Archive of Our Own

—17—

Pirate Hunter Strikes Again! read the headline and Sanji squinted, drawing a cigarette to his lips as he leaned against the railing. A splutter immediately followed it, then a cough that racked through his whole body. Patty snorted at his failure from next to him and Sanji shot him a withering glare before returning his attention to the article. He was still getting used to the whole smoking thing, okay?

This Pirate Hunter had reportedly nabbed four pesty pirates within a fortnight, adding to his rapidly growing count. Attached was a poor-quality picture of the hunter as he redeemed his reward. All that could be made out of the man was a blurry silhouette carrying three swords. 

Sanji licked his lips as he pulled the smoke away from his mouth. Bounty hunting. It wasn’t the most respectable of professions to him, especially not when some of the people he worked with were once on the receiving end of it. But if it lessened the number of irritating bark-no-bite pirates that loitered at the Baratie and the local ports, then it made no difference to him. 

“The swordsman, right?” Patty remarked, nodding at the paper. “Been seeing a lot of him in the papers lately, taking out small trash.”

“Not often the paper reports on a bounty hunter, no less give them a moniker,” Sanji said with a frown. 

“Maybe ‘cause it’s been a while since we’ve had a bounty hunter who actually does the work,” guffawed Patty. He peered at the blistering sun and wiped the sweat from his brow. “And, not like the East has anything else going for it at the moment.”

“Nothing wrong with that,” Sanji lied. He ran his fingers over the grainy photograph, tracing the black-and-white outline of the figure. “Roronoa Zoro,” he muttered softly. Sanji scoffed, dropping his cigarette onto the ground and grinding it under his heel. Why three? he wanted to ask. Why bounty hunting anyway?

From inside the Baratie, there came a couple of thuds and shouts, followed by an: “Eggplant! I better not catch you on a smoke break with Patty!”

Sanji flinched. He hurriedly kicked the cigarette away, a feeble attempt to hide his evidence, as Patty cursed. He shoved the paper into his breast pocket and marched in as nonchalantly as he could, hoping Zeff wouldn’t catch the smell of smoke on his clothes.

—19—

Sanji recognized him the second he walked in.

His hair is green, he thought in a daze, as Roronoa Zoro strode in with a boisterous crowd. He looks so young. 

And then, after seeing him bleed out on their ship, kissing death but not embracing it all in the name of a dream, Sanji couldn’t help but think he was a fool. How could he rather give up his life than his ambition? How could he dare to live that freely? He watched from the sidelines, stricken, as the man whose career he followed for two years laid his life down within a day of meeting him. You can’t die, Roronoa Zoro. Not like this. And to Sanji’s relief, he wouldn’t.  

What a fool, he thought as Zoro jumped back into battle with stitches barely put into place.

What a fool, he thought as Arlong stripped Zoro of his already haphazard bandages, revealing the extent of his obstinacy.

What a fool, Sanji thought at himself, having followed the very crew of pirates he deemed mindless idiots. And yet, when the fight came to an end and Luffy pummeled Arlong right in his stupid fish face, he couldn’t find it in himself to regret his decision to join one bit. 

As he cooked up a feast and watched the entire village celebrate for the first time in god knows how long, he studied his new crew. A ragtag bunch with zero survival sense—save for the lovely Nami-san, of course—powered solely through raw, burning ambition. Sanji chuckled under his breath, serving food to awaiting plates. He wasn’t so different from them though, was he? Not nearly as reckless, maybe, and possessing some essential life skills. 

He gazed around until he caught sight of Zoro, who had finished his meal and was quietly enjoying a drink in a corner, secluded from others. Zoro was nothing like what Sanji had conjured up through tidbits of information gleaned from newspaper clips. He was a bit more infuriating and a lot more stupid. Yet, Sanji wouldn’t say he was disappointed. While Zoro might’ve paled in comparison to Mihawk, he was by no means a weak opponent; Sanji had verified the skills the papers praised for himself, side by side and back to back. He might not have meshed with the swordsman’s personality or beliefs but in a fight, few would come to be as reliable as Zoro, even wounded. Before he could process his own actions, Sanji found himself leaving his post and heading towards Zoro. 

When he drew closer, away from the heart of Cocoyasi Village and their scrutiny, Sanji could tell that Zoro maybe wasn’t quite as put together as he advertised himself as. He did a great job of hiding it, but as Sanji slid down across him and cradled a cigarette, he noticed the way Zoro sat stiffly while nursing his beer, unable to favor any side of his body. 

“Are your wounds all better now, Zoro?” Sanji asked, and it came out a bit softer than he intended it to. He knew what the answer would be, regardless of the actual truth, because that seemed to be the kind of person Zoro was. 

Sure enough, Zoro grunted, dipping his head into a shallow nod and Sanji bit back a smile. Only he would say he was fine after being stabbed and slashed and beaten up relentlessly. This guy was definitely made of an incomprehensible courage that bordered on stupidity, but it… it was admirable. Maddening to admit, but admirable all the same. To think the esteemed Pirate Hunter of the East he used to read about was so young. To think they were so similar, yet worlds apart. 

How many more battles have you seen? Sanji resisted the urge to ask, swallowing down the wonder in his chest. How much blood have you shed to get where you are? What is it like, being able to chase your dreams so freely?

“About time you had a proper doctor look at that,” Sanji nodded toward the bandages wound across Zoro’s torso. “I was half-afraid you were going to bleed out, right there in the middle of the fight. It wouldn’t have been fun dragging your dead weight back.”

“I had it under control,” Zoro muttered with a frown, taking a long sip of his alcohol. Sanji winced. He hadn’t meant for it to be antagonizing. When was the last time he’d properly spoken to someone his age, outside the line of service? With all the prodding of everyone at the Baratie and the constant determination to prove himself, Sanji knew he was quick to bite and be defensive. If he wanted to become close—no, crew —with Zoro, this demeanor wasn’t the best first impression. 

Still, he couldn’t help but add: “Then I’d hate to see the state you’d be in when you don’t.”

At that, Zoro huffed, but the corner of his mouth tilted up and it gently crinkled the corner of his eyes and Sanji realized, very suddenly, how much he liked that expression. He’d seen Zoro laugh at the restaurant, with Luffy and the others, but it had understandably diminished through the consecutive battles and it had never been directed towards him. This was different. Something perforated in his stomach, warm and tingling. This was bad. 

“You weren’t half-bad today, cook,” Zoro eventually said, and that certainly did nothing to quell the thing that was pooling at the base of his gut. No, it only grew worse when the small smirk expanded into a sharp, feral grin that was every bit of Roronoa Zoro that Sanji reluctantly admired. “You’re a bit of a horndog, sure, but it’s nice having another competent fighter on board.”

Sanji couldn’t even muster up any anger for the petty insult. No, he was too lost in the way Zoro’s face softened even in the ferocity of his passion. 

No. No way. 

Instead, he nodded in acknowledgment and busied his mouth with another drag of his cigarette. “Yeah, well,” he replied weakly, shifting his gaze away from the swordsman and toward the festivities of the village. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

———

“You,” Sanji started, unsure where he was taking it, tongue loosened by lassitude and a bit too much alcohol, “you’re soft.”

Next to him, Zoro stiffened like a board before rounding on him. “The fuck did you just call me?” he growled, looking as if he’d fly into an attack if it weren’t for the plate of food in his hands. He didn’t look nearly as intimidating as he probably hoped for, though, with the goggles lopsided on his head and his bandaged body slouching his posture. 

“Chill, mosshead,” Sanji rolled his eyes, leaning back onto his elbows and wincing when his torso ached. Stupid electrification. How did they ever get tangled up in these larger than life schemes? But with this view around him, this campfire brimming with full bellies and merry laughter, he thought it was worth it. It left him far too comfortable to care that he was being too honest right now. “I know your underdeveloped brain takes everything as a personal attack, but this one’s not.”

Privately, Sanji wondered how that had happened. They didn’t start off on bad terms. 

“How the hell is that not supposed to be another one of your stupid insults—”

“You’re a softie,” repeated Sanji, resisting both a sigh and a smile. “I’m calling you nice.”

Which wasn’t to say that he thought Zoro wasn’t mean. Zoro was plenty mean with him. The truth of that sometimes sat painfully with Sanji, especially since he treated everyone else on board fine enough—at best, amicable, and at worst, snappy. It was like all of that flew out of the window with Sanji, though. 

Sanji wasn’t really sure what he’d done. He’d tried, he’d really tried to play nice. But Zoro riled him up so easily by prodding at insecurities he didn’t know existed so really, it was kind of Sanji’s fault for not taking the higher road instead of biting back with the same heat. But also Zoro was a lot of an asshole.

Still, it was impossible to hate Zoro. Not after he noticed the soft spot Zoro had for their young reindeer. Not after Luffy let it slip what unfolded during their first meeting. 

You’re so kind, Sanji wanted to say. With everyone, except me. 

Zoro blinked, and then his face flushed, cheeks growing rosier against the firelight. “Where the hell did that come from?”

It was fine if Zoro wasn’t nice with him; in fact, it would probably freak Sanji out if he was. But he wondered if, someday, Zoro would view Sanji with the same amount of wonder and, stifled as it was, respect that Sanji held for him. “Just an observation, mosshead.” Sanji hummed in tune with the music. “Don’t hurt your head thinking too hard about it.”

———

“You were stupid for going on that train by yourself.”

Sanji rolled his eyes. “And let my beloved Robin-chan be taken by those marines? I don’t think so.” 

Zoro didn’t seem impressed with that. “You should’ve waited for backup. You should’ve communicated.”

Before the Davy Back fight, Sanji would’ve taken the lecture personally. Zoro didn’t have any faith in him. Zoro didn’t think he could handle it on his own. Zoro thought he was weak. 

But Zoro had asked for his help—the same Zoro who acted as if all responsibility regarding the crew’s safety fell on his shoulders and his shoulders only. To say Sanji had been pleased would have been an understatement. Finally. Finally, Zoro trusted him, even if only a modicum outwardly. And he knew that still stood because Zoro had given up his protests over the den den mushi, too. 

“That’s rich, coming from the most jump-first-think-later bastard I know after our captain.” Sanji slumped. He didn’t want to fight, not right now. “Forget it. I’m already too depressed about my…” He couldn’t even say it. He was never going to look at it. In fact, he was going to burn every single one that he came across. Not only did it have that horrendous drawing, but it was also a stark reminder of his lacking bounty. Ugh. 

“Just be careful next time.” When Sanji snapped his head back at him, Zoro was facing the other direction. 

Strange. Sanji’s stomach was doing a peculiar flip. That certainly wasn’t a lecture. That almost sounded like… 

———

Sanji woke with a crick in his neck and to Zoro staring down at him, eyes steely hard. 

“Shit!” he exclaimed, jolting upright and wincing at the ache in his ribs. Everything was sore to begin and the compromising position he’d slept in didn’t help. “Say something if you’re awa— you’re awake!” 

“What are you… doing here?” Zoro muttered, his voice rough with disuse. He had sat up on his bed and was barely meeting Sanji’s gaze, focusing more on Sanji’s stool at the base of the bed. 

Hearing him, alive and well and moving, brought a sense of relief like none other. But the dismissive, cold attitude Zoro had the audacity to use after everything that had happened… “What am I doing here?” Sanji snarled, temper flaring before he could help himself. “Really? You’ve got some gall asking me that.”

Zoro glowered at him. “What are you so upset about?”

“You… nearly died,” Sanji hissed, hating the way his voice trembled and resisting the urge to compensate for it with a jab to Zoro’s chest. He couldn’t bear looking at him, instead gazing at his lap and the fingers curled over his knees. “You nearly died and I… I…” I found your bloody, battered body. I had to call for Chopper. I was afraid I’d be dragging your corpse to Luffy. I almost had your death on my hands. 

And what a fear that was. Sanji had never worried something would come close to the foreboding dread of dying of hunger, but he’d been proven wrong. He never wanted to feel like that again. 

“I did what I had to,” Zoro said, after a brief silence. When Sanji looked up, his eyes were still frosty. He sounded not the least bit sorry. 

“It should’ve been me.” He hadn’t meant to say it, but Sanji was still so angry. He remembered the rage that had overcome him when Zoro jabbed him in the side; the desperation when he clung to Zoro’s arm and the last bit of consciousness he had in himself; the fear that enveloped him when his vision faded and Zoro stepped in front of him to face Bartholomew Kuma. “And you should’ve let me,” he snapped. “Why didn’t you? Did you think I was too weak?” 

Zoro remained quiet and Sanji’s heart sank. Fuck. That was actually it. He thought you wouldn’t survive, a too-familiar voice snickered in the back of his head. That you would’ve been a useless death. Because that’s all you are; a waste of space. Something tightened in his chest, squeezing, squeezing, squeezing. 

“I thought you were an idiot,” Zoro finally managed through gritted teeth and it was about to rile Sanji up all over again because what the hell, how dare he even suggest— “I thought you were an idiot to think that somehow your dream or your life meant any less than mine.”

Oh.

“I took on all that pain for Luffy,” he said and Sanji could tell that, for once, Zoro was being immensely careful with his words. “But you… were about to die for me.”

“No,” Sanji denied flatly, struggling to keep the tremor out of his voice. Because that wasn’t true, not entirely, but Zoro didn’t need to know that. He wondered if Zoro could hear the hammering of his heartbeat, how it thundered in the small room and the space between them. “It was a calculated decision. Luffy… he needs you more than me.”

“You don’t believe that,” snarled Zoro, sounding the angriest he’d been. He leaned forward, clutching Sanji’s hoodie and tugging him forward. “You don’t actually believe that—”

“We can’t carry your dream!” Sanji interjected fiercely. “If you died, your dream would’ve died with it. But mine? I could trust all of you to take it with you and make Luffy the King of Pirates. You can’t do that!”

“That’s not the point!”

Sanji gritted his teeth. “The point is that if you had died, it…” It would’ve been on me, and I don’t know how I would’ve been able to bear it. 

“But I didn’t,” Zoro said plainly. His grip around Sanji’s arm was almost painful. “I didn’t and I don’t regret what I did.”

“That’s—”

“I don’t care what kind of self-sacrificing bone you have in your body, cook,” he said very, very quietly and the warning laden in his words didn’t go missed. His hand dropped from Sanji’s elbow to his hand and Sanji sucked in a sharp breath. Zoro had always been the most frightening through his silence. “Luffy chose every single member of this crew because he believes he needs them. Including me. Including you.”

Sanji’s throat was thick. He felt like he was going to throw up, what with how intensely Zoro was staring at him and the way the back of his hand burned. The thing in his stomach churned, desperate to claw out of his throat and reveal too much, like how badly he wanted to touch Zoro back. 

He abruptly stood. “You’re going to pull your stitches,” he said instead, as insipidly as he could manage. Zoro’s hand fell limply from his own and Sanji missed the touch as soon as it was gone. “I’ll go get Chopper.”

—20—

Sanji gave the dummy a final kick that sent it flying across the field. He watched it thump several times before skidding to a stop.

“What did that poor training dummy ever do to you, Sanji-boy?” Sanji jolted at Iva’s voice. “It’s not like you to get angry so early in the morning.” Iva’s grin was broad, face as smug as ever. 

It wasn’t like Iva to be up so early, too, but Sanji hadn’t exactly been quiet. He considered them carefully. Early in his exile, he might’ve been quick to spit a “fuck off” or fly into a fight, but now he merely slouched, shoving his hands into his pocket. 

“Nothing,” Sanji said, itching for a smoke. He kicked at the dirt as they began making their return back. “I’m not angry, just… thinking.”

Iva hummed. “Strange way to do that, don’t you think?” But their usual taunting smile subsided and their eyes grew solemn. “What’re you thinking about?”

In the near year he spent in Kamabakka Kingdom, Sanji had been able to look past Iva’s panache to discover a sincere, decent individual. Once they put aside their differences, Sanji couldn’t help but admit that Iva was not a bad person, just infuriating. Did Sanji really have anything to lose by getting it off his chest? 

“Just my crew,” he acquiesced, feeling bitter just thinking about it. “Don’t see any of them in the news so… just curious.” More like worried, his mind supplied. The last he saw of them, they were being blasted to death by Pacifista, then shipped off by Kuma. He didn’t know where they were. Didn’t know how they were doing, if they were safe, if they were eating well. 

“You’re worried,” Iva nodded, seeing right through Sanji’s deflections. He gritted his teeth. No doubt he was learning so much in this ghastly place, but he always hated how transparent he felt. Most of the Okamas had long brushed aside Sanji’s prickly attitude and Ivankov was no exception. “Understandable.”

“Sure,” Sanji admitted. Fuck it. He reached into his breast pocket and tugged out his lighter. “Some of us were just… in worse states than others.”

“Oh.” Iva blinked through thick lashes. The corner of their lips stretched into a thin, menacing smile. “Oh, I see what this is about.”

Sanji stiffened. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Iva hummed noncommittally, arms crossed in front of them. “Don’t act fool with me, boy, I know pining when I see it.” They grew incomprehensibly excited as Sanji’s face heated up. “So, which one of them is it?”

“Pining!” Sanji spluttered indignantly. All he’d offered was a few sentences and Iva had been able to extrapolate all that? Fuck everything. “It’s not- not pining, it’s just…” he groaned, placing his face into his hands. “Ugh, that makes me sound so pathetic.”

“You are pathetic,” Iva said with a wave of their hand. “Tell me. Is this that unrequited for you to be acting melancholy at every opportunity?”

At that, Sanji remained silent. Unrequited? “What- that’s- I don’t know!” he hissed, hating the way he was contemplating it at all. “How the fuck am I supposed to know that? And I’m not acting… melancholy!” This entire thing was preposterous!

“The fact that you don’t know already suggests that there’s a fair chance it might not be,” cackled Iva, and the sentiment sent a tinge of hope tingling through Sanji’s chest. “And since you’re not in vehement denial as per usual, it seems you’re aware of it as well.”

“That’s-” No way. No way was he having this conversation with Iva of all people. “That’s not the point! It’s not about whether he likes me back or not! The problem is me, how I feel. It’s too… much.” His fingers curled in on themselves, nails digging into his palms.

“He?!” Iva brought a dramatic hand to their chest, mouth forming an ‘O’ shape and Sanji’s jaw dropped in horror at his blunder. Fuck. Fuck. “Why, Sanji-boy, you mean to tell me all this moping is over a boy?!” Iva’s excitement was so palpable, Sanji attempted a flying kick towards their face.

Unsurprisingly, Iva dodged the sloppy attack and continued their chortling. “Shut up!” Sanji hissed. As if he needed his pathetic… thing acknowledged any further. 

“It would explain how not”—Iva gestured vaguely to all of him—“abhorrently you you’re being about all this.”

“Excuse me?!”

“While I’m glad you’re not as close-minded as you appear, that’s not the point,” Iva leaned forward and inspected him closely. Something in their gaze was looking for too much and Sanji immediately shifted his gaze. “It’s ‘too much’ is rather a flimsy excuse, don’t you think?” 

No. No. Not when this had been bubbling since the very beginning, burning so hot that it already left eternal scorching. What he felt for Zoro, he wished he could boil it down to a simple crush, like a fluttery feeling in his stomach or a mere physical attraction. What Sanji had was something far worse—something that needed more than reciprocation. 

At the terse silence, Iva cautiously continued. “What is love if not ‘too much’?” It was a soothing tone Sanji had never heard from them before, one that almost made him want to cave and cry. “What are you so afraid of, Sanji-boy?”

The answer came to him easily enough, only because it haunted his thoughts on the daily. This, though, he wouldn’t be sharing. “Nothing,” Sanji lied, ignoring the frown on Iva’s face. 

“For what it’s worth,” Iva murmured, and there was a fond look in their eyes. They brought down a surprisingly gentle hand to Sanji’s shoulder and the warmth of it almost had Sanji shuddering. “I think you should tell him. You already punish yourself too much, Sanji-boy. Let yourself have this, at least.”

“Sure,” he said lamely, easily, because that was the coward’s way out and Sanji wasn’t like Zoro, couldn’t take the path less trodden. “Whatever.” He swallowed thickly. “Anyway, about those Vital Recipes…”

—21—

“So how’d you manage to lose the eye?” Sanji finally asked. Everyone else had retreated outside the galley to enjoy their dessert while Zoro opted for alcohol instead. As easy as it would be to deny him some, they had only just reunited and he’d already gotten his long-missed bickering on Sabaody. Besides, this was the question everyone had been dying to ask but hadn’t mustered the courage to, so if Sanji could rope his way into getting the answer, he was going to. He pulled out some of the better-quality sake and handed it to Zoro, who took it with a suspicious frown. 

“Training accident,” he finally grumbled, taking a swig from the bottle. Maybe he was happy with the taste, because he tacked on more words than their usual level of conversation. “It was stupid. Fucking Hawk Eye.”

Sanji cocked a brow, setting away the last of the cutlery into the drawer. “Mihawk?” More information than he’d asked for. How generous. “Kuma sent you there?”

“Yeah,” Zoro muttered. “Surprised me too. The guy lives on this freaky ass island with a mansion to himself like some sort of vampire.”

“That does make sense,” he snickered, recalling the way Dracule Mihawk had strolled up to the Baratie in nothing but a coffin. 

“Where’d you end up?” Zoro asked and Sanji couldn’t help the sour turn of his lips.

“Don’t worry about it,” he replied bitterly, abruptly switching the conversation. He’d only just gotten out of that hellhole and he wasn’t keen on recalling those memories of being chased any time soon, even if he forged some enjoyable relationships there. “So, what? You got your ass handed to you by Mihawk again?”

“Shut the fuck up, curly,” snarled Zoro. “I wasn’t rashly challenging Mihawk again.” He brought a hand up to scratch his brow at the top of the scar. “It really was just a stupid accident.”

“A shame it had to be your eye, though.” It wasn’t as if a single eye inhibited performance—Sanji was proof of that—but to Zoro, who had learned his way around the blade with both, it surely must’ve come as an agonizing change. “You sure it doesn’t make you any weaker?” he teased. 

Zoro scoffed. “Pretty sure I’m the one who beat your ass back on Sabaody before we left, cook.” He gestured lazily at his eye. “Plus, with observation haki, this means nothing.”

Sanji scowled. “You mean I beat your ass.” Because, sure, Sanji had missed this bantering and all, but to let Zoro think he still had the upper hand? No fucking way. He didn’t train his ass off in that hell just for Zoro to peacock around him with some flashy sword moves. Sanji could fly, okay? Fly. 

“Yeah?” Zoro brought the bottle down onto the table with a heavy thud. His eyes were sharp—playful, even—and his lips stretched into that smile. “Want to test that out again?”

And there it was, that inexplicable feeling in Sanji’s stomach. Having festered for so long in Kamabakka, being able to do all this with Zoro again was indescribably liberating. I can have this, he told himself, pushing away from the counter and marching towards the deck, knowing Zoro would be right on his heels. 

For once, Sanji ignored Nami’s reproaches about fighting on the ship and Franky’s warnings about repairs. Fighting with Zoro was too much of a high and something he’d been denied for far too long. He was going to have this. With every foot that met blade and every blow they both exchanged, none of it was riddled with hostility. No. The look in Zoro’s eyes as they collided again and again was anything but that. 

“You should really give up,” Zoro smirked, the flat edge of Shusui against Sanji’s calf. He was leaning in and there was something Sanji couldn’t read in his grin. He liked it. 

“Not a chance,” Sanji snickered back, putting even more pressure through his leg. Oh, how he missed this so much. No one could give Sanji the full-on, nothing-held-back fight that he craved at times. Fights that were bloody teeth and dangerous, that teetered on scarring and bruised ribs. Fights that marked, because sometimes, that was the most Sanji would get from him. 

Unless…

All of a sudden, they were so close to one another that Sanji could feel the warmth of Zoro’s skin in the air between them. It was tinged with the familiar smell of choji oil and warm sake. 

What he would give for the courage to close the distance and just taste—

“If you two are going to make out,” Nami called, startling Sanji from his trance, “can you please use literally any room on this ship?”

“Indeed,” Robin added, but her voice was more entertained. Her eyes were twinkling behind the sunglasses. “There are children on this ship.”

Sanji flinched back as if he had been burnt. He brought his foot down in a flash and his hands were back into his pockets. Zoro, though, hadn’t budged an inch, instead eyeing Sanji with a deep frown. He seemed to be asking something through his gaze alone but Sanji didn’t want to interpret it and see if it was what he suspected. Didn’t want to learn if he could understand; didn’t want to risk answering.

Nami had called them out on it. She had commented on it so flippantly, without even looking up from her magazine. Robin had tacked on like this was some public discussion. No one else had batted an eye at the statements either. Was that normal? Was this obvious? Was it to everyone else? 

Sanji wasn’t sure how to feel about it if that were the case. He returned to the galley, trying to think about dinner instead. 

———

“Your costume’s ridiculous,” Zoro had the audacity to snicker while trying on another mustache. 

“Not as ridiculous as a mosshead with a mustache,” Sanji cackled back, adjusting his get-up in the mirror. The suit he could accept, even if it were miles more poorly-made than his own, but the facial disguises? He cringed, holding up the beard to his face. Horrible. All the ladies were going to be deprived of his handsome features!

In the room next door, Sanji heard Luffy’s boisterous laughter followed by some comment from Franky. They were sure to take some time, so Sanji might as well doll himself up. He shuddered at the beard and mustache again. Nope. Something else would have to do. He turned his attention to the assortment of glasses instead, inspecting each one thoroughly. Round didn’t look good on him. Thick frames were ugly. He finally settled on two very similar pairs. One suited his skin, but Sanji preferred the thickness of the other. What a dilemma. 

“Alright.” Zoro stood in front of the mirror with an inconceivably proud expression on his face. He’d settled on the sunglasses and the mustache and to no one’s surprise, it did nothing to disguise him. Zoro’s mop of green hair was obvious enough but paired with his earrings and the swords at his waist, Sanji was certain the idiot was going to get caught. The idiot had a bounty over a hundred million; anyone with half a brain would recognize him as the Worst Generation. “I’m ready.”

“Like hell you are,” Sanji snorted, marching up to him. Law should’ve known better than to entrust a plan rooted in subtlety to the Straw Hats. Besides Sanji, he was pretty sure none of them had even heard of the word. But if they got caught, so be it; it wasn’t like they wouldn’t be able to escape. He hid a laugh at the crooked mustache Zoro had slapped on. “Hold still.”

As Sanji reached for the mustache Zoro hadn’t even bothered taking off the adhesive sticker for, his fingers brushed against Zoro’s earrings. Zoro flinched and Sanji tried to keep the surprise off his face. What was… that?

“Stupid swordsman,” grumbled Sanji in an attempt to fill in the uncomfortable silence that had enveloped them. He struggled to keep his eyes on the disguise in his hands and not the way Zoro had pushed the sunglasses back to the top of his head, staring Sanji down with a ferocity he could only categorize as animalistic. “How were you expecting the mustache to actually stick if—”

Abruptly, Zoro stepped forward, startling Sanji at the sudden proximity he’d gained toward his face. Naturally, he stumbled backward, tripping over his own feet and he would’ve fallen back, if Zoro hadn’t extended out a hand to curl against his lower back. 

“Wha—” Sanji blubbered, so shocked he couldn’t even find it in himself to summon his default anger. He’d instinctively clawed out to grip at Zoro’s shoulder, dropping the mustache entirely. “What are you doing?”

Zoro didn’t move. He didn’t release Sanji from his hold either, instead letting him grip onto Zoro for balance. His hands were clinging to the space between Zoro’s shoulder and neck. Sanji could feel the thick line of his trapezius and he pressed against it. Zoro sucked in a small breath, but was otherwise unmoved. “Cook,” he said instead, and his voice had taken a ragged timber. “You’re red.”

At that, Sanji couldn’t help but flush even more. Well, screw him too. “Maybe if you’d let go,” Sanji snarled, but there was no real heat in his voice. He knew and Zoro knew that if Sanji really wanted to, he’d have kicked Zoro aside and out of this compromising position ages ago. But. But…

What is this? Sanji wanted to ask, moving his other hand to Zoro’s collarbone. He traced the slight dip of the bone down to the curve of his left pec, pushing softly against the unflexed muscle. Soft, even in the flesh, Sanji couldn’t help but think delightedly. Just as he was beginning to grow too comfortable, Zoro snatched his hand away and kept a hold on his wrist to their side. 

“What are you doing, Zoro?” Sanji finally asked, feeling his heartbeat in his mouth. He knew he hadn’t been doing the best job of hiding it since they all reunited, but he never thought it would culminate to a point where Zoro would acknowledge it. 

Zoro still didn’t budge. His face was as impassive as ever. In fact, Sanji would even say it was tinged with the slightest pique. “How long are we going to keep doing this?” 

Even now, even with all of it right in front of him, Sanji’s instinct was to cower. He ducked his head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The grip he held on Sanji’s wrist was rough, with a calloused thumb against the pulse point. He felt the heat on his face grow with every second Zoro leered at him, 

“What are you so afraid of, cook?” Zoro murmured and the juxtaposition of his actions and tone was jarring. You’re soft, Sanji had called him to his face years ago, and it still held true. Despite all the sharp blades and smell of metal and oil that surrounded him, Zoro had always tucked away a tenderness for things that required precision. It’s just… Sanji never thought he’d be on the receiving end of it. 

He couldn’t respond to Zoro. All he could do was stare back, wide-eyed, as Zoro searched him for any answer. When he still didn’t say anything, Zoro’s hold on his waist loosened marginally. “Tell me what you want,” Zoro murmured. “If it’s not this, then…” He finally looked away, the corner of his mouth downturned. “Then we can both pretend this never happened.”

Even for the fleeting moment that he considered it, something within Sanji shrieked no. How was he supposed to look at this Zoro in front of him, this Zoro blazing with so much ambition and desire and forget him? How was Sanji supposed to pretend like there wasn’t the same thing inside of him tearing at the seams? 

Please, he begged. Let me have this. 

With a shuddering breath, he drew Zoro’s mouth into his own. It was teeth, tongue, and a little bit of blood, because of course it was, and years’ worth of desperation that Sanji had left simmering. It was volatile and wroth and sincere, just like every damn thing Zoro did, but Sanji wouldn’t have wanted it any other way. Sanji stumbled back as Zoro moved closer, deeper, hands sliding beneath the back of his dress shirt and Sanji whimpered at the intensity of it all, fisting his hands into Zoro’s hair. More than a kiss, it felt like aching consumption, like they were both tearing into each other’s flesh for a taste of raw desire. His entire body was on fire, set ablaze by pure will and longing, as he tried to grasp at anything Zoro would give him. Give me a taste of your dreams, he pleaded, sucking hard. Show me what you burn for, Zoro seemed to demand in return, nails clawing into skin. And like that, they pushed and pulled, nearly tripping several times over until Sanji pulled away wetly, gasping for breath. 

Zoro’s single pupil was blown wide and trained right on him. His swollen, lower lip was tinged red, where Sanji had presumably sunk his teeth in. “You’re a biter, huh?” Zoro grinned, not having let go of Sanji just yet. His tongue swiped out to run over the wound and Sanji stared, stupefied. “I like that.”

“Shut up,” snapped Sanji, embarrassed beyond description. Their friends were in the room right next to them! How dare he let himself get so carried away? “You’re crazy.”

Zoro snorted and then, vexingly, leaned in but this time lower. He managed to run a hot, wet stripe along Sanji’s throat before Sanji shoved him off. “You’re crazy!” Sanji repeated in a hiss. “We- we’re in the middle of a mission, you can’t…” he trailed off, catching sight of his face in front of the mirror. “Oh my god, my—”

To say he looked ravished was an understatement, and he hadn’t even given Zoro access to any part of him beside his mouth. There were light scuff marks curling around his nape, where Zoro had held him, and his lips were swollen unlike anything he’d seen. Sanji sighed, combing through his tousled hair. He could fix that but his face? So much for not needing facial disguises. 

He grabbed Zoro’s mustache off the ground and shoved it into his chest. “Wear this,” Sanji barked, not looking him in the eyes, before marching over to pick up his own. A mustache and a beard. My god. “Behave yourself for the rest of our time here,” he said in front of the mirror, hesitating, “and maybe…”

He watched Zoro step behind him, a taunting glimmer in his eyes. “Maybe?”

“Maybe we can finish this later.” With that, Sanji slapped the rest of his disguise onto his face and walked out of the room before Zoro could catch the red on his ears. 

———

It was as if the universe despised him. 

Sanji held the ice pack to his face, wincing whenever he pressed a little too hard to his swollen and bruised cheek. Swollen like he’d never seen before? Is that what he had said? He would scoff if it didn’t hurt to. 

“If you had acted more sensibly, this could have been avoided,” Reiju commented vapidly. 

“This would’ve happened no matter what.” These guys didn’t need an excuse to beat him up, although it was certainly convenient for it to be handed to them. Still, that didn’t mean Sanji regretted what he did. They’d nearly tried to kill that poor woman. He’d do what he did again. 

“You have been awfully rebellious throughout this whole process.” She took his ice pack from him and offered the transparent mask. Of course. They had solutions for this too. Sanji reluctantly accepted the covering and carefully applied it to his face. When he glanced at the mirror, it was like he’d never been touched at all. 

He turned away before it started to itch at him. “People tend to do that when they’re forced into a marriage,” replied Sanji dryly. He reached into his pocket, only to find them empty. Damn it. 

“Here.” When he looked over, Reiju was tossing him a pack, followed by a lighter. “You don’t deserve it after today, but if it helps you settle down.”

As if Sanji were some sort of dog. “Thanks.” The word was bitter on his tongue. He carefully tugged out a cigarette and lit it, inhaling deeply. 

“Do you…” Reiju began slowly, enough that Sanji could sense a cross between apprehension and confusion in her voice. “Do you have someone?”

Sanji flinched mid-drag. 

“So you do.” 

Said still said nothing, feeling an age-old panic spawning in his chest. First, Iva. Then, his crew. Now, Reiju. Was this thing inside of him that uncontainable, that even his emotion-deprived sister was able to recognize it? 

“That… wasn’t in our calculations,” she admitted. 

Calculations. “Yeah,” Sanji snapped, bitterness clouding any judgment. He didn’t want to take it out on Reiju but he was just so frustrated. “Because the fact that I could have a life with people I care about is so impossible.”

“That is not what I said, Sanji.” Reiju, to her credit, sounded a little miffed, even if her face revealed none of it. “Our reports merely stated that you didn’t have any romantic partners. I assume this development must be new.”

Sanji thinks of a Roronoa Zoro he barely knew before developing an irrevocable yearning for, captivated by his ability to chase fearlessly. New, he chuckled acridly. If only. That would’ve made things a lot easier. 

He turned away from Reiju to the shackles around his wrist. 

None of it mattered now, anyway.

———

Even with Luffy and Nami’s forgiveness, Sanji had dreaded the return. 

They were gracing him with a kindness he didn’t deserve, not after he’d nearly gotten them all killed. Even if they were willing to look past all that, Sanji knew there was one person who wouldn’t, rightfully so. 

Except when they’d reunited, Zoro had hardly spared Sanji a second glance. 

There were bits of familiar shouting and squabbling, but all of it lacked the usual warmth. His fears were confirmed when Zoro took Enma to a cigarette at his lips and took out half a cliff in the process. Zoro might’ve hid his rage behind a facade of a puerile quarrel but Sanji wasn’t an idiot. If Zoro’s remarks had felt distant before, they nearly disappeared after that. And while Sanji hadn’t returned expecting open arms, this hurt in a way he couldn’t pinpoint. 

You deserve this, the voice crowed. Be grateful you’re at least getting this. 

But after knowing what Zoro tasted like, knowing that he’d left with something on the table, Sanji couldn’t move forward that easily. His every movement and every word felt weighed down with a guilt he felt he’d never absolve. So Zoro continued to acknowledge him minimally and Sanji struggled not to drown under the weight of his selfish want for more.

It was during one of their last quiet days before battle when Sanji planned to retire for the night, only to catch Zoro outside their quarters with his swords in his lap. Sword maintenance. He’d seen Zoro delicately run choji oil over the length of his blade a thousand times over but this washed over him a helpless relief. He really had returned, against all odds. 

But there were changes, things he wasn’t here for—the consequences of his actions. Zoro’s new get-up. His new familiarity with others. His newest gift from Hiyori that glinted in the moonlight. That almost felt like a personal taunt. 

Sanji hesitated. Should he say anything? Should he apologize? Because to Zoro, he doubted the real issue would be that he’d left the crew to marry someone; no, the real issue was that he’d dared to leave the crew at all. 

For too long, Sanji just stood there until Zoro himself looked up. 

“You’re back,” Zoro muttered first, not unkindly. It brought no comfort to Sanji nonetheless, not when a single piercing eye burned towards him, not a single emotion able to be gleaned. 

He nodded, coals in his throat. “I came back.”

Zoro nodded back, returning his gaze to his sword and Sanji felt as if he were suffocating and breathing in at the same time. “You’re not mad?” he blurted before he could stop himself. 

His hands stilled where they ran a cloth over the blade. Something crackled in the air, in the two meters between them, on the cusp of exploding and Sanji just stood there, waiting. Waiting for Zoro to finally crack and lash out because how dare he, after everything they’ve sworn to Luffy? How dare he throw it all away and come waltzing back as if nothing had happened?

“You came back,” said Zoro, voice as apathetic as ever. “No reason to be mad anymore.”

…What?

“Screw you,” Sanji hissed, because this wasn’t how it was supposed to go, this wasn’t right, and anger was easier to dredge up than accept forgiveness. His ears were ringing. “You’re supposed to be upset. I lied. I hit Luffy. I left the crew. I put everyone at risk.”

“You came back,” Zoro repeated, anger creeping into his tone. He set Kitetsu aside and stood. His expression was incredulous, perplexed. Sanji couldn’t understand it. Why? Why? “What do you not understand about that?”

“I just said that I—”

“And I just said that you came back!” Zoro struck a finger into Sanji’s chest and he stumbled a couple paces back. “You stupid, self-sacrificing moron. Sure, we were annoyed you wasted everyone’s time trying to be a hero or whatever but you came back. That’s all that matters,” he said, glaring at Sanji with a hatred that lacked malice entirely. “That’s all.” 

With that tone of finality, Sanji didn’t know what to do. Zoro made the level-headed decisions the rest of them couldn’t contemplate in the heat of the moment. He’d proved that since Water 7 and that’s what solidified him as the closest Luffy had to a second. He was the one meant to be sensible, so what the hell was this?

“I don’t know the details of what happened,” Zoro continued slowly. “But I know you wouldn’t have gone unless you thought you didn’t have a choice.”

“But I did…” Sanji said. He did. He did have a choice. “I just don’t regret it.” He knew how much grief he’d caused Nami. He knew he’d wasted everyone’s time. But as far as he knew and now understood for certain, Big Mom wouldn’t have taken no for an answer. He’d done what he thought was safest for everyone. If it came to it… if it really came to it, he’d do it again. 

He and Zoro, they were similar like that. 

“Yeah.” Zoro rolled his eyes. “I know you don’t. Doesn’t make it any less stupid.”

Sanji’s eyes burned. “Stupid swordsman,” he muttered, the fight leaving him all at once.

“Stupid cook,” Zoro shot back, because he was just as petty. He reached out and gripped Sanji by the back of the neck and pulled him towards him. Sanji stumbled and his chin collided into Zoro’s shoulder. “You have a crew,” Zoro said, firm and unbending and solid in both voice and body. “You better fucking remember that the next time you even think about pulling something like this.” Sanji slumped, face curling into Zoro’s collarbone where he felt the steady thump of his heartbeat ground him.

———

How ironic. 

Despite all that Sanji had done to get away from them, he just couldn’t cut those ties. He gritted his teeth, wanting to claw the skin off his body, with every one of Queen’s taunts. How was he supposed to live like this? How was he supposed to live knowing that Judge had partially succeeded, and might fully do so with a little more time? Stupid. He was so stupid for trying on the Raid Suit. He knew he was perfectly able without it so why—

“You,” Zoro hissed when they found each others’ backs in the middle of the fight. “Pull yourself together.”

In the heat and stress of the fight, the only way Zoro knew to dish concern out was through anger. Sanji’s chest grew warm, even as his nerves were on fire. He grunted, thinking about the den den mushi he had shoved into Zoro’s haramaki before they left for Onigashima. 

Zoro was right. He needed to pull himself together. There was no other option. But the horror he felt when he realized his new invincibility hadn’t yet flushed from his system, he wasn’t sure that was something that would ever go away. Sanji needed a backup plan and if push came to shove, he couldn’t place that burden on anyone except Zoro.

He heard the hitch in Zoro’s breath when he asked, no, demanded over the snail in the middle of battle. Perhaps the cruelest part of it all was knowing that Zoro would accept. “I’ll make sure to kill you myself,” he heard after a couple painful grunts and Sanji’s hands shook in the consolation of the words. Alright. He tried not to think about the tension in Zoro’s voice, which was so careful not to spare the rage Sanji was certain he was feeling. Alright, now it was time to—

“So, don’t die until then.”

A plea. A silent, unforgiving warning that Zoro hadn’t been able to give before. 

“Thanks.”

Sanji inhaled deeply and put the snail into his pocket.

———

Sanji would have preferred to never be in this position again.

“You asked me not to die,” Sanji laughed softly, “but you have to be alive to kill me first, mosshead.”

Zoro, evidently, said nothing. He’d been bandaged, less so than the trussed-ham-style bindings Sanji had administered to him earlier but to nearly all the same places. He had gone through a substantial fight, too. Sanji hadn’t for a moment thought that Zoro would lose. No, he’d been there the day Zoro made his vow and he’d believed it ever since. He knew Zoro would wake, but these were bigger, bloodier battles. This much worry was surely warranted, wasn’t it?

He reached out and let his fingers wrap around Zoro’s own. Age-old calluses were a stark contrast against Sanji’s deft, unworn ones. He squeezed softly. All that practice kept him alive. 

There was a slight rustle at the shoji door and Sanji turned, startled. “Oh!” Kozuki Hiyori was peeking in, a tray of food in her arms. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“No,” Sanji shook his head. “Not at all. Please, come in. I was just on my way out.” She hesitated, but at his insistence, she let herself in and began setting the cutlery aside. 

When he tried to pull his hand away, it wouldn’t budge. He tugged again, but Zoro wasn’t letting go, his fingers curled immovably around Sanji’s. He flushed. Time and place, mosshead! He looked apologetically toward Hiyori, who merely covered her smile with her hands. 

Sanji had invited her in with the expectation that he’d be on his way out, but he hadn’t anticipated this set of circumstances, as much as he’d love to flatter her any other time. Now, sitting side by side with Hiyori while Zoro lay unconscious and clung to Sanji, he never wanted to crawl into a hole more. 

“I’d like to apologize,” Hiyori began, and she glanced at their still mortifyingly intertwined fingers. “I wasn’t aware that Zorojuro-san had someone. I have been extremely improper with him despite his perversity.”

It was horrifying to be on the receiving end of a lady’s apologies, but more so at the assumption she had made. “I— that’s not—”

“I should’ve known that no man is eternally prickly,” she continued, glancing at Zoro’s prone figure with a certain fondness. “It was… relieving to see that wasn’t the case upon your return.”

Sanji, well, he didn’t quite know what to say to that. He bit back a smile. Zoro was less prickly with him? He’d have to file that away for another time. 

“Don’t let him fool you,” Sanji muttered. If he couldn’t escape, he might as well just have it, at least for now. “Pardon my language, my lady, but he’s always an asshole.” That’s the part of him that I’ve always been drawn to. 

Hiyori merely hummed, as if she’d heard his thoughts too. 

Zoro awoke two hours later, long after Hiyori left. Sanji had remained awake for all of it, watching the steady rise and fall of Zoro’s chest until they grew uneven. When he slowly opened his eye, the relief on Zoro was like nothing he’d ever witnessed before. He watched Zoro’s face run through a series of complicated expressions before melting into exhaustion. 

“You asshole,” he grunted weakly, so fatigued that he couldn’t find the energy to stay mad. His fingers tightened around Sanji’s.

“I know.” Sanji swallowed heavily. He squeezed back. “I’m sorry.”

—22—

When he came to his senses again, Sanji was kneeling in front of Zoro, who had a dagger plunged into his left shoulder where blood was steadily trickling out. His hands were gripping Sanji’s wrists. His swords were strewn to the side. Beneath Sanji’s nails were red, red, red. And Zoro was glaring at him, mouth pressed into a flat line and his breathing ragged. 

Horror washed over Sanji all at once as his memories came back to him. 

“I could’ve killed you,” he whispered, and Zoro’s impenetrable grasp around his wrists loosened but didn’t fully let go. The tension between his brows eased, as did the tightness in his breath. 

“You’re back.” Zoro’s head dropped into Sanji’s collarbone. Besides the knife wound, Zoro’s body contained too many bruises shaped like boot soles. Nausea bubbled beneath Sanji’s tongue. 

“I could’ve killed you!” It was a shout now, powered by pure white outrage. His body ached in various places, but none if it could compare to the obvious injuries across Zoro’s frame. That fool! That idiot! “I could’ve- If I had killed—” His hands trembled at the near prospect. Hands that were still pristine, because Zoro had refused to let Sanji use them. 

Carefully, Zoro lifted his head. They were inches from one another, sharing the same breath. “You didn’t,” he said, in true Zoro fashion, because of course, that was what he took from all of this destruction. It shouldn’t have been the first words he dared to say. 

“You should’ve killed me!” Sanji wanted to claw at him, but he had done enough damage. He let his fingers curl in on themselves, pressed crimson crescents into his palms. Why couldn’t he see? This could’ve all been avoided had Zoro just listened and done what he said he would. “You promised! You promised me that you would.”

But even then, Zoro remained unfazed. The corner of his mouth twitched. “That was then.”

Sanji screamed in frustration and it was a wretched sound, mauling its way out of the ugliest parts of himself. “So you’re a liar now?” It felt wrong to even accuse him of such a thing. He coughed and a clot of blood escaped his lips, but Sanji couldn’t stop. “I trusted you to—”

“This isn’t a matter of trust.“ His eyes were narrowed, furious. “Don’t you dare make this a matter of one when we both know it isn’t.”

“Then what else is it?!” Sanji eyed the havoc around them, feeling his throat close up as the guilt slammed into him again. He could still feel the hilt of the knife in his hand, the way the flesh broke when he pushed it in, how Zoro had only grunted, out of surprise rather than pain. “I asked you because I didn’t trust anyone else—”

“You asked me because no one else would do it.”

“You can’t do it now either!” It was unfair. He shouldn’t be asking this of anyone. No, he should just take care of the whole matter by himself—

“I’d never lift a sword to anyone on this crew unless I felt they were posing a significant risk.”

How willfully blind. “What the hell was I then?”

“You weren’t a risk.” The way Zoro uttered the word was a warning, like every time Sanji dared to regard himself with disdain. Sanji shivered under the weight of the certainty, even if he didn’t believe it. “I had it under control.”

“I could be.” Why did Zoro want to deny it? “I’m a walking liability. I could turn at any moment—”

“What would I tell Luffy?” At that, Sanji froze. Their captain. Their captain whom they’d promised to see to the end. “Do you think Luffy would accept it? If I told Luffy I had killed you because you asked, do you think he would accept it?”

Of course not. That’s not who Luffy was; he knew that from Whole Cake. Luffy has always looked fate right in the face and told it to go screw itself. But that’s exactly why Sanji hadn’t dared asking Luffy because he wouldn’t understand the dangers of letting Sanji live. 

“That’s…”

“You don’t get to die,” Zoro said fiercely. He finally released his hold on Sanji’s hands, bringing it up to clutch at his shoulders. “Not when we’ve come this far. You don’t get to put that burden on me.” 

He knew that. He knew it was unfathomably cruel. But it was far less than the chance of him turning on any of his crew. 

“I don’t want to hurt anyone,” confessed Sanji, feeling his eyes burn. I don’t want to be like them, he didn’t dare voice, for fear of making it true. “I don’t want them to be scared of me.” 

“Nobody knows about this,” Zoro said quietly. “We can keep it that way.” 

It was almost laughable. Zoro suggesting deception? What had it come to? Sanji still had no idea how Zoro had even managed to take him out to the middle of nowhere unnoticed by the rest of the crew, given his lying was historically abysmal. “If I had gotten you killed, no one would’ve known that either.” Even if Zoro had done everything in his ability to prevent it, there was blood on Sanji’s hands. “And don’t you dare say that I didn’t, so it doesn’t matter.”

For once, Zoro didn't refute him immediately. His voice was impossibly soft when he spoke. “You can’t keep living in the fear of your own possibility, cook.”

“I can,” Sanji snapped. “Especially when there are people’s lives on the line.”

The corner of Zoro’s mouth lifted. “You can’t kill me that easily.”

“Maybe not you,” Sanji admitted, and a laugh threatened to escape. It was so foolish, seeing Zoro battered in front of him but still wanting to lighten the mood. He was being complacent. It was too unlike Zoro. “But what if this were someone else? What if it were Usopp or Nami-san?” Sanji would never be able to live with himself. If it came to that, he wouldn’t wait for Zoro’s help at all. 

“I won’t let that happen.”

At that, Sanji did laugh. “Won’t you?” How far are you willing to go? “You can’t be here forever, Zoro,” he managed weakly.

“Why not?”

Sanji blinked. What? What? 

“You don’t mean that.” Because no. He couldn’t possibly. He was probably concussed or maybe it was just his underdeveloped caveman brain making statements without thinking of the implications. Right. That’s exactly what it was.

”I’ve never said anything I don’t mean.” And that, combined with the intent, solemn way he was looking at Sanji, was just unfair. Sanji knew Zoro wasn’t a liar. Zoro didn’t know how to do things in half. Fuck. He felt his eyes blur. Fuck. 

Such raw honesty nearly had Sanji collapsing, or maybe it was overdue fatigue. Fuck, that bastard really had beat him thoroughly. Good. Sanji would’ve hated to learn that Zoro held back. “You’ll regret this.” He felt his eyes droop, but he was certain Zoro wouldn’t last. 

“We’ll see about that,” Zoro murmured, catching Sanji’s weight in his arms. “You shut up and rest, cook.”

———

Others might have called it destruction, but it was liberation that had produced Sanji’s dream. 

Crystalline waters from all four seas surrounded them. He could taste salt from the air underneath his tongue as the wind rippled through his hair. Even from the ship, Sanji could make out schools of fish swimming about intricate coral reefs. He felt his chest clench. How grateful he was, right then, that he’d never found the need for a Devil Fruit. To think he could’ve denied himself from exploring the waters of his dreams. 

He could feel the crew’s eyes trained on them, could sense their bursting grins from his peripheral vision. Child-like wonder was clawing its way out of his heart, so long suppressed under all their laden battles. 

If Sanji hadn’t followed Luffy, if Sanji hadn’t followed Zoro, then he would’ve never witnessed this. 

“It’s beautiful,” Sanji breathed. If he gripped the railing any harder, he was certain it would splinter beneath his fingers. “It’s… beautiful.”

Next to him, Zoro grunted. “It is.”

—26—

“You did it.” 

Zoro looked a mess at Sanji’s feet, dozens of cuts and bruises littered across his body as he lay flat on his back. Enma and Kitetsu lay sheathed in their scabbards at Zoro’s waist, but the Wado Ichimonji was out, its glistening blade resting on Zoro’s bare chest. His eyes were closed and his breathing was shallow and labored. But Sanji wasn’t worried, not like he would’ve been years ago. He merely watched Zoro’s chest rise and fall for several beats before the swordsman’s good eye peeked open. 

“You gonna just keep staring or what?”

Sanji rolled his eyes before proffering out his hand. He might’ve gained a new title now but to Sanji, he’d always be the World’s Most Irritating Swordsman first. 

Zoro grunted when he grabbed Sanji’s hand and let himself be pulled up. He was already in no position to walk but with one hand cradling Wado and the other in Sanji’s, there was little to hold himself up. Zoro stumbled before Sanji looped his free arm around his shoulder and huffed. 

“You struggled a bit there,” Sanji snorted. No, he didn’t. He made it look immeasurably effortless. “Almost thought you’d have to try next year.”

“Shut up,” Zoro barked. “You know there wasn’t another opportunity.”

“No.” Because Roronoa Zoro had sworn off defeat when he lost to Dracule Mihawk all those years ago. “You didn’t need it anyway.”

They quietly trudged towards the Sunny, where the rest of the crew had been ordered to wait. Sanji was sure they were ready to celebrate; Luffy had been so certain of Zoro’s win before he’d even left. They’d all take any excuse for more food, really, but this was true cause for a party, if nothing else. So many years overdue but Zoro had finally done it. 

“Somehow,” Zoro suddenly waved a hand out, gesturing vaguely to the obliterated battleground, “it feels less important than it is.”

“It just hasn’t hit you yet, don’t worry.” Perhaps being a part of it, Zoro couldn’t gauge the magnitude of what he’d accomplished. Sanji had heard the entire thing unfold with bated breaths. Not in doubt, of course, but in the crushing reality of his feat. He’d been sailing alongside someone so magnificent for so long, and he was finally about to see him earn the title he long deserved. The Greatest Swordsman in the World. The dream he’d been chasing since his youth, finally attained. “You did it,” he repeated, gently squeezing Zoro’s side. 

Zoro only smirked. His eye turned to the sky, as if addressing someone else entirely. “I did.” 

—33—

Sanji was in the middle of dinner service, wiping plates down before sending them off, when he heard the timid call of “Chef” from behind him. He pointedly ignored it, even as some of his line cooks glanced up. If anyone had something important to say, they had to make it heard. Everyone at the All Blue knew that. 

He held up a ticket and began barking. “I need two Seafood Fried Rice, two Chicken Cordon Bleu, and three Elephant Tuna Saute!” 

“Yes, Chef!” His kitchen barked back at him. “Heard, Chef!”

“Chef!” A skittish new waiter came bumbling up to him, sounding panicked enough that Sanji spared him some mercy. “Chef, I’m so sorry to interrupt but… there’s just-” he glanced anxiously towards the door between the kitchen and main dining room. “We have a guest who is demanding to see you and—”

“Is it my captain?” Sanji raised an unconcerned brow. Luffy only just came last week and stomached half their inventory in the process. “Because if it is, you can go tell him to sit his ass down because this is a respectable business and he will wait. And if it’s not, then you know bloody well where they can go stick it—”

“No!” His waiter looked terrified at the suggestion. “It’s- it’s not your captain, sir, but—”

“Cook!” a voice bellowed out, faltering the actions of everyone inside.

Ah. A fungal problem. 

Sanji glowered. For fuck’s sake. 

“Tajio!” He barked at his sous chef, who seemed unfazed by the commotion, probably having already pieced it together. Had this sort of situation really become so frequent? Sanji still remembered the day his entire staff stood trembling when the King of Pirates came flying into the kitchen, only to launch onto Sanji’s back. “Take over till I’m back.”

“Yes, Chef!” Tajio nodded, immediately sliding to Sanji’s position at the head of the kitchen. Sanji threw off his apron and began marching towards the main dining hall. 

Sure enough, the summons had come from the stupid swordsman, who was practically posing near the waiters’ station as he leaned on a pillar while the rest of the patrons flashed cameras at him. Of all the Straw Hats, Zoro was the least to be found in the public eye. There was no way he was injured, and his mood was genial enough if he wasn’t growling at the people nearby for fussing over him. What the hell was he playing at, then? Sanji had trained better than to stride into dinner service and demand a meal.

“Mosshead.”

“Cook.”

And then Sanji grabbed him by the ear and began dragging him outdoors, despite the horrified gazes of the patrons and staff around him. He paid no heed, certainly, to the pained protests of Zoro behind him.

“What the hell, cook?” Zoro grumbled, not even sounding all that peeved, when Sanji released him on the side deck for staff only.

“I’ve told you time and time again to stop barging into the kitchen.” 

“I didn’t barge in this time,” Zoro sniffed. 

“Fine. You can’t waltz in here during the dinner rush and demand food whenever you’re hungry, then.” Zoro’s face grew sullen. Sanji knew he hated being scolded like he was a child, but it would help if he didn’t act so juvenile all the time. “I’m not your private chef.”

“Tch,” the mosshead had the audacity to produce. “What good are you for, then?” He leaned back against the railing, crossing his arms defensively. “Best chef in all the Blues, my ass.”

“I’ll kill you.”

“I thought you feed anyone who’s hungry.”

Sanji squinted. He really was being obstinate for the mere sake of being so. What was the issue? “I know the difference between an old bastard that wants an evening snack and someone who’s properly hungry, damn you.”

Zoro scowled indignantly. “I'm not old.”

He reached out and ran a couple fingers through the specks of silver along Zoro’s sides, chuckling softly. “I know gray hairs when I see it.” Privately, he was grateful for his blond hair, which made it difficult to pick out any light strands. 

“They’re not gray, fuck you.”

“I’ll still think you’re handsome, mossy, don’t worry.”

Zoro growled, snappy wolf as ever. “This isn’t what I came here for.”

Sanji sighed, with no real exasperation. “Give me a half hour. Let me finish this rush and then I'll make you something, okay?” 

Zoro pouted. Big Bad Greatest Swordsman in the World, indeed. Sanji snickered under his breath before turning, unable to keep the warmth out of it. 

As promised, half an hour later, Sanji marched through the side door to find Zoro meditating on the deck, swords lying to the side of him. 

“Here.”

He cracked an eye open. “Onigiri?”

“Oh, don’t act like despite all the fancy and incredible dishes I make, this isn’t your favorite.”

“I never said I didn't like it,” Zoro grunted, snatching the plate away and taking a bite of one. After a thoughtful chew, he concluded: “It's delicious.” 

“Damn right it is.”

“Heh.” He stared happily at his plate and it made Sanji grow helplessly fond. “Luffy’s gonna be so jealous.” He sat down next to Zoro with a scoff. What a child, even at their grown ages. 

“Don’t tell him.” It wasn’t that Sanji didn’t want to feed his captain, but his stomach… Was it possible for appetites to increase as you grew older? “He already comes by so often. We can only afford to lose our weekly inventory at once so many times.”

“Like he can’t pay you for your troubles.”

Sanji knocked him in the head. “As if I'd accept that from him. And you know it’s no trouble at all.”

“But?”

Of course Zoro would sense it. God, had Sanji ever been good at hiding his emotions or did the people around him just know him that well, despite how he pushed them away? “Just… seeing him makes me miss him,” Sanji confessed, looking beyond the deck to the vast, evening ocean in front of them. He let himself reach for Zoro’s hand and it was exactly how he’d remembered it, rough and calloused and sure. “I’m worried that one of these days, I’ll run right off with him.” Just like he did all those years ago. 

“You could take a break.” Zoro chewed obnoxiously with his mouth open. Sanji should find it gross. All the beautiful, well-mannered, delicate women in the world and he had to have feelings for this gorilla. “This place can run without you.”

He knew it could. That wasn’t exactly the point, though. “Maybe.” Sanji shrugged, watching Zoro shove the last onigiri into his mouth. His meticulously picked-out staff who might’ve once been too jumpy to maintain themselves without Sanji’s supervision had graduated into a well-oiled machine somewhere along the lines. He couldn’t help but smile just thinking about it. The old man would’ve been proud. But also, Sanji just didn’t want to leave. Feeding people—that was what he’d always wanted to do, what he’d been made for. It was tiring work, sure, but he wouldn’t have had it any other way. 

“You know,” Zoro stood abruptly, his swords still on the ground. “I didn’t actually come here for food.”

“What?” Sanji blinked up, irritation flaring. “But you…”

“You assumed,” he shrugged, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. He held out a hand. “That’s okay. I won’t say no to a free meal.”

Sanji reached to smack it away. “You—”

But Zoro grabbed his wrist anyway and pulled him up sharply. Sanji yelped as he went tumbling into Zoro’s chest, bracing himself against his elbows. Before Sanji could kick up a fuss, Zoro spoke. 

“Is this everything you dreamed of?” His voice was uncharacteristically tense, almost… nervous. Sanji peered up.

“Being face first in your stinky chest?” His throat tightened at the intense look Zoro was giving him. “I’m not sure if you really want the answer to that—”

“Cook.”

Sanji swallowed thickly. What a question. It wasn’t one he’d expected Zoro to ask, of all people. Luffy, certainly, and Nami or Robin too, but Zoro? He stared at Zoro intently, searching, and found nothing more than a craving for honesty. Honesty, huh? Sanji smiled. He could give him that. 

“No.” Zoro frowned before Sanji turned to him fondly. “No, it’s a lot more.” His hands found Zoro’s lower back and pressed his palms flat against it. “It’s so much that I don’t even know what to do with it all.” 

“Okay.” The tips of his ears were growing flushed and Sanji’s smile only grew wider. “Good.”

“Now, where did all that come from?” Sanji nudged him. The old thing in his stomach blossomed, just as it always did, for Zoro. Except this time, he wasn’t going to deny it. He reached up and flicked Zoro’s earrings before cupping his jaw. He brushed a thumb over Zoro’s lips, intended for it to be a small tease, but Zoro took it into his mouth all while pinning Sanji with his gaze. His teeth grazed over Sanji’s knuckle, then released it in exchange for his index and middle finger and ran his tongue across the length of them. The same mouth that held a sword tightly between its teeth was being so gentle now, as Sanji offered him the most valuable part of himself. His eyes shuddered close for what felt like hours, until Zoro released him with a wet pop.

“Don’t worry about it,” Zoro answered a question Sanji had forgotten he even asked. Instead, he leaned in and met Sanji halfway. 

—40—

“Didn’t think we’d be back here again,” Sanji snickered, breathing in the salty, ocean breeze. He looked around the crow’s nest, at the nicks and dents that had been patched up from their fights over the years. “We started using this place less as your gym and more of a…” He flushed. Makeout spot, his thoughts supplied idly. Not that Sanji was too shy to say it. It just… sounded so juvenile. 

“We can still do that,” Zoro grunted, tugging Sanji closer by the waist. 

“Oh, quit that, you.” Sanji pressed a hand against his chest without any distaste at all. “Can’t even be nostalgic without you being a horndog.”

“Horndog?” Zoro raised a brow. “You’ve got some balls calling me that, when you’re the biggest horndog I know.”

Sanji pulled away and returned to leaning on the edge. “Do you know, that was one of the first insults you ever called me?”

“Really? ‘Horndog’?” Zoro’s lips slanted in amusement. “Not ‘curly brow’? ‘Shitty cook’? ‘Mr. Nosebleed’?”

Sanji scowled. That sounded less like remembrance and more a petty excuse for name-calling. “No. This was in Cocoyasi. You’d given me some backhanded insult and this is what you came up with. Not very creative, actually,” he tutted. “You got much better after that.”

“How do you even remember that?” Zoro sounded unusually amazed. Sanji couldn’t blame him, because no one else would remember random details like an obsessive freak. 

“I remember things,” he said, smiling vaguely. “I remember a lot of things about you.”

“Huh.” Zoro looked a bit sheepish, scratching his neck. “Honestly, I mostly remember our fights. Before, you know.”

Sanji rolled his eyes. Of course that’s what Zoro would keep in his memories. He ran his fingers over a part of the railing Franky had to hammer back, because Sanji had kicked Zoro so hard into it that it fractured. If the Sunny had so many of their memories encapsulated in time, he could only imagine how much the Merry used to have. With all their bickering, Zoro and Sanji might’ve been a decent chunk of why she collapsed in the first place. 

“I used to think you hated me.”

At that, Zoro froze. He snapped his head back to Sanji, who could only muster a weak smile. The tenseness in his posture brought Sanji back two decades, back when they were both boys who didn’t know how to speak through anything but fights. How far they’ve come. 

“I… never hated you.” At Sanji’s dry look, Zoro cleared his throat. He stepped closer, earrings glinting in the moonlight. “I didn’t hate you. I just, found you a little irritating early on. All goody two shoes. Emotional. Unrealistic.”

Sanji scoffed. “I was just about the opposite of you.” Two burning opposites, brought together by a strange current of fate. “It’s no wonder you didn’t like me.”

“No wonder you didn’t like me either.”

At that, Sanji couldn’t help but laugh. Either he was so subtle—which he doubted, considering Nami claimed she caught onto his nonsense by Alabasta—or Zoro had really been that oblivious. “I never hated you. And I never disliked you either.”

Zoro stiffened all over again. “Come on, cook.”

“No.” He shook his head, amused. “It’s true. You pissed me off more times than I could count but I never disliked you, Zoro.”

“You’re lying.”

Sanji laughed again. With this attitude, it was a wonder they made it this far at all. “I always liked you.” He hesitated, wondering if it would still be here. “I’ll even prove it.” He grabbed Zoro’s hand and they descended from the crow’s nest to the galley. From there, he went into the pantry room, to the back of the rice shelf, where a metal tin the size of a book rested.

“Wow,” he blew the top of the box and dust clouded the air. “You know, it used to be labeled ‘cookies’, but then I was afraid Luffy would go digging in here. I’m surprised no one’s cleaned this out.”

“What?” Zoro’s brows were scrunched together. “What the hell is this?”

“Um…” Sanji wasn’t really sure how to describe it. Calling it a Box of Zoro wouldn’t just be incorrect but also humiliating. “Consider it a collection of memories.” Pushing aside several bounty posters and letters and trinkets, he extracted a singular newspaper clipping. 

It was of Pirate Hunter Roronoa Zoro from twenty-two years ago.

Zoro’s first and understandable reaction was to choke. Sanji watched his ears grow red, his mouth dropped in disbelief. “Wha- How do you even have this?”

“I collected it.” At Zoro’s wide-eyed disbelief, Sanji grinned. He hadn’t seen Zoro this expressive since, well, never. What good was shame for them now? “Back then, you fascinated me.”

Zoro looked between Sanji and the newspaper several times. He held the clipping like it was delicate, careful not to press his thumbs too deeply in it, so as to crease the paper. “Cook…”

“When you first landed on the Baratie and declared that you’d be the world’s greatest swordsman, I thought you were a fool.”

“Yeah. I remember:”

“You… remember?” Sanji felt his own cheeks growing hot. That… wasn’t his finest moment. 

“I remember a guy who insisted on feeding his enemies call me stupid, telling me that’s how I’d end up dead.” Zoro was grinning, but Sanji still remembers the fervor in his glare then, how he’d warned Sanji that he was the only one allowed to insult himself, because it was his choice. 

“Back then, you were everything I wanted to be.” The confession had Zoro still. His fingers tightened around the newspaper. “You might’ve been rigid and cold and pragmatic, but you always knew what you wanted and you never let anything in the way stop you.” Sanji glanced down at the clipping, then the box on the shelf. “And I was so envious.”

Did Zoro have any idea what he looked like to a boy who’d only ever stifled his desires? To a boy who didn’t dare let himself dream because he felt he owed people his life, so much so that he couldn’t live it himself? No wonder Zeff insisted he leave the Baratie to the point of hurting Sanji. If it weren’t for Zoro’s stupid, unshakable faith in his ambitions, where would Sanji have been?

“I admired you the moment you were willing to die for your dream. Even when I thought you were being an idiot.”

“You asshole.” That didn’t sound like an insult at all. When Sanji looked up, Zoro’s expression was dumbstruck. He had set the paper aside, staring at Sanji with that insatiable expression of want.

“But then you didn’t die.” Sanji slid closer to him, pressing his palm against Zoro’s chest and feeling the outline of the scarred skin beneath it. “You lived and swore you’d never lose again and then I watched you, right in front of me, defeat every opponent that appeared in front of you.” He traced the scar up, to right over Zoro’s heart, and felt him shiver. “Just as you’d promised.”

Zoro laid his own hand on top of Sanji’s, pressing them both into his chest. “I made a promise to my captain, didn’t I?”

Then Sanji leaned over to kiss him and he finally felt like he could breathe. It was escaping from Germa, running through the rain as Reiju shoved him away. It was the approval on Zeff’s face as he presented his first seafood fried rice. It was the first swim in the All Blue, proven to be real and true. It was watching Luffy become King of the Pirates.

For half of his life, Sanji spent wondering if he was a burden because he’d been born to a sorry piece of shit. He’d spent years worrying he’d amount to nothing, years desperate to make himself useful. Years clinging to a piece of a dream because it was the only thing he’d allowed himself. 

Sanji pressed against Zoro harder, kissed him deeper. He could taste sake from their dinner hours ago, but it wasn’t enough. He wanted to devour him and his ambition completely, to feel the flesh of it between his teeth, to sense the tremors of its magnitude. His fingers wandered through Zoro’s hair, gripping so hard he was sure it hurt, but wanting to feel every bit of the swordsman in front of him. 

Zoro entered his life at a mere seventeen years of age. The embodiment of ambition, of smoldering dreams. In the fleeting time he’d spent at the Baratie, he’d shown Sanji that to live for your wants, you had to be willing to die for them. Desire coursed through his body so desperately that it ached and Sanji would never be quiet about it again.

I have chased you for over half my life, and I’ll do so to the very end. 

When he pulled away from Zoro, they were both panting hard. Zoro smiled boyishly and Sanji let his forehead fall against his, so full of love. Their heartbeats were thunderous in the quiet of the ship.

I will have this, Sanji swore, burning. I will have you.