing, physical space disregarded mutually to brawl. 

Zoro ruminates on his next course of action. He knows words aren’t his strength, knows that the other man understands this just as well as he does. The cook needs me. He figures he’ll have to do it his way for now.

“Marimo, what–” Sanji frowns, unable to break eye contact this time.

Despite how out of the ordinary this situation already is, Zoro shifts his feet, placing one foot between the other's. He slides his right hand under the cook’s sleeve, warmth closing around his wrist. Sanji tilts his head up, catching his breath. Zoro encloses the space between them, his left hand landing right next to the cook’s, fingers touching. 

“Cook. Talk to me.” Sanji snaps out of his daze.

“About what?” With his heart hammering in his chest, Zoro softly breathes out a sigh of relief that the cook hadn’t kicked him out of his space.

Who’s he kidding, after all that worrying about not being good with words he only remembers now how Sanji isn’t either, despite the poems of love he spits out of thin air. It’s just like them to not address how close they are right now, how vulnerable this moment is. 

“What you need.” Determined, he lightly squeezes around Sanji’s wrist, knowing he’ll understand without the swordsman elaborating. 

Just like him, Sanji isn’t too great at talking either. Instead of replying, he slips his wrist out of Zoro’s hold. Before worry begins to seep into the swordsman’s mind, Sanji connects their hand, dropping his head on the swordman’s chest. 

Zoro notices the forgotten cigarette between his fingers, taking it before the butt could burn his skin. 

“S’just… that island brought back some… I mean fuck, those kids–” Sanji lets out a grumble, unable to finish his sentence.

Zoro takes it upon himself to wrap his arm around the cook’s back in an embrace, hand slowly traveling up and down in an attempt to soothe. Sanji lifts his head, brows furrowed and quietly riled up.

“Those kids… even if someone’s able to cure them, turn them back to normal, this will never leave their life. Hell, I still–” tears start to pool his eyes, willing himself to continue despite the difficulty.

“Don’t. You should rest.” Zoro’s heart aches. He isn’t sure if he’s grateful that Sanji’s trust for him bleeds so deeply that he opened up to him. Or if he’s worried that the cook will try to bury his problems deep after this, putting up a wall again to fulfill his role as a protector of the crew. 

“Would I be crossing a line if… if I were to ask you to…”

“No. You wouldn't be. I'll stay with you tonight, cook.”