Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The Strawhats prided themselves on finishing most on-the-water skirmishes in under 70 seconds.

This pride was not unfounded either–a small section of the Thousand Sunny’s wooden railing was dedicated to the innumerable amount of etched tallies marking each victory gained under the time constraint.

Sanji had easily predicted another tally etched into the soft wood when he had initially noticed a rival pirate ship only slightly larger than their own vessel. He had scoffed at the moderate-sized crew, yelling and emphasizing threats by waving their meagre swords. His heart didn’t even race with the telltale rush of adrenaline when they boarded the ship expecting an easy victory. The bored, flat faces of his crewmates told Sanji what he already knew: this would be a one-sided battle that wouldn’t even result in a bruise.

At least, that’s what he had thought before a sickening crack filled the air–a sound only made when flesh and bone have been bluntly, brutally struck.

But what Sanji anticipated least of all was seeing Zoro crumpled in a dark green heap, sticky, dark blood pooling around his head on the floorboards in a grotesque halo.

The Strawhats had made efficient, ruthless work of the remaining enemies after that, no longer interested in drawing out a mockery of a battle.

Zoro’s attacker was quickly apprehended after the rest of the crew had been incapacitated, and much to everyone’s surprise, he was a meek, timid boy of no more than 12. He had been caught trembling behind spare barrels left on the deck of the Sunny, and made no move of resistance when Nami hauled him up by his thin wrist to face the rest of the Strawhats.

“Okay kid, I see his blood on you. I know it was you. Tell us how you managed to crack Pirate Hunter Zoro’s head open before he even noticed you were there,” Nami questioned firmly.

A wet rasp filled the air before the young boy could open his mouth. From the tied up heap of enemy pirates, a voice called out to the Strawhats.

“Please…don’t hurt my brother. Haruto…I’m s-sorry.” He let out a wet cough once again. “Don’t hurt him…I made him do it. Please…don’t hurt hi…” The ragged pirate finally succumbed to unconsciousness before unceremoniously slumping forward against his restraints.

The crew turned their attention back to the boy–Haruto, apparently–only to find the sight of wide, wet eyes. His bottom lip wobbled, and he scrubbed at his eyes with the hand not captured in Nami’s grasp. He held bravely silent for another moment, before bursting out wailing.

“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to kill him! You can take my life for his! Just throw me in the water and I’ll drown right away, I promise! Please, please, please, just let my brother and his crew back on their ship. Give them to the Marines if you want, but just don’t kill them! I’m the one that did it, so just kill me!” He struggled against Nami’s hold, already attempting to throw himself in the lapping water below.

“Easy, kid. We’re not killing anybody. And that damn swordsman sure as hell isn’t dead, so don’t worry about him. We have the best doctor around.” Sanji’s words were firm, but not unkind. The scared, trembling boy before him made him think about metal helmets and iron bars. Of course, he was furious that some pipsqueak got the jump on one of his nakama, but he didn’t feel the spark of true, fiery anger in his heart. Just another kid caught in the ugly violence of the New World, he supposed.

“Hey did you eat a devil fruit or something? ‘Cause if you did, you have to let me know how it tasted! Maybe it was different from the taste of mine, shi shi shi!” Luffy remarked easily, his lighthearted giggles interrupting Haruto's hiccuping sobs.

Haruto sniffled and wiped his crimson nose and eyes with a filthy sleeve. “Y-yeah I did…I only ate it a coupl’a months ago…my big brother s-said we could finally be real pirates with it…finally make some r-real money…” he trailed off.

“So, being a real pirate means attacking Zoro for his bounty? That’s pretty foolish. And more importantly, what exactly did you eat?” Nami questioned with a small shake of Haruto’s arm.

He flinched away from her brash words, clearly ashamed of his naive hopes. At least he stopped crying, Sanji noted. “I don’t know the name, my brother told me to eat it, so I did. It was kinda clear, and it tasted pretty bad. It lets me do some special stuff…”

“Only partly clear…” Robin mused quietly.

“I can make stuff about me invisible, or gone kinda. I dunno how it really works, but my big brother was making me practice a special skill. He said that when we all got on the ship, I had to use it on the guy wearing the straw hat, the guy with green hair, or the guy with a curly eyebrow…” Haruto recalled.

Sanji’s eyebrow twitched in slight annoyance at his only key identifier being his unfortunate eyebrows. Typical, of course. Well, I guess we were the targets since we have some of the largest bounties on the crew, Sanji reasoned internally.

“What exactly is this particular skill, Haruto?” Robin probed.

“Ah…when I hold my breath and think really hard, I can be gone. Not just invisible, like the regular ability stuff, but gone. Like people forget I ever existed or was in the room. I’m pretty sure I phase out of existence, or reality, or something. It kind of only works in a certain range, like one time…” Haruto continued, informing a very interested Robin while the other Strawhats turned to discuss with each other.
Sanji huffed out a plume of smoke while running his hand back through his golden hair. “Well, that’s how that brat got through Zoro’s haki. He didn’t even exist,” he noted with a dry chuckle.

“Of course! Zoro-bro is too super to not have noticed a regular kid right behind him. But no one can predict what can happen with devil fruits.” Franky solemnly said with a shake of his head.

“Well, he should’ve figured out a way! I’ll definitely have to charge him for the extra medical supplies he’s gonna use, not to mention the emotional damages to poor Chopper…” Nami exclaimed, already calculating on her fingers the amount Zoro’s debt would undoubtedly grow by.

“I would be delighted to give our swordsman my brain if it means saving him! Oh wait…I don’t have a brain! Yohohoho!” Brooke trilled with a hearty laugh.

“Saving him…Chopper will surely save him. It couldn’t have been that bad. It was only a stone to the head. He’ll be fine.” Sanji cast a glance to the shallow pool of blood staining the deck, and to the heavy, jagged stone left floating like an island in the middle of it. In a small voice, he weakly added, “Right?”

The brief mirth that had once filled the conversation evaporated as the crew glanced over to the medical bay door–and Sanji’s stomach filled with the realization that life was delicate, even the life of a certain idiot swordsman.

- - -

They had decided to dump the tied up heap of enemies back onto their ship with a grateful Haruto in tow. He had thanked the Strawhats with many deep, severe bows that once again reminded Sanji uncomfortably of cold, stone castles on top of huge snails. They watched the enemy ship sail off, considerably lighter after Nami had taken the treasure stores as repayment for damage to their nakama.

Zoro’s injury was explained with many trembles and choked sobs from Chopper, who told the crew that although Zoro would most definitely wake up and recover from it like any other fleshwound, the true internal damage would not be known until Zoro could speak and reveal the capacity of his memory.

Thankfully, this tense, solemn period was only a clipped two days long, after which Zoro awoke and immediately began to try and train his already sufficient muscles.

The crew had gathered gleefully in the cramped medical office, all clamoring around the grouchy mossball and showering him with attention that Sanji internally admitted was well deserved after such a nasty injury.

“Hey Zoro! Do you remember me? What about Nami? What about Chopper? What about-” Luffy’s excited line of questioning was cut off with an exasperated shove from Zoro as he sat up in the cot.

“I don’t need you questioning me! Of course I remember everybody. Nami, Chopper, Brooke, Franky, Jimbe, Robin, Usopp…” he emphasized each name by looking squarely at the person, as if to truly drill into his crew that he really was alright.

Until his gaze was cast to Sanji.

Zoro’s mouth opened and closed a few times–which Sanji hilariously thought made him look like a very unfortunate green trout. The passing humor from this thought quickly melted away as it became more and more apparent that Zoro couldn’t recall his name. He eventually snapped his jaw shut in frustration, and scrunched his eye closed before opening it again with a determined expression.

“Who’s that guy?”

Chapter Text

The room quickly devolved into worried shouts and concerned shrieking upon Zoro’s admittance that he had completely forgotten who Sanji was.

Sanji didn’t bother yelling or running around like the others. After all, what did it matter anyway? So the stupid swordsman forgot him. At the end of the day it didn’t matter in the race for the One Piece.

He thought briefly of shared sake bottles and the satisfied sweat after an intense spar and-

No, it didn’t matter at all.

He quickly schooled his expression back into detached boredom, but whatever embarrassing emotion had been written across his face had been noticed by Zoro, who looked at him with quiet curiosity.

“Alright, alright, everyone out! Zoro is in a delicate state, and this could potentially aggravate whatever else he has…” Chopper yelped as he shooed out the frantic crew from around the cot that Zoro laid on. “Sanji, stay back for a second.” Chopper asked.

The crew dutifully filed out, still buzzing with questions and nervous conversation. Sanji took a seat on one of the small plastic chairs while Chopper flitted about Zoro with various tools and clipboard that he scrawled on every so often.

“He’s sustained some serious damage to the back of the skull, where he was struck… and the upper column of his spine also suffered as a result. The muscles back here will need regular physical therapy and massages… Sanji, you’ll take care of that, of course?” Chopper inquired.

“Hm? Yeah, yeah, sure.” Sanji agreed distantly. He already had plenty of practices easing muscles with the marimo. It wasn’t uncommon to pull a hard-to-reach tendon after their constant sparring, and they begrudgingly agreed to help one another when such a situation arose.

Sanji recalled digging his thumbs into a hard, muscular back or gliding his hands over a tense bicep or calf. Only once had he massaged Zoro’s hands, which were cramped after clenching Wado with intense vigor—and he had quickly decided to never make that mistake again. It was just too…something. Sanji’s mind skirted around the appropriate word. There was just something too breakable, too personal about gently kneading Zoro’s palm in the crow’s nest with the quiet twilight gleaming just outside.

He shook his head to quickly disperse that memory from his brain. If only I could forget all about that moment just like that idiot did.

Chopper continued probing Zoro’s memory and capabilities, and quickly discovered he was largely physically unimpacted and his memory was completely intact besides the gaping hole where the Sanji section was.

“So, Sanji, I’ll show you the kinds of massages you need to do. I would do them, but it would be kinda impractical to switch to my Human Point all the time…” Chopper remarked.

The little doctor directed Sanji’s hands to Zoro’s nape, who leaned away apprehensively as Sanji extended his hands.

“Come on, idiot. We do this all the time, so don’t get all pissy,” Sanji huffed.

“Yeah Zoro don’t worry! You and Sanji always take care of each other. He doesn’t use his hands for just anything you know, so you should feel special!” Chopper exclaimed reassuringly.

“Hey, don’t go giving him an even bigger head! He doesn’t need to know all of that,” Sanji gritted out.

Zoro tentatively allowed Sanji’s hands to begin massaging his nape and upper spine. “What do you mean he doesn’t use his hands for everything? That’s kinda stupid isn’t it?” Zoro asked Chopper. Sanji gave another exasperated huff at the marimo’s typical attitude.

“Well, Sanji’s our very talented cook! He only uses his hands in the kitchen, so whenever he fights he uses his legs.” Chopper replies. “Hmm…what else should you know?” the doctor ponders quietly as he taps his hooves against the clipboard. “Well, Sanji’s been on the crew a really long time. He knows how to make almost anything. His dream is to find the All Blue and build a restaurant there. He loves fighting you almost as much as he loves swooning over women. You like calling him cook, curly, swirly-brow, shitty cook-“

“Alright, that’s enough! You don’t have to give him my whole life story, jeez!” Sanji yells out with a red flush dusting his cheeks. The doctor didn’t have to summarize him so thoroughly to the idiot swordsman. He would figure it out eventually.

“Ah…I see,” Zoro remarks with a grin. “Well curly, you shouldn’t be so pissed off at Chopper. I need to recuperate my memory, right?” He flits his eye towards Sanji, who is still gently gliding his hands across the damaged area. Sanji sneers in retaliation.

“Sorry Sanji, but I do need to tell him more about you… it could potentially kickstart his memory or slowly force it to come back,” Chopper says sheepishly, turning his attention back to Zoro.

“You always steal sake from the pantry, so Sanji beats you up at least once a day when he catches you sneaking it out. He brings you onigiri twice a day when you train, and makes you drink lots of water since you only hydrate with alcohol. Sanji washes all our clothes, but always remembers to put extra-strength detergent for yours.” Chopper’s eyes glance upwards, as if looking around for more details about their strange relationship.

“You get lost on the islands we dock at, and Sanji always has to go and find you. Sanji cooks the ingredients for your special sword-cleaning oil, even though he complains every time he does it. Um, what else…oh! He’s sewn about half of your injuries up. He even carried you for a whole battle after you passed out from your injuries! Oh, and once-”

“OKAY! Enough! Jeez, this is fucking embarrassing… I’m getting the fuck out of here. Listen to Chopper this time, marimo. You always ignore his advice and get hurt even more…” Sanji declares, finally putting his hands in pockets and trudging towards the medical office door.

God, when Chopper puts it like that, I sound like some stupid housewife. Cooking, cleaning, sewing his injuries up? That’s just pathetic. Really, now the idiot’s gonna get the wrong idea and think that I do all that without anything in return…

“Ah…wait.” Zoro calls out to Sanji’s fleeing form. Sanji turns back, and sees something…bashful written across the marimo’s flushed face. No, that can’t be right.

Zoro exhales forcefully, seemingly steeling himself. “I didn’t forget everything. Well, my body didn’t forget everything. It’s like my emotions have….muscle memory around you. I remember how I felt when I still remembered you. I just can’t remember anything specifically about you.”

“Able to feel and recognize previous emotions towards Sanji…unable to recall specific instances…” Chopper mutters under his breath as he quickly jots down notes on his clipboard.

“So, the way I feel when I’m around you….we’re…?” he makes a motion with his finger between him and Sanji and quickly averts his eye from Sanji’s.

Sanji exhales with relief, his shoulders sagging slightly. At least that idiot’s body remembers the fights we would have with one another. His emotions are probably telling him to beat me over my head with his stupid katana. He was just confused by the sudden frustration he felt at some guy he doesn’t remember…

“Yeah, mossball, we are.” Back to rivals, thankfully. “This is just how things are between us, ever since we met for the first time back on the Baratie. That was my old home, for your information.” Sanji says with alleviation between puffs of his cigarette.

Zoro’s face inexplicably flamed a brilliant scarlet. “Ever since the moment we met…?” he muttered under his breath. He took in another breath and rolled his shoulders back, meeting Sanji’s eyes squarely.

“Well, I want things to…continue between us. I…still feel the same way about you, after all.” Zoro squeaked out the last part, seemingly overcome by something suspiciously similar to embarrassment.

Sanji huffed out a smoky laugh. Of course the idiot swordsman would want to continue fighting with him—he supposed animosity between them was unavoidable. Still, it was impossible for Sanji not to poke fun at Zoro, who was obviously sheepish about requesting a fight with who he assumed was a stranger. He flashed a grin towards Zoro, the cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth.

“Of course, ma-ri-mo.” He drew out the syllables of the insulting nickname, hoping it would inflame the foreign frustration that Zoro was feeling. “We’ll take it at your pace, since y’know, you’re recovering.” Bringing up his weakness while recovering—now that’ll piss him off for sure. If there’s anything he doesn’t like, it’s being incapacitated and getting sympathy, particularly from me.

Zoro’s face, which had died down towards a dusty pink, crawled impressively all the way back towards startling crimson. The sight filled Sanji’s gut with that same emotion he refused to name whenever he thought about the marimo at all. He took another deep drag of the cigarette.

“Fine with me, cook.”

Sanji’s lithe figure swayed out the medical bay door, the only remnant of his presence in the room was the telltale scent of smoke and nicotine.

Zoro flopped backwards into the sterile cot and covered his flustered face with trembling hands. He took deep breaths to calm himself, letting the quiet sounds of Chopper’s pen scrawling away soothe him. Slowly, he brought a scarred hand to rest over cotton shirt, feeling the strength of his jackrabbiting heart underneath.

Frustrated, he tangled himself into the soft blanket and laid perfectly still. Well, until the speed of his pulse and heat in his cheeks began to overwhelm him once again, and he began to roll around side to side, kicking his feet with nervous energy.

Chopper turned around from his desk, startled by Zoro’s sudden, uncharacteristic fidgeting. “Zoro, is something the matter?” the reindeer inquired kindly.

Terribly embarrassed once again by his schoolgirl-esque actions, Zoro willed his body to calm down, and accepted defeat that he wouldn’t be able to control his rapid heartrate or beet-red appearance.

“Sorry doctor, there’s nothing wrong at all.” He rolled over to his side to escape Chopper’s curious gaze, pulling the blanket over his body.

“How did I ever convince a guy like that to date someone like me…?” he murmured to himself before the exhaustion of the reacquaintance finally dragged him into peaceful slumber.

Chapter Text

The change came upon Sanji like an ember barely glowing with the flame of destruction–meagre, weak, and then all at once, scorching and devastative.

Shortly after fleeing the medical office, Sanji had scrambled to throw himself in the kitchen and resolutely decided to not think any further about the tentative way Zoro had avoided eye contact and spoken to him.

He’s never acted that way around me before. Why was he so…nervous?

The sizzle of the pan and the satisfying pricks of hot oil on his hands did nothing to quell the bubbling curiosity inside of him. Sanji’s sensitive ears catching the sound of heavy, lumbering steps exiting the medical office didn’t help either. Heavy, lumbering steps that were approaching the kitchen—that were approaching Sanji.

The steps paused right in front of the door, the oak wood floor creaking under Zoro’s weight.

Oh god, please don’t come in. Please, please, please. Walk away Zoro, if you know what’s good for you.

The floorboards creaked in front of the kitchen door, but the rap of knuckles or the squeak of a doorhandle never broke the quiet of the air. The groan of the wood under Zoro’s heavy boots sounded like…

Pacing. He’s pacing. He never does that within earshot of me. Sanji thinks back to Drum Island and how he had poked fun at Zoro for pacing right in front of his bed while his broken back had been recovering. Zoro had fled Sanji’s room only to pace right in front his door and was promptly mortified when Sanji mentioned his sensitive hearing had caught Zoro pacing all night at his doorstep.

Ah, of course…that damn swordsman forgot all about my hearing! Hah, he’s gonna be so pissed off when I tell everybody he was worrying a hole into the floor right outside my kitchen…

Sanji’s satisfying train of thought was broken by the receding sound of boots stomping away. A relieved sigh escaped him as the tension in his body melted away. At least the marimo had the common sense to not start a fight with someone he got reacquainted with only twenty minutes ago. His hands finally stopped their embarrassing trembling, and Sanji could truly focus on the decadent meal he was putting together.

A few moments later, a familiar, gruff voice trickled through the small kitchen window much to Sanji’s dismay. He flicked his eyes towards the main deck through the small pane of glass to see the mosshead speaking to Usopp. Zoro was shifting his weight from side to side, restlessly wringing his hands as he seemingly asked the sniper about something. Sanji strained his ears, but even his impeccable hearing could only make out tiny, faint sentences.

“…so, the cook and I, do we…” The roar of blood in Sanji’s ears muffled the next part of Zoro’s question. He shook his head to clear his mind—and hopefully dissipate the growing heat in his cheeks—and focused his hearing once again.

“…normal. You call each other those names a lot…” The conversation grew frustratingly quiet as Zoro asked what seemed to be another follow up question to Usopp’s response. “…of endearment, oh sure.” Usopp punctuated with a hearty laugh and a pat to Zoro’s arm. The swordsman only nodded seriously, and shockingly, thanked Usopp with a small smile.

What the fuck is going on?

Sanji’s confused frustration only grew further as his ears continued catching snippets of Zoro’s conversation with their other crewmates. Close. Relationship. Equal. Bond. He only catches these couple, mystifying words through cracks and open windows, but none of them make his heart race as much as the word he catches when he hears Zoro talking to, he thinks, Luffy.

Love.

The ladle in his hand clatters to the floor. The persistent, pink flush on his face he’s had since Zoro’s conversation with Usopp flames into an undoubtedly embarrassing crimson that he knows from experience will bleed into his ears, neck, and chest. He takes in a shuddering breath as he crouches down to pick up the now-dirty ladle with a trembling hand.

The fuck is wrong with me? He’s just—just asking Luffy about that stupid nickname. Love-cook. And of course, that word makes me think of my beautiful angels Nami and Robin. Just the thought of them had made me blush! Sanji reasons as he pulls at his suddenly too-tight tie.

I’d better stop thinking about them so I’m not red at dinner.

But Sanji finds no thoughts of them to clear from his head—only ones of a certain mossheaded swordsman.

- - -

Dinner, is of course, a success. Sanji’s impeccable cooking satiates his crew’s ravenous hunger for yet another night, and after the first few hungry minutes dedicated solely to eating, loud, raucous conversation begins to comfortably fill the air.

Zoro has, for some inexplicable reason, sat directly across from him. The narrow table puts them at a close proximity that makes Sanji’s teeth grind and his palms damp. Still, he supposes the idiot doesn’t know any better, he thinks with a flick of his eyes to the bandage peeking around from the back of Zoro’s head.

“Hey, mosshead. Usually you don’t…sit across from me,” Sanji murmurs quietly, trying to keep the volume of their conversation underneath the ones of their crewmates. The last thing he needs is everyone noticing the strange, new way his face flames every time he speaks to Zoro.

“Oh. Why not?” Zoro asks in that annoyingly blunt way of his. Sanji’s eye twitches as he feels his patience already wearing dangerously thin. He doesn’t know any better. Patience, Sanji.

“Because, marimo, we tend to get…physical. You can never control yourself around me, and the crew definitely doesn’t want to see anything happening at the dinner table.” He huffs out the last part with a sharp, taunting grin—the kind that would’ve already had the old Zoro drawing his blades in anger.

He had only lied a little bit to mosshead. The whole truth would’ve been that he also couldn’t control himself around the swordsman—always eager and ready to provoke, argue, and kick Zoro whenever the opportunity arose. After a certain incident at the dinner table had left a whole set of china in shards, the crew had relegated Zoro and Sanji to opposite ends of the table in order to prevent any other catastrophes during mealtimes.

Zoro’s eye widened in response to Sanji’s hushed words—the big and reflective surface nicely complimenting the red blooming violently across the entirety of his face. Sanji watched this reaction with morbid curiosity; after all, he had never been able to provoke Zoro’s anger into this particular shade of vermilion. It’s almost a little cute.

“…phy…sical…?” the swordsman whispered disbelievingly. He leaned back in his chair, almost as if overwhelmed, and screwed his eye tightly shut. Sanji leaned forward slightly to get a better view of the swordsman’s fists clenched in his lap before Zoro’s eye suddenly flew open and he leaned forwards into Sanji’s face with a taunting, if slightly nervous, grin of his own.

“Well cook, it takes two to get physical, right? You sure you weren’t the one who couldn’t keep your hands to yourself?” Zoro retorted mischievously, tilting his head to the side and simultaneously caught Sanji’s eye while allowing his golden earrings to chime softly and catch the light. They look good in the candlelight.

“Oh, now you’ve done it,” Sanji growled, still trying to hush the volume of his voice in order to give the swordsman a good ass-kicking before the crew noticed their growing animosity.

Sanji roughly shoves his calf against Zoro’s underneath the table, shivering slightly at the touch, even through their clothes. For some strange reason, Zoro gasps softly and jerks his leg involuntarily, but makes no attempt to escape.

“You may have forgotten this marimo, but my special move can burn right through your sorry ass leg,” He lets a smirk grow across his face and lets his Diable Jambe heat up a little bit to prove his point. “Now, bastard, do you wanna take that assumption back? You don’t even know me—can you be so sure that I’m the one with no self-control?”
He rubs his calf against Zoro’s slightly, knowing that the heat emanating from his leg must be approaching painfully uncomfortable. He glances down to see if any smoke has started drifting up that could catch the crew’s attention and prepares to meet a furious Zoro’s gaze when he turns his eyes back up—only to meet a soft, sad eye and furrowed brow.

“I’m sorry that I forgot everything,” the swordsman murmurs solemnly. “I—I want to know you. Again. Sorry. That’s fuckin’ weird to say.” Sanji’s breath hitches at Zoro’s raw honesty. “Cook, I…”

“HEY! Both of you, back the fuck off! We don’t have any extra china to spare!” Nami hollers at the both of them, effectively allowing Sanji to escape the terrifyingly sincere moment. Both of them scramble backwards, and Sanji notes how close their faces really were.

“Shitty swordsman, just eat your food.” Sanji says, falling easily back into the comfort of insulting language. He draw his leg out from between Zoro’s, and straightens his jacket and tie in a practiced motion. He’s lucky that the beautiful Nami interrupted us. That stupid look on his face makes me want to kick his ass.

“Oh, fuck off twirly brow!” Zoro retaliates, seemingly finding the same ease the old Zoro found in insulting Sanji. Peculiarly, the red flush from his initial anger refuses to dissipate despite the fact that their animosity had simmered down.

Sanji made no further attempt at conversation with Zoro, having resolutely decided to get through dinner without further incident. As the crew exited the galley and he prepared to begin washing the dishes, the faint ember of hope that the rest of the night might pass peacefully was quickly extinguished when Chopper motioned for Zoro and Sanji after everyone had already left.

“So, Sanji, I was telling Zoro this morning that you guys should try to spend as much time together as possible…it could potentially kickstart his memory or force his brain to reach back into his emotional recognition towards you. Um, I know it might be a little strange, but I was really hoping that y’know…” Chopper’s bottom lip wobbled and his eyes began sparkling with a familiar wetness.

“I want Zoro to go back to normal as quickly as possible! I just feel so bad that…” Chopper continued talking as the tears finally fell, and Zoro patted his head repeatedly in an effort to comfort him. Sanji sighed once again. I can never say no when Chopper cries like that.

“Of course, doctor. I’ll do anything to help. I’ll definitely make sure the marimo’s brain remembers me.” He reassured the little doctor with a delicate stroke to his antlers.

“I know we usually rotate helping you with the dishes, but I was thinking that Zoro could do it for a while? You would be spending time together, but also helping to keep your kitchen in top condition.” Chopper tapped his hooves together hopefully, waiting for Sanji’s response.

“Yeah, that sounds fine to me.” He turned to address Zoro, who startled up from looking at Chopper. “Don’t try anything funny in my kitchen marimo. I think for tonight, its better we keep quiet and just do the damn work.”

Sanji and Zoro ended up elbow to elbow at the sink—Sanji washing the pots and pans dutifully while Zoro toweled them dry. He’s actually kept quiet since I asked him. Maybe the new Zoro isn’t so bad.

The dishes dwindled quickly enough, and as Sanji was approaching the final few, he felt the mosshead begin to shift restlessly next to him. This idiot is about to open his mouth and start a fight.

“Don’t.”

“You didn’t even know I was gonna say anything!”

“Yeah I did. You’re shifting around, which means you’re either gonna say something stupid or start a fight, or both. Just get it over with.”

Zoro huffed angrily at Sanji’s easy recognition. He dried the plate in his hands furiously before turning to face Sanji squarely and crossed his arms over his chest. His eyes flitted nervously to the side. That’s certainly new.

“Do we…do that a lot? Fight? As in, fight seriously? Is it only with words?”

“Yes, yes, not really, definitely no.”

“Huh?”

Sanji gave an exasperated sigh as he placed the last of the dishes to the side. He dried off his hands, and then turned to mirror Zoro’s crossed arms. “We fight. A lot. Way more than the rest of the crew. Yelling, kicking, punching, sword-slashing, you name it, we do it all.” Zoro raised an eyebrow and motioned for Sanji to continue talking.

“We don’t um…I don’t mean it. It’s kind of just like…sparring. Never enough to hurt you, but enough to make it hurt and make the fight worthwhile. You ever heard of that expression, ‘steel sharpens steel’? You’re a swordsman, so I sure would fuckin’ hope so.” He gives a snort. “Well, it’s kinda like that, I guess. That’s how I think about it at least. I never asked you if you meant it for real before you…y’know.” He reaches into his pocket for a cigarette reflexively, starting to feel a little warm at the uncharacteristic vulnerability.

“You never knew if I…?” Zoro trails off disbelievingly. “Cook.”

Sanji glances up at Zoro and meets a sincere, serious gray eye. He glances away just as quickly.

“I may not remember about us…but I know how I feel. I would’ve never meant it seriously, at any point.” Zoro’s brow furrows in that funny way again. “You’re my steel, right? So I need you. Not just to be the greatest swordsman in the world, but—”

“Jeez! I fucking get it! God, you and Chopper say the most embarrassing shit ever,” Sanji interrupts Zoro before he can spout shit about nakama and friendship in that awful, blunt way he always speaks in. The old Zoro would’ve never said anything about the importance of my friendship. I guess, in a way, I was a closer friend to him than I thought.

Sanji takes three successive puffs of his cigarette to slow the hammering of his heart. He lets a smirk bleed onto his face, and falls back into the comforting action of taunting Zoro.

“You never used to say all this shit. Maybe that blow to the head knocked those two brain cells of yours together and made a spark?” He throws back his head in a laugh, knowing the way the column of his neck was exposed would undoubtedly provoke the mossball.

“Shut—shut the hell up! Maybe I never said anything ‘cause you were too pussy to hear it, curly!” That pink flush settled itself on Zoro’s, making itself home in his high cheekbones. The swordsman took a step towards Sanji, exuding annoyance.

“If anything, you were the pussy!” He retorts. Unwilling to back down, Sanji took the last step towards the swordsman and shoved his forehead brashly against Zoro’s. It was a familiar action; plenty of fights started and ended with their foreheads pressed against one another’s, pushing and pushing to see who would relent. Sanji bore his weight forwards, bracing for Zoro’s significant weight to push back.

But it never came.

Sanji watched as the delicate pink bled into Zoro’s face, then ears, then neck and watched in further disbelief as it bloomed into a crimson. That looks kind of nice against his hair.

Zoro’s eye blinked rapidly before it fluttered shut, his long, dark lashes casting a shadow against cheekbones. The tension in his body, instead of surging forwards against Sanji as he had initially expected, bled out of him all at once as he rested his weight limply against Sanji’s forehead. The swordsman licked his lips, and gave a quiet sigh before speaking to a shocked-silent Sanji.

“Do we…do…this often?” Zoro’s voice wavered slightly and his eyes were still closed as if unwilling to confirm if Sanji was real.

Sanji’s mouth opened and closed a few times, any sound refusing to come out. What the hell is happening?

“I…Yeah. Sometimes, um. Sometimes happens after a fight,” he manages to mutter, hoping Zoro won’t notice the way he has begun trembling.

“Hm,” is all Zoro hums in response, seemingly content in keeping his eye closed and breathing in Sanji’s air. He leans in slightly to rub his nose against Sanji’s, and suddenly, it becomes too much.

Sanji rips backwards out of Zoro’s space, severing…whatever had been happening. Zoro stumbles forward in the absence of Sanji’s weight, and the cook catches him reflexively by the shoulders. His eye flutters open sleepily in Sanji’s grasp and tilts his head in that dog-like way.

“Is something wrong…?” he asks while blinking slowly, making no move to wrench Sanji’s hands off his shoulders. Oh god.

Sanji swiftly stuffs his hands into his pockets and away from the warmth of Zoro’s body. He turns around completely, refusing to meet the swordsman’s gaze.

“I—I have to work on Luffy’s midnight snack. Um. You should go to sleep, it’s been a long day for you, right? Chopper mentioned, um, that you have to sleep in med bay for observation or something…” He finishes weakly.

The sleepy look on Zoro’s face persists. “Ah, right,” he replies quietly. “Thanks for reminding me, I would’ve forgotten. Pretty sure the head wound is making me tired.” He rubs his callused hands over his face drowsily. “Seriously, thanks for everything, cook. And for taking everything well. And, well. Y’know.” No, I really don’t know.

Zoro slipped out of the kitchen with what sounded suspiciously like good night to Sanji as he exited. As soon as he was out of eyesight, Sanji slumped against the counter. His foot tapped rapidly as he raised a trembling hand to spark his lighter.

What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck.

He takes a shaky inhale of nicotine. And another. And then another. The whole cigarette burns down to the filter by the time Sanji’s body has stopped trembling and his racing thoughts begin forming something coherent. He scrubs at his hair and eyes, stands still for a few moments, and then a triumphant smile appears on his face.

I get it now.

He barks out a hushed laugh to himself in the desolate kitchen.

He remembers me. Or at least, some things about me. Like how much we argue and fight and try to annoy the living hell out of each other. Clearly, he’s trying new methods to torture me. He must remember how we had gotten used to fighting every day, and decided to switch it up…after all, he must’ve known that pressing his face against mine like that would’ve caught me completely off guard. Looking at me like that with that stupid face. Of course…! He never even asked me how we used to act around each other because he already knows. Idiot swordsman, you’ve left yourself wide open.

He stubs out the filter and drops into the trashcan before briskly walking out of the kitchen with polished shoes. He steps out onto the deck and leans against the railing and looks out into the night sky. Cloudless and beautiful.

I refuse to lose this battle against you, marimo.

- - -

Zoro laid on a soft cot inside the dark medical office, listening to the quiet drone of the machines around him that were slowly lulling him to sleep. Not yet.

Blinking drowsily, he remembers Chopper’s instructions to mentally review daily interactions with Sanji. Something about forcing his brain to recognize the cook’s face and jumpstarting memories, mixed with medical jargon he didn’t care to understand.

Their ‘first’ meeting in the medical office had left Zoro starstruck. He hadn’t recognized the beautiful, delicate face in front of him, but his heart clearly had. Beating a million miles a minute in his chest, he had only stupidly thought God, he’s beautiful before the man had left the room.

Even after rolling around like a love-sick girl, he still couldn’t wrap his head around his relationship to the beautiful blonde man. I wonder what he likes to call me. Boyfriend. Partner. Lover. Unless, of course, we’re…? His head shot up to look at his ring finger, somehow both disappointed and relieved it remained bare and empty. He would’ve died of frustration if he had forgotten something like his wedding to a man like Sanji.

It was clear, despite only having had a short conversation with the cook, he was profoundly, and severely in love with him. It was obvious to him that this love had burned bright and hard and long in his heart—and from what Sanji hinted at—had likely burned this way ever since they had met at the mysterious Baratie. God, isn’t that a thought. Ever since the moment we’ve met, he’s allowed me to be his.

He had left the medical office determined to keep their relationship strong despite his sudden and unexpected amnesia. He stomped a heavy and sure path all the way to the kitchen door, and then hesitated. I’m nervous, he realized with shock. Roronoa Zoro was not a man that was made nervous easily, and yet, pretty, golden hair and clear blue eyes had made his courage run with its tail between its legs.

He paced anxiously in front of the door. Something twinged in the back of his mind. Embarrassment. Distantly, he wondered why pacing near the cook would have him bashful.

Cursing under his breath and thoroughly grateful that Sanji hadn’t been there to see the pathetic display, he retreated to the deck and caught sight of Usopp. Should probably get more insight. Usopp would know, right?

“Hey, Usopp. Wanted to ask something.”

“Oh, Zoro! Good to see that your head is doing better. Fire away!”

Zoro takes a skittish breath before ploughing on. “Uh. So, the cook and I, do we always call each other those names or…?”

Usopp nods thoughtfully. “Yeah, pretty much. You guys can get pretty creative with the little…names you give one another. Can’t remember the last time you called Sanji by his actual name.”

“So they’re like…terms of…endearment? They mean the same as other, uh, affections, right?”

Usopp lets out a guffaw and wipes a tear from his eye as he responds to Zoro. “Yes, they’re terms of endearment, oh sure.”

Great. I guess ‘mossball’ and ‘curly’ might be our versions of sweetheart or angel. I’m glad Usopp explained it to me so I didn’t have to embarrass myself in front of the cook. I like the kind of man that can fight with his words just as well as his weapons. I’m glad he doesn’t hold back on me, but I want to know if we use other, well, more normal affections as well…

Pleased with himself, Zoro set out to ask the other Strawhats for insight on his and Sanji’s relationship. After all, he thought the cook might be pleased to realize that his marimo could fall back into the relationship without asking him for instructions. He was determined to uphold his coveted role as Sanji’s partner.

The little prideful part inside Zoro wagged its tail and preened, pleased with the responses from his crewmates. I think I must’ve been doing something right.

“Yeah, you guys are close. We’re all on the same ship, so I would hope we all are!”

“You guys have got a special relationship, for sure.”

“I would say he’s the only one you could really call your equal.”

“There’s a bond between the two of you that I haven’t seen anywhere else.”

He finishes his interrogations by coming to a stop in front of his captain. Although he suspects Luffy will likely be mostly ignorant about the subject, he always manages to say something insightfully honest when asked for advice.

“Luffy. I want to know how Sanji and I felt about each other before my brains got knocked out of my head,” Zoro asks with open earnest.

His captain, distracted by the fruit platter in front of him and with bothering Usopp from across the deck with a long, rubber limb, tells him as much without mincing the words.

“You love Sanji and Sanji loves you! Now, help me catch Usopp with my leg so I can show him this funny-shaped banana.”

After obliging his captain with a flushed face, Zoro sits in the crow’s nest, dedicating his thoughts to the nebulous cloud surrounding his recovery. He closes his eye and thinks as clearly as he can while being acutely aware that his heart’s desire is only a short ladder climb and walk away.

It’s just like training. Figure out the reps, track progress carefully and accordingly. I’ll have to learn what the cook likes through trial and error. See what works and keep doing that. I can’t mess this up. After all, wasn’t I already successful in the past?

Time passed by in a haze until Zoro found himself filing into the galley and taking a seat at the table. He waits until the cook chooses his own seat, and then promptly sits down in front of him. Glancing towards him, he can’t help but be mesmerized by the man in front of him.

I know why people make art and write flowery poetry and compose a hundred ballads now. I want to do it all for him at this very moment.

When the cook leans in and quietly informs him exactly why they aren’t allowed to be seated across from each other, Zoro momentarily believes that Sanji will be able to hear his jackrabbiting heart from across the table.

Physical? In front of the crew? Do we do that often? What do we do? Is it just holding hands, or kissing, or…

Zoro thinks back to a seedy bar he found himself in shortly after his nineteenth birthday. A woman had taken a fancy to him, invited herself into his booth, and dragged her stiletto shoe up his calf, up his thigh, and then high enough for Zoro to smack her leg away and promptly find another place to sit.

Somehow, he isn’t bothered at all when he thinks about Sanji doing something like that, as mortifying as it would be in front of their crewmates.

From what I’ve heard, he likes teasing and fighting, right…?

He musters up his best confident and cocky reply to Sanji’s taunt and then is rendered speechless when he feels a warm leg pressed right against his own.

Maybe I died when I got hit in the head. No way is this angel is giving me the time of day.

Sanji might as well have been speaking underwater with the way Zoro is entirely focused on the hot, steady pressure of his powerful leg and the heady way it just seemed to burn more and more as the seconds passed by. He only falls back into the conversation to try and give Sanji a genuine apology for forgetting their relationship, for forgetting someone as beautiful as him, only to be interrupted by the witch screaming about broken china or something. He promptly tunes her out until all the dishes have been cleared and their stomachs were full.

Chopper, like a guardian angel, gifts Zoro the convenient excuse to spend even more time with Sanji—even if it is just time spent completing chores. Sanji, seemingly deep in thought, doesn’t talk until Zoro prepares to do so, and yells at him before he can open his mouth.

He knows me so well. He yells just right. How did I get so lucky?

He’s left floundering once again when Sanji reveals that he never truly knew if Zoro had real animosity behind their fights. I could never be truly angry with you. I’m sorry it took a rock to the head for me to finally tell you.

Zoro tries to get out a few waxing-poetic sentences about how Sanji’s his steel, his partner, and all those other saccharine words he imagined reciting when he looked into his eyes during dinner but finds himself interrupted by a bashful cook.

He didn’t mind as long as he got to see that delicate pink blooming across the cook’s face in return.

An argument starts—which he’s quickly learning happens quite frequently—and their voices raise and steps are taken closer until they’re right in each other’s space. And then Sanji comes even closer. The press of their foreheads quite literally takes his breath away and fills his lungs with the dizzying perfume of affection.

This called a…forehead kiss, right?

He lets himself melt into a malleable and drowsy state, placing himself in Sanji’s care. He isn’t worried when they separate or when Sanji reminds him to sleep in the medical bay for observation, and instead just lets his pleasant sleepiness carry him to bed with a ‘good night’ for the cook on his lips.

He’s so thoughtful. He knew I would forget to sleep in here. How is he taking everything so well?

He really is perfect.

Chapter Text

Sanji had gone to bed that night resolute to beat Zoro at the strange standoff he seemed to have incited after waking up from his head injury. I’ve faced greater battles than this. I can pretend to be…friendly with him for a little while. Just hold out until he breaks first.

The next morning, Sanji found out just how dedicated Zoro was to this charade.

He had risen with the early morning sun, as per usual. It was a habit he’s had since childhood—getting up early to evade the brutal beatings his brother would inevitably give him that day, and after he escaped Germa, it became a way to prepare the kitchen and dining room for incoming customers at the Baratie. Now, he used the early morning advantage to prepare a large breakfast for the insatiable crew every day.

After a quick shower and change into a fresh suit, he rolled up his sleeves and began to prepare the large breakfast spread. Robin and Brooke joined him in the galley shortly after, always being the first to wake up for coffee and to read a good book. Sanji placed steaming mugs of coffee in front of them both, along with fresh croissants and butter. He turned back to the stove and placed his attention back to the massive pan full of frying bacon until he heard the galley door swing open once again.

Ah, that’s Chopper. I should make another batch of coffee with extra sugar for him. Chopper was always the third to appear in the galley, and Sanji expected to see his furry face as he turned away from the stove with the coffee pot and sugar in hand.

What he didn’t expect to see was the groggy, bed-rumpled swordsman scratching his mossy head as he lumbered towards the kitchen bar, pulling out a stool next to Brooke.

He never gets up this early. It should be at least another hour and a half before that idiot drags his ass out of bed.

“Good morning, Zoro,” Brooke greets.

“Morning,” he grunts with a nod to both Brooke and Robin in acknowledgment. “G’morning, cook,” he calls out to Sanji, who had turned back to face the stove.

At that greeting, both Brooke and Robin made small noises of surprise. Zoro never greeted Sanji in the morning, much less in a way that didn’t involve his katanas or an impressive insult.

Sanji stiffened at the swordsman’s mellow words and felt heat begin to bloom across his cheeks. If that idiot thinks he can fool me into saying good morning to him, he has another thing coming. He focused on balancing the numerous breakfast plates along the lengths of his arms and distributed them to his crewmates seated at the bar.

As he placed Zoro’s plate in front of him, he made the mistake of looking at his face. Sanji almost recoiled by seeing the open hope and earnest Zoro looked at him with. He could practically see a tail wagging pathetically behind him. Oh god, don’t look at me like that… He took a deep breath as he set down Zoro’s set of cutlery and napkins. I really am weak after all.

“G-good morning, shitty swordsman.”

Zoro’s eyebrows and mouth quirked upwards—a tiny, miniscule change to others might as well have been a giant grin in Sanji’s eyes. He had learned long ago the true depth of the swordsman’s minute expressions. Why couldn’t I refuse? Why did I let him win?

Zoro began happily shoveling fluffy eggs and perfectly toasted bread in his mouth, seemingly satisfied with Sanji’s acknowledgment. Sanji whipped back around to the kitchen, acutely aware of the way the tips of his ears burned with an emotion he didn’t want to name. He flitted his eyes back towards the kitchen bar only to see Brooke and Robin having an amused conversation broken up by the occasional glances to both him and Zoro. Robin caught his eye and giggled behind her elegant hand.

“It seems our cook has had a change of heart,” she said, eyes sparkling with mirth.

“N-no! Of course not, Robin-chan! He’s the one who’s had the change of heart if anything!” Sanji retaliated, thoroughly humiliated that she had immediately noticed his bashfulness.

“Ah, I think his heart has been this way the whole time, Cook-san.” Robin noted quietly with a small, strange smile.

Sanji’s confusion was shared by Brooke, who promptly asked, “What does that mean, dear Robin?”

“Nothing at all, just thinking out loud…” Her face exuded mischief, but her calm voice gave nothing away.

The rest of the crew slowly trickled in and allowed Sanji to forget the swordsman’s uncharacteristically nice greeting and Robin’s strange commentary. His small hope to have a normal day was finally crushed at the realization that Zoro would be washing the breakfast dishes with him, per Chopper’s request.

They remained alone in the kitchen, the quiet sound of running water and clink of glass filling the air, much like the night before. Sanji involuntarily shivered as he remembered the events of the night before. I need to stop letting him get under my skin. Just don’t think or talk, Sanji. Keep calm. He gave a quiet exhale as he mentally grounded himself. Another few peaceful moments passed before Sanji was taken by surprise yet again.

“The food was really good, curly. Thank you,” Zoro said quietly.

Sanji flinched, momentarily speechless at Zoro’s gratitude. He scrambled to gather his thoughts and give a reply. “Of course. It’s my job to feed the crew, after all.”

“Do you always wake up that early to make breakfast?”

Sanji was shocked Zoro had noticed him creeping silently out of the boys’ quarters and was even more stunned that a shade of concern colored the swordsman’s question. Is he worried about me?

“Yeah, that’s pretty typical.” He handed Zoro a wet dish and began scrubbing a new one. “Nightmares don’t let me sleep much.” He mentally kicked himself for letting that last little bit slip—this Zoro didn’t know anything about his past and his pathetic admittance to having nightmares only invited more conversation with the idiot.

“Oh. Uh…d’you…mind telling me what they’re about?” Zoro asks sheepishly.

Sanji sighed. Might as well tell him a little bit. He won’t stop bothering me otherwise. Just get it over with now. “Memories from my childhood. Sometimes I dream that I never escaped those awful people. That I never met…you guys,” he finishes lamely.

Zoro, thankfully, does not push the subject and just gives a hum of acknowledgment. He sidles closer to Sanji, and he realizes that their arms are practically pressed together at the sink. Why am I not moving away?

They dutifully finish up the remaining dishes and dry their hands. Sanji sighs and begins turning around towards the pantry, thinking about taking inventory and checking what they need from the next island. His heart stops in his chest when a warm hand wraps around his bicep and forces him to turn around.

“Cook, I’m sorry about…what happened back then. I know I can’t change anything now, but we’re nakama. I’ll be here.” For you, goes unsaid. Zoro’s hand slips from his bicep down to clutch his wrist, his fingers almost threatening to tangle with Sanji’s.

“I have to train, but uh, I’ll see you later. Goodbye.” Zoro tugs Sanji forwards by his wrist, and Sanji is helpless but to lean forwards into Zoro’s space. To his complete and utter shock, Zoro leans forward as well, closes his eye, and presses his forehead against Sanji’s. Oh god, this is just like last night, Sanji thinks as his face burns a painful crimson.

Zoro releases Sanji and begins walking out the galley door with a final glance thrown over his shoulder towards the cook. His mouth quirks up in that admittedly adorable way again, complimenting the flush high on his cheeks. Fuck.

I’m so fucked.

- - -

Sanji continued to lose little “battles” against Zoro in the coming days. A brush of their hands sent him scrambling to an adjacent room with his face burning in embarrassment. Their sides pressed together while washing dishes was enough for his heart to jackrabbit at an alarming rate. Worst of all, Zoro’s preferred goodbye was a humiliating and strangely intimate press of their foreheads together. The proximity of the act made Sanji squirm, but he always stood motionless and allowed Zoro to breathe in his air.

Every day, Sanji checked in with Nami and asked if they were approaching an island anytime soon. He was tired of being cooped up on the ship, constantly at Zoro’s mercy. He stress-cooked often, and the ship’s stores had suffered as a result. Not only am I juggling with Zoro’s mind games, but now I have to think about how to make 10 meals out of 20 potatoes. Fucking great.

The day had finally come where Nami announced that they would be stopping at a nearby island to restock supplies and unwind a little bit. The whole crew exhaled in relief and gave laughs of excitement—after all, a new island meant new people, new adventure, and new food.

As they approached the shore of the island, Sanji noticed a small crowd gathered on the pier gazing curiously at the Thousand Sunny. He grew slightly anxious, knowing that their presence as pirates might not be entirely welcome.

He worried on a cigarette as he leaned against the railing of the ship. Sanji startled as Robin leaned against the railing next to him with a small smile.

“Oh, Robin-chan! Have you come to see the crowd as well? We usually don’t get this kind of welcome. I wonder if the locals are aggressive towards pirates…?” He wondered aloud.

“Ah, Cook-san, I actually read a little bit on this particular island. The Andro Island was supposedly blessed by a deity long ago that gave grace to the beauty of men and women alike. The natives on the island are said to possess feminine and masculine beauty that cannot be found anywhere else on the Grand Line.”

Sanji’s imagination ran wild with the new information. Women with indescribable beauty that cannot be found anywhere else—literally blessed by a god. As his thoughts shifted, he swallowed a lump that suddenly formed in his throat. Men that can also not be found anywhere else…

He shook his head to dissipate his unsavory thoughts. “I’m sorry Robin-chan, but I still don’t understand what this has to do with the natives being so interested in us…?”

Robin gave a light laugh, her elegant, long fingers ghosting across her mouth. “The people of this island no longer find blessed feminine and masculine beauty as entrancing as we do—they believe that those who blur the line between feminine and masculine are the most beautiful of all.” She turned to face Sanji fully. “They are watching our ship because they are excited to see if someone is beautiful on both ends of the spectrum.”

“Someone like you, Cook-san.”

Sanji flinched backwards. He blushed at Robin’s blatant praise of his appearance—compliments were rare from the mysterious woman—but he was also embarrassed that she considered him beautiful in both a masculine and feminine way.

He thought back to the many instances when men and women alike called him pretty. He had never known how to respond to such a compliment and had always just laughed or gave an even more ridiculous compliment in return. Most of them had probably just told me that as insult. A pretty man just doesn’t…I’ll never be worth as much as someone who’s just plain handsome.

Someone like Zoro.

Sanji’s eyes flared wide when he realized he just called Zoro handsome. He scrubbed his hands over his face and raked his fingers through his hair in exasperation. Resolutely ignoring his train of thought, he turned his attention back to the pier. Slowly but surely, the faces of the crowd came into view and the sounds of their excitement grew louder.

Robin really hadn’t been exaggerating at all. Oh my god, how are they all so beautiful?

The women were well-endowed with narrow waists and wide hips. Perfect, long hairstyles accented with tropical flowers highlighted their alluring faces while delicate, flowy fabric created attractive lines around their bodies. Gold bangles and necklaces chimed and glimmered in the hot sunlight and called out to Sanji like a siren’s song. The men were tall and muscular, and almost outnumbered the women. Strong jaws and broad, bulky shoulders were complimented by the corded necklaces and bracelets most of the men seemed to wear. Oddly enough, Sanji felt drawn by their deep baritones almost as much as the high lilt of the women’s voices.

The women and men alike had clear, shining skin and thick, lustrous hair. Straight, white teeth and dimples adorned every sparkling smile. Feathery, thick lashes that cast shadows on flushed cheekbones brought attention to their bewitching eyes, and they all had an air of temptation around them.

The Sunny dropped its anchor, and the Strawhats quickly descended upon the wooden pier and faced the buzzing crowd.

“Hello! We’re pirates, but we aren’t gonna hurt you unless you deserve it!” Luffy greeted the locals with a huge grin plastered across his face.

The locals, thankfully, laughed at Luffy’s peculiar way at saying hello and slowly began walking among the Strawhats and introducing themselves. The crew belatedly introduced themselves to those who came up and struck a conversation, excited at the rare opportunity to arrive at an island without immediate Marine intervention.

Something became clear to the entire crew as the introductions began—the locals were falling over themselves to introduce themselves to Sanji.

Sanji was immediately swarmed by broad, muscular pecs and ample chests. Dazzling smiles and elated greetings were shouted to him from every direction, and he tilted his head upwards to stop the familiar slide of blood from his nose. This island’s preferred greeting seemed to be a kiss to the cheek and then to the palm of the hand, and Sanji’s entire face and both palms grew warm from the constant press of lips. He cracked open his eyes enough to see that, for some reason, none of his crewmates were receiving this particular greeting.

More beautiful locals joined the quickly growing crowd around Sanji. He was slowly being crushed by the onslaught of attractive bodies, and voices began to grow more desperate for Sanji’s attention. Instead of waiting one by one to press a greeting to Sanji’s cheek and palm, multiple people just began planting kisses where they could reach out of desperation that they would be unable to touch Sanji. His eyebrows, temples, forehead, and chin were covered by the sheer lip coloring that both the men and women seemed to wear, and his hands were kissed from fingertip to wrist.

Ah, I t-think this might be too much…

Suddenly, his lithe body was ripped through the warm pressure of the crowd and he gratefully took in a gulp of cool air as he trembled involuntarily in between warm, strong arms.

Whose fucking arms are these?

Sanji tilted his head to look at his savior in the eyes, only to brush his nose against a sharp, jawline and breathed in the familiar scent of steel and earthy wood. He reeled backwards, breaking out of the swordsman’s embrace. He straightened his rumpled jacket and huffed a frustrated breath.

“I had it handled, you know.”

“Sure didn’t look like it. Besides, I did it for my sake, not yours.”

Sanji’s head shot up to look at Zoro, completely bewildered by his statement. What does he even mean by that? Did that bastard hate seeing me getting attention for once?

His lips twisted in a sneer, but before he could retort, he was interrupted by a welcoming, booming voice.

“Hello, Strawhat pirates!” an older woman called out to the crew, easily parting the small crowd that had formed on the pier. Her short, gray hair framed her delicate face, and her sensible dress and sandals added to her mature beauty. Sanji was enraptured already.

“Sorry about them. They’re younger, so they get excited by new people easily. I hope you can forgive them for overstepping,” she said with a sympathetic glance towards Sanji. “I’m Liora, the head of the village on Andro Island. Please, come with me.”

The Strawhat pirates answered her beckoning call and dutifully followed her down the path leading towards the town. As Sanji fell into step in front of Zoro, he was unable to see as the swordsman turned back around to face the attractive crowd, scowled, and mouthed the words back off.

Chapter Text

Liora had guided them through the tropical village, which was washed in pleasant, bright shades and adorned with lilies and hibiscus in every crevice. The town seemed to be in the middle of some foreign celebration, with paper confetti littered at their feet, banners hanging from lampposts, and shopping stalls selling everything from sparklers to what seemed to be celebration attire. Laughter and conversations bubbled up around them in the crowded streets as mirth filled the atmosphere. Wooden walls, tiled roofs, and cobbled pathways made up a humble, yet picturesque town that matched the beauty of its residents.

Their tour guide was pointing small features of the town around them while on their way to their unknown destination. Sanji watched as Robin and Jimbe eagerly followed Liora’s finger as she pointed to several statues and fountains that seemed to carry significance. His other crewmates let out sounds of exclamation at the colorful decorations and small trinkets sold in the markets. Sanji had tuned out their conversations and Liora—he was much more interested in the people around him.

Every direction his golden head turned, gorgeous men and women blushed and waved at him, most of them pushing delicate flower petals into his hands or pockets. Many of them tried grasping his hand or cheek for that peculiar greeting he had received earlier, but Zoro dispelled them with a fierce stare or growl. I would rather die than tell that bastard I’m kind of thankful he’s scaring them off. Regardless, once Liora’s sandaled feet had stopped at their destination, Sanji’s pockets were bulging with petals.

Liora turned towards him curiously, smiling brightly when she saw the fragrant pieces of affection Sanji had been showered with. “Ah, I see some of my people have taken a liking to you!”

“Is this a, um, typical way of showing that here?” Sanji inquired with a slight flush on his face.

“Yes, on our island we have many customs regarding courting, romance, and betrothal. Of course, you’ve already felt one of these customs firsthand: a kiss to the cheek then palm is a way of expressing interest in potential partner. The flower petals express a similar meaning, although they are also a way of asking for a dance.”

“A dance?” Sanji parroted, confused.

“Our lovely town’s celebration is in full swing,” she motioned towards the flower garlands and confetti everywhere. “Of course, a celebration calls for dancing—and many of my people seem to want a dance with you.”

Sanji’s face heated up to an extraordinary scarlet as his crewmates whooped in teasing celebration and wolf-whistled loudly once they had processed just how many greetings and flower petals he had received.

“Seems like Sanji’s really popular!” Usopp hurrahed.

“Knock ‘em dead, Sanji!” Franky cheered.

Their embarrassing hollering died down as Liora cleared her throat. A warm smile spread across her face as she motioned her hand to the large, elegant building behind her. “I’d like to personally invite you to stay in our best hotel. Of course, it is quite busy since many from other islands have come to take part of our celebration, so unfortunately, rooms for each of you couldn’t be secured. Despite this, I hope you’ll take me up on my offer to stay here? Free of charge, of course.”

Sanji heard Nami make a small noise of excitement before responding enthusiastically to Liora.

“Of course, we don’t mind! Thank you for your kind, free offer. We’re pretty crowded on our ship, so I know we can definitely make do with sharing a few rooms,” Nami said with a catlike grin.

Liora’s eye glinted as a mysterious smile graced her beautiful face. “I hope then that I will see all of you participate in our festivities then? Pirates with a reputation such as yours are considered our guests of honor,” she emphasized with a small bow of her head.

Luffy’s cheerful voice rang out as he cried, “Then we’ll definitely celebrate…with lots of meat!”

- - -

The crew had quickly fractured off, pursuing things they had deemed interesting on their tour. Sanji had heard Franky and Usopp talking animatedly about some miniature gear wheels, Robin and Nami set off in the direction of a spa to freshen up, Luffy and Chopper had galloped off in search of a banquet, and Brooke and Jimbe had meandered off to peruse the sprawling markets.

Somehow, Sanji had ended up alone with the swordsman.

Sanji ground his teeth around his cigarette, absolutely irritated that he had ended up with the mossball out of all his crewmates. As he crossed his arms over his chest with a huff, he discreetly slid his gaze over to the swordsman, anticipating a look of anger to rival his own.

He was surprised to the see the relaxed form of his spine, his hand reaching towards a tree overhead to pluck a bloom from the branch. Zoro pocketed the dainty pink flower in his haramaki before turning around to face Sanji and lumbered closer to the cook.

“What do you want to do?” Zoro asked mildly.

It took a great deal of discipline for Sanji to stop himself from flinching away from the swordsman unexpected pacifism. Seriously, what the fuck’s going on with him?

“W-well, first off, what makes you think I’ll be going anywhere with you?!” Sanji barked out, abysmally aware of the flush that was spreading on his face.

A small smile played on Zoro’s lips. “Do you not want to go with me?” He challenged directly.

Ah, he’s doing it again! I won’t pussy out—this time I’ll beat you at this game!

Sanji stuffed his hands in his pockets, letting the cigarette dangle nonchalantly from his lips. He desperately hoped he looked as relaxed as Zoro did.

“Not what I said, asshole.”

Zoro exhaled a small puff through his nose before walking forward, his head jerking back towards Sanji as if saying, You coming or what?

They ambled along the cobblestone paths in a resolute silence until they reached an open plaza where a marketplace had seemingly set up. Sanji’s nose turned upwards, exotic and foreign spices permeating the air and creating a decadent scent that he absolutely had to ask about.

He walked briskly forward through the crowd, trying to keep his face tilted towards the ground as to not draw attention. He came to a dead stop after realizing Zoro’s calm, steady presence no longer filled the vicinity to his right.

Fucking idiot, always getting lost and making me look for him…

Sanji quickly scanned the crowd and saw Zoro squinting around in hesitation of what direction to head next. He stomped up to the swordsman before gripping his bicep brusquely.

“Try to keep up, you damn marimo.”

He set off towards the delicious odor he had noticed earlier, this time with Zoro in tow. The swordsman hadn’t made a peep, which thoroughly surprised Sanji since he had maintained his death grip on his arm the whole time. He subconsciously squeezed a little tighter at the thought of losing Zoro in the bustling crowd once again.

At a particular dense part in the crowd, Sanji had lost the scent of the food amongst the sweet perfumes and salty colognes of the beautiful men and women around him. He turned his face and nose up in the air to catch a whiff again and realized his mistake too late.

He watched in horror as attractive faces turned toward his and broke out in flushes and smiles. Immediately, people began coming up to him trying to start a conversation, offering food and flower petals, or kissing his cheek and palm in that greeting again.

Now, Sanji definitely enjoyed the attention, but he felt that perhaps a whole marketplace’s attention would be a bit too much for him. As that familiar crush of bodies began closing in on him again, his free hand clung onto Zoro’s bicep like an anchor. Somehow, Zoro read his mind and saved him from the crowd again, pulling him like a fish on a hook.

Sanji’s grip loosened enough for his hand to fall away from his bicep, but strangely, Zoro gripped his hand instead. He’s not holding it too tight to hurt me though. Does he remember how important my hands are to me?

“Sorry, but we’re busy right now. He’s got no time for all of you,” Zoro addressed the crowd bluntly, moving their clasped hands to the front of their bodies so that it was visible to the mob.

“Don’t be so rude, idiot!” Sanji growled at Zoro before whipping his head towards the crowd with a dazzling smile. “I’m sure I can get to know some of you later at the celebration tonight.”

His response was met with dreamy sighs and excited clamoring, but he wasn’t allowed much time to gloat before Zoro was pulling him by the hand through the mob.

“Didn’t you want to find food or something?” He emphasized with a glance of his eyes over his shoulder.

Sanji begrudgingly left the doting attention of the locals to continue his pursuit of the delicious smell and continued walking to the food stall. He was deep in thought about the potential recipes he could concoct with new spices found on the island, but his train of thought was broken when he suddenly became aware of something hot and damp wrapped around his palm.

He glanced down to find that Zoro was still holding his hand. Bewildered, he looked towards the swordsman for some sort of explanation, only to see his brow furrowed in concentration and a red flush blooming along his cheekbones and ears. Unable to stand seeing the mossball wearing such a vulnerable expression, he turned his attention back towards the sweaty hand clasping his.

Zoro’s hand’s never get sweaty. He recalled a time when the swordsman had mentioned training the sweat his hands exuded so he could maintain perfect grip over his swords at all times. That’s not normal. Is he…nervous or something?

Sanji left behind his suspicious train of thought as they finally arrived under the canopy of a kebob stand. Shaking Zoro’s hand away, he used his now free hand to reach towards the samples the stall owner had set towards the front of the display. As he conversed with the stall owner over the specific spices and recipes used, the swordsman meandered over to adjacent stall to grope around at some swords or weapons, or something.

Sanji concluded his conversation with the stall opener with an ecstatic thank you! and two pieces of chicken glazed with an orange, spicy sauce. Zoro reappeared at his side, eyeing Sanji’s haul.

“Don’t worry, I got you some too, you damn mossball. Just pick it up from the tray and tell me how you like it, ‘cause we might be eating it on the ship soon.”

“Can’t,” Zoro said with a shrug.

Sanji’s curly eyebrow twitched with a quickly boiling anger. “Why exactly, shitty swordsman, can’t you simply pick it up and eat?”

“My hands are dirty,” He lifted up his truly disgusting palms to emphasize his point. “The swords had a special kind of oil on them to protect them, and I got it all over my hands.” Zoro’s eyes flitted to the side before taking a deep, steadying breath.

“Why don’t you just feed me?” He asked quietly.

Sanji’s eyes widened comically at Zoro’s ridiculous suggestion. His face began twisting up in the beginnings of a sneer, but he caught his tongue before he could spit out a rejection.

Don’t let him win, Sanji!

He gave Zoro a long, piercing stare and let the silence stew between them uncomfortably. The swordsman shifted his feet from side to side under Sanji’s intense gaze before Sanji reluctantly shifted closer.

He took the piece of meat between his two fingers and lifted it towards Zoro, hesitation still clearly written in his actions and across his face. Zoro closed his eyes and opened his mouth anyway, those sharp canines catching the sunlight across their pearly surfaces. Sanji gulped as he looked at the pink and wet inside of Zoro’s mouth, the soft tongue extended slightly to taste the anticipated meal. Suddenly flustered, Sanji prepared to put the meat back down and tell Zoro to eat off the plate like a damn animal, but he was interrupted by the swordsman himself.

“C’mon, just put it in my mouth already.”

The low timbre of his quiet voice caused a buzz to spread throughout Sanji’s entire body, completely taken aback by the mossball’s meek trust in Sanji to feed him.

Idiot, do you even know how dirty that sentence sounds?!

Sanji shoved the meat in Zoro’s mouth quickly—hoping to rip the bandaid off this whole situation. In his haste, his index finger graced the hot, wet heat of Zoro’s mouth and of course, his whole face broke out in scarlet.

Sanji whipped around to turn his back towards Zoro in a desperate attempt to hide his shameful loss at their little game. He could hear the swordsman continuing to chew behind him, seemingly unbothered.

“I—I wanted to go back to the hotel to, um, freshen up. For the party. Tonight.” Sanji awkwardly stilted out, wincing at his clear evasion of the situation. You’ve won already marimo, just show me some mercy right now.

“Okay. Let’s go back,” Zoro agreed easily.

Sanji only nodded, still squeezing his eyes tightly as if to erase the other man from existence. He put out his right leg to begin briskly walking once again, but the swordsman seemed to want to take him by surprise one last time.

“I, uh. Don’t want to get lost. I can’t, um, you know…” He looked down sheepishly to his filthy hands. “Do you mind…?” He extended his bicep towards Sanji again, his question as obvious as the earnestness on his face.

I can’t go to hell because I’m already there.

Sanji’s hand flew out to capture his bicep in that death grip once again, leading a very pleased mossball to the elegant hotel in the distance.

Chapter Text

The walk to their sleeping arrangements had been blessedly short and attention-free, as Sanji had held fast to Zoro’s bicep to prevent any further directional mishaps as well as tucking his face slightly into his suit jacket to obscure his beauty from the locals.

The exterior of the hotel was carved with delicate, ornate swirls into the marble of the foundation. The small embellishes in the pillars of the hotel served to add to the elegant, yet not frivolous, appearance of the entire building. Sanji was surprised that Liora had allowed them to stay in such a lavish place for free, especially when he stepped into the ornamented lobby and found it bustling with customers checking in.

The celebration, who’s purpose still remained unknown to Sanji, had seemingly attracted visitors from at least every island in the nearest 20 mile radius. He glanced around and saw people from every walk of life: rough and sunburnt sailors, mild merchants and traders, performers in flamboyant and skimpy clothing, and even the occasional youthful marine. Why are they all here?

The gorgeous concierge at the oak check-in desk motioned for Sanji and Zoro to approach. Sanji released Zoro’s bicep and gave her a warm smile before providing details about their accommodations.

“Liora made arrangements for us; there should be something under the name ‘Strawhats,’ but if there isn’t, let me know.” Sanji kindly informed her.

The concierge blushed deeply, the crimson on her beautiful cheekbones nearly matching the hue of her uniform. “Y-yes, I see something under that name. If you walk towards the elevators, I’ll make sure a bellhop personally escorts you to your room.”

“Thank you so much my dear,” Sanji replied before turning away towards the direction of the elevators before he was stopped by a slender hand catching him on the wrist.

“I—I’m sorry to be so forward, but I’ve…I’ve never met anyone like you. You’re so beautiful, and I’m sure your personality matches your exterior. Um, if you’d like to--!”

The stammering concierge was interrupted by Zoro walking through where her hand was clasped onto Sanji’s wrist, effectively tearing their connection apart. Just like before, he began dragging Sanji to the large elevators and the end of the lobby.

“Cook, let’s go.”

Already being hauled away, Sanji was forced to leave behind the pretty girl at the desk, and he only managed to call out a ‘sorry!’ before he found golden elevator doors closing him inside of the chamber with Zoro and a handsome bellhop.

The bellhop pressed a gloved finger to the seventh button, taking them to where Sanji guessed their room was. The bellhop glaced subtly over to them before turning his attention back to the buttons, and dramatically double-taked to get another look at Sanji.

This is crazy! I’m not even close to as handsome as he is—how could he think I’m so beautiful?

Sanji smiled gently at the bellhop anyway, his eyes flicking to the dangling pink crystal earrings in his lobes. He motioned to them before saying, “I like your earrings.” He may be slightly weirded out by all the attention he was getting, but he could at least try to make polite small talk.

The bellhop’s mouth open and closed several times as his hand flew up to his earrings, as if he forgot he pierced them at all. Just like the concierge, his chiseled face bloomed pink under Sanji’s attention.

“Thank—thank you! Um, these k-kinds of earrings are popular with young guys on the island. So, um. Yeah,” the bellhop managed to squeak out.

“Oh really? I thought I saw more women wearing those kinds of earrings on the island than men,” Sanji pondered aloud.

“Ah, right! You’re so o-observant, sir. Um, since we know a lot of tourists come for the celebration, we try dressing in ways we know, um, they’ll enjoy. Usually, the women have very short hair and no makeup, a-and the men wear jewelry and cosmetics.”

Sanji hummed in response. Well, that makes sense. If they think androgynous beauty is the most desirable, of course the women will try to appear masculine and the men feminine. Still…

He glanced over to the bellhop’s strong jaw, plush lips, and low set brow. He swallowed. The earrings don’t stop this guy from being straight-up fucking handsome.

The dangling pink gemstones remind Sanji of a certain swordsman’s gold set of pendant earrings. He looked over at Zoro, having had forgotten him as he was chattering to the bellhop. A vein popped out from his forehead, and his top lip was beginning to twist in that scowl that Sanji was so familiar with. A look downwards confirmed that his hand was practically strangling Wado’s scabbard.

A smirk began growing across Sanji’s face. Hah, this idiot is getting all upset again that I’m getting so much attention for once! Serves him right since ladies are always fawning over him on other islands…”

Sanji’s internal gloating was interrupted by the golden doors sliding open and the bellhop motioned for them to step out. They followed the broad set of shoulders draped in that red uniform until they reached a tasteful door with a plaque that read ‘708.’

The bellhop reached into an embroidered pocket and extracted a gold key attached to a small tag. He inserted it into the lock and turned it, opening the door to reveal a lavish and brightly lit room.

He motioned with a smile towards the interior, clearing inviting Sanji and Zoro to enjoy their accommodations. “We’re here, sirs. If you sent luggage earlier, it will be brought up here shortly.” He looked over at Sanji bashfully. “And um, it was nice that you wanted to know more about our town’s customs.”

“Of course, how could I not want to learn about such an interesting place?” Sanji replied warmly. Suddenly, a thought full of mischief flitted through his mind—the perfect way to aggravate Zoro’s already thin patience.

An impish smile grew across Sanji’s face. “Maybe if you wore earrings like that, marimo, you’d be half as handsome as him.” He nodded toward the bellhop, whose face flamed crimson at the sudden praise.

The poor bellhop had trembled so hard in response that his uniform hat had skewed across his glossy, silky hair. “S-sir! If you, um, aren’t busy after your stay, would you maybe—maybe want to meet with me a-at the celebration tonight? I know about—”

Before Sanji could so much as blink, Zoro shoved a handful of Berri into the bellhop’s chest with a gruff thanks. He herded Sanji through the polished door before he could think about protesting and slammed it shut on the dumbstruck bellhop who had been unable to stammer out the rest of his invitation.

As soon as the clap of mahogany door rang out, Sanji whirled on him, indignant. “What the hell’s your problem, mosshead? Can’t I have some fun before you go around interrupting—"

Zoro leveled him with a stony stare, his face almost dangerously neutral. “Did you mean what you said?”

Sanji felt his eyebrow twitch in tell-tale annoyance. “Mean what?”

“Do you…” Zoro tilted his head. “Do you think he’s more attractive?” Than me, goes unsaid, but the uncomfortable insecurity in the sentence is heavy enough for Sanji to feel it without that vulnerable addition.

Sanji barked a laugh, sharper than he intended. “What kind of question is that, idiot? You jealous now?” He tried to smirk, but the swordsman’s expression didn’t budge.

Tension, thick and oppressive, fills the silence where the swordsman has refused to answer Sanji’s accusation. It trickles into Sanji’s mouth, sour and bitter, and he feels something that feels suspiciously like guilt when he makes the error of looking into an angry, sullen grey eye. A phantom burden graces his skull—the unmistakable weight of a cruel, cold metal helmet—and Sanji feels as if he must light a cigarette or he will die in the very moment. He does just that, looking for an excuse to tear his gaze away from that horrible, open fragility in Zoro’s face.

Sanji’s chest tightens. He opens his mouth, shuts it again, and drags on his cigarette as if the smoke were a precious, translucent antidote. “C’mon. He’s handsome, yeah. Anyone could see that. Good face, nice body—hell, he’d be a ten on any other island except this one.” A weak attempt to fall back into their usual banter, and they both know it.

Zoro’s jaw flexed. “So you do think he’s better.”

Sanji’s stomach twists, the regret swirling around in his body making him want to reflexively run away as far as he can from this beautiful room and this honest swordsman. “That’s not what I said.”

“Then what are you saying?”

His tongue feels leaden and ancient, as if it were some slumbering statue coming to life for the first time. He wants to spit out a rough insult that isn’t quite lined with barbs, hear Zoro retort in the same way, and go back to their usual back and forth—but Zoro’s stare was a drawn blade and his throat was on the end of it. “I’m saying…” His voice cracked, and he looked away. “…I’m saying l don’t remember looks like that. You see him once, you forget him by morning. He’s not the kind of person I would remember.”

Zoro’s voice dropped lower. “And I am?”

Sanji’s breath hitched. His fingers tightened around the cigarette until the filter crinkled. “You—” He swallowed hard, his throat dry and raw. “You’re impossible to ignore. Doesn’t matter how hard I try, you’re just… there. Even now that you’ve forgotten everything, nothing has really changed. You fight with me, you drink with me, you…you stick whether I want you to or not. That’s what—that’s what makes someone attractive.”

The truth is scraped painfully out of his body, and he thinks distantly of a salmon, guts flayed for everyone to see. “So, no. He’s not more anything than you. He never could be.”

The silence after is suffocating, thick with something raw and dangerous that makes Sanji feel like newborn foal. Zoro steps closer, until Sanji can feel the blistering heat of his body, until he can smell a familiar steel and earthy wood scent. Sanji’s lips part, heart hammering in his throat.

Zoro presses their foreheads together too gently, their breaths mingling. “Then stop looking at him.”

Sanji freezes. Had his…attraction been so obvious? He holds back a wince. It’s okay. He’s nakama. Nakama won’t judge who I choose to love. It’s okay. Once again, something ugly and spiky resurfaces in his head—a vague murmur of his brothers vicious beating after he had made the mistake of wishing for the prince in his storybook to whisk him away on his white horse.

Then why does he care so much?

His spiraling was interrupted by Zoro, who continued to sweep the rug from under his feet.

“I’m—I’m sorry. Not interrogating you, so you don’t have to explain anything to me. I—I understand, completely. Just…” Pain, unfiltered and plaintive, shimmers in Zoro’s lone eye. “Please, not in front of me. Can’t take it.”

Sanji’s eyebrows furrow in confusion where they’re still pressed against Zoro’s own. He never apologizes. He never says please. What is he talking about? Does he really hate seeing me…interact with people like that so much?

Zoro’s eye slips closed as his mind continues to run in larger and larger circles. In a perfect mimicry of their actions in the galley a few days ago, he angles his face just enough to rub his nose against Sanji’s tall, straight bridge. Those long, feathery lashes tickle Sanji’s cheeks, which have grown flushed under the swordsman’s ministrations. Zoro’s lips part, dewy and pink and plump. Sanji wants to know how soft they are.

Why…why am I thinking about him like that?

The seconds drag on as they continue to share breaths in that increasingly miniscule space between their mouths. The static in Sanji’s ears grows loud enough to drown out anything left in his brain, and he too, allows his eyes to flutter shut.

Something barely ghosts his bottom lip before a resounding boom explodes loud and bright just outside of their ornate window.

Sanji’s eyes fly open and he immediately jerks out of Zoro’s space, the fragile air having been shattered. He covers up his desperate scramble by casually striding towards the window, where he discovers the source of the noise. Fireworks, colorful and raucous, have been released now that evening has begun descending upon the town.

“The celebration’s already started. I—I better go take a shower before we go down there,” he says without looking at Zoro, rooting around for a bath towel and other toiletries. Once he secures his necessary tools, he hauls ass to the lavish bathroom attached to their room.

He gives Zoro one last look over his shoulder before resolutely shutting and locking the bathroom door. He slumps against the tile wall and scrubs his face and hair in a way that he knows will result in an unattractive mess.

Was I really about to…with Zoro?

- - -

Zoro had royally fucked up.

He had fucked up so monumentally that even he understood that he had undoubtedly put strain on his and the cook’s relationship.

Well, if he could call it a relationship.

He had never asked anyone—not his crew, definitely not Sanji—about what their relationship truly entailed. He had just selfishly assumed that Sanji was exclusive to him, that for some reason, he was as dedicated to Zoro as Zoro was to him.

It was stupid to assume that. What makes you think he could be satisfied with only you? Think realistically, Zoro. You’re not the greatest swordsman. You’re not the greatest anything. I’m not worth anything yet.

Zoro had pretended not to see hearts appear in the cook’s eyes when the gorgeous receptionist had propositioned him, and was prepared to put the whole thing past him after he had dragged Sanji towards the elevators.

What he couldn’t simply ignore was the cook obviously checking out the attractive bellhop. It had stung, being trapped in an elevator ascending seven floors as he watched his Sanji rake his eyes over the man next to him. Not your Sanji.

He knew Sanji was only teasing in that intentionally irritating way when he had made the dig about the bellhop’s earrings. But, pathetically, he had been unable to control his emotions and had dragged Sanji into what was basically an interrogation—an interrogation that Sanji didn’t owe him. And yet, he had responded to his questions, gave him answers that made his heart soar and made a possessive part within him sing.

Zoro had no idea what their relationship was like before his injury, but he laid it all out in that fancy hotel room—he understood that Sanji would never, could never be satisfied by him alone, and he was okay with that. If he wasn’t enough, it wasn’t fair for him to stop Sanji from finding happiness elsewhere. All he could ask was that he spared him the pain of doing so in front of him.

Please, just let me be yours. It’s okay if you’re not mine.

Sanji had even let him get close, pressing their foreheads together in that familiar junction. Zoro was so sure that now he’d finally get to kiss him, especially when he felt Sanji’s delicate lashes flutter close against his face.

Next time, then.

Next time, I’ll kiss him.

Chapter Text

Sanji emerged from the bathroom with a plume of steam following his long, damp legs. He felt considerably calmer after standing under the sobering spray of the showerhead, the hot water soothing his muscles and frayed nerves. Still, it had taken a considerable amount of courage to walk out in nothing but a towel around his waist since he had forgotten a fresh change of clothes in his haste to escape Zoro’s intense gaze.

The same intense gaze he felt boring into his glistening, bare back as he crossed the room to dig into the luggage room service had brought up earlier. Sanji resolutely avoided meeting that lone, silver eye as he got changed quickly as possible. After pulling his pants on and reaching for a button-up shirt and tie, he felt that it was probably safe to turn around and face the mosshead.

“Hey, marimo,” Sanji began as he turned to face the bed while simultaneously buttoning his shirt with deft fingers. “I think we should—”

The words died in his suddenly dry throat as he swallowed heavily upon the sight he found as he turned around.

Zoro was sprawled on the large, opulent bed, leaning back on his forearms. His ratty white shirt lay in a heap on the floor, seemingly ripped off while Sanji was steeling his nerves in the shower. His bronze pecs rose and sank heavily, and Sanji’s eyes were helpless but to follow their trajectory. Those muscular thighs strained against the black fabric of his cargos, spread wide on the silken sheets. Sanji’s eyes flicked to his face, only to find a heavy, dark gaze and flushed cheeks.

Sanji swiftly turned his attention to a beaded lampshade perched on a mahogany nightstand. He blinked quickly several times to disperse the image of Zoro’s languid body from his mind. He cleared his throat and continued his task of buttoning his shirt.

“I—I think we should get down there after I’m done changing. I don’t know if you want to change those disgusting pants you’ve had on all day, but—”

“Mind helping me with my pants then, curly?”

He whipped his head back towards Zoro, who had tilted his head and curled his lips in a teasing smirk. Sanji wrinkled his nose in response.

“God, don’t tell me your hands are still dirty from that sword oil. Go wash them and then you’ll be able to handle your pants yourself, you brute.”

Sanji tightened the loop of his tie around his neck as he watched the skin crinkle between Zoro’s eyebrows in frustration. What is he getting all worked up about?

“Cook.”

Sanji let out a long-suffering sigh as his fingers cleverly navigated the tie around his collar. “I’m being serious. Just because you got me to feed you while your hands were dirty doesn’t mean I’ll go as far as to change you.”

The sharp, slow sound of a zipper sliding open cut through the air. Sanji’s eyes slid back to that silken bed and found the swordsman pulling down the zipper of his pants with that molten eye fixed to his.

“Cook, I want you.”

Sanji felt a wave of fury roil over his whole body. He closed his eyes as his jaw tensed, barely holding back his insurmountable anger from being unleashed upon the mossy idiot. His curly brow twitched once, twice before he was able to address the brute without yelling.

“First of all, go change in the bathroom, you mannerless fool. Taking off your filthy pants in a bed that we’re supposed to share is truly low, even for you. And second, you can’t even finish your sentences! Has the moss growing on your skull finally consumed what’s left of your brain? Next time you can say, ‘Cook, I want you to change me because I’m so helpless and absolutely useless.’”

He took a deep breath, only for his final sentence to come out as a livid shout. “And even if you did ask me correctly with more than four words, the answer would still be no!”

Sanji punctuated his tirade with an aggressive shrug-on of his suit jacket and promptly reached down into Zoro’s luggage to throw another shabby set of shirt and pants at the swordsman’s face. “Now go change so we can get to the party!” he shouted, irate and pushed to his limits.

- - -

The duo had quickly scrambled through the lobby to avoid any gawking at Sanji’s apparently irresistible face, with only some minor steering to ensure that the mosshead didn’t wander off on his lonesome.

As they emerged out on the cobbled street, Sanji’s breath was taken away from both the beauty and sheer magnitude of the celebration around them. The banners and confetti turned iridescent under the moon’s soft light while lively music and excited clamoring filled the air. The sweet scent of pastries underlined with the unmistakable burn of alcohol wafted into his sharp nose only caused his desire to join the festivities to burn even brighter.

The mirth blanketed his body wholly and completely, and he felt his face break into a wide grin. His heart fluttered with anticipation, and he reached out to grasp the soft, warm skin of Zoro’s arm. “Don’t want get lost on a night like tonight, right marimo?”

The swordsman’s face was dusted with pink again as he responded, “At least lead us to some booze, curly.”

Sanji complied in his delighted state and tugged Zoro along with a snug grip. Unlike their hasty trek through the lobby, Sanji met every passerby’s gaze with a bright, dazzling smile—which was accompanied by a harsh scowl from the mossball on his right.

His open face once again brought on an onslaught of attention and flattery—those fragrant petals pressed into palm eagerly, or fleeting fingers tangling with his as he brushed beautiful passerby. The attention was immense and irrefutable, but Sanji felt strangely grounded by the bronze bicep clutched in his pale hand.

Foreign, flattering rituals were performed upon Sanji countless times as they unhurriedly strolled to a tavern he had noticed during their tour. Soon enough, their path stopped them at the foot of a chestnut door, a colorful sign, and the distinct sound of laughter that can only be caused by copious amounts of alcohol. Sanji lamented the petals he had to shake out of his bulging pockets in order not to track his new perfumed acquisitions into the cozy tavern.

The tavern was bathed in golden lamplight and draped in rich greens and purples that complimented the velvet upholstery and worn, chestnut furniture. Copper fixtures glimmered alongside glossy liquor bottles, sparkling in the dim setting. Gorgeous patrons filled every seat and their boisterous laughter and conversation overwhelmed the cheerful, jazzy tune that played from some unseen phonograph.

Sanji, still dragging a flushed Zoro by the arm, pushed through the crowded celebration in search of a place to sit. He turned to check a small booth off to the side and, slightly disappointedly, found it to be occupied by two lovely locals. They both turned to face him, and he offered a small smile in response. They both gaped for a moment only to return his smile with glittering, pearly teeth.

“Oh, um, did you want to sit here? W-we will gladly move for you! And for your—your friend, of course,” the pretty woman gushed.

“That’s very kind of you my dear, but you don’t have to—”

The young, handsome man seated across from her stopped Sanji’s polite rejection. “No, please, we’d be glad to move! We needed to stretch our legs anyway. But, um, maybe you could do us the honor of sharing a drink or a dance a little later?” his voice perked up with hope.

Sanji smiled kindly. “Well, sure, maybe a little later into the night would be alright with me.”

Both of their faces broke out in endearing glee as they scrambled to collect their belongings and evicted themselves from the booth with eager goodbyes and promises to meet up later.

Sanji sighed in contentment and relief as he slumped into the comfortable seat of the booth and watched with mild amusement as Zoro struggled to squeeze into the tight seating on account of those obscenely honed muscles.

“Well marimo, guess all this attention came in handy for once, right?”

Zoro only gave a small, rare smile in response and huffed a laugh through his nose. It was only a moment before Sanji watched the smile melt off his face as something approached from the side he was seated on. The mysterious mood-dampener revealed itself in the form of a pretty cocktail, a pint of beer, and an elegant flute of champagne all being carried on the black tray of a stunning waitress.

She set down the mismatched glasses in front of Sanji and simply said, “These were sent by some admirers of yours from the bar!” She tucked the tray back under her arm and added with a confident wink, “I can definitely understand why, gorgeous.”

Sanji was momentarily dazed by the sight of her wide hips swaying away before turning his attention back towards the array in front of him, a triumphant smirk emerging on his face.

“Let’s both enjoy the spoils of my beauty, shall we, mosshead?” he asked teasingly. He pushed the cold pint towards his companion and picked up the sugary, fruity cocktail for himself. The colors reminded him of a sunset, and as he took a sip, the flavors did as well: blood orange and hibiscus syrup burst on his tongue in a sweet melody.

The swordsman’s face was painted clearly in some sort of anger or frustration, but he nonetheless picked up the glass and drained the dark alcohol in one gulp. Uncouthly, he wiped the foamy ale with the back of his massive hand and set the now empty glass back down with a thud.

“Well, it’d be a waste to just leave it there. People are going to gawk at you all night, so I might as well be drunk while that happens.”

Sanji squawked in embarrassment. “People are not gawking at me! You make it sound like I’m some circus animal or something. All the lovely people of this island have been nothing but benevolent and polite in their courting,” he sniffed.

Zoro only snorted before reaching for the flute of champagne. Sanji distantly thought of how beautiful the contrast was between the delicate glass stem and the calloused, tough fingers of the swordsman.

“Yeah, everyone’s all nice and polite during the day, but look around, cook. Most of the people in here look like they want to eat you.”

Sanji’s face broke out in blistering scarlet as he tried to stutter out a response. But as his gaze roamed around the room, he was shocked to see that the swordsman’s words held true: dark, lustful eyes met his, pink tongues swept plump lips in obvious invitations, and one man even went as far as to miming a certain pleasure he wanted to enact upon Sanji.

Sanji promptly glued his eyes back to the colorful cocktail in front of him. He shakily gripped the glass in hand and threw back the rest of the concoction with no consideration for its careful flavor.

He was, of course, no stranger to sex. His teenage years on the Baratie were rife with both mistakes made during his culinary education and rushed handjobs both given and received in a small, dark storage room. Often times, regular customers on the Baratie also became regular lovers of his, with his fondest memories being that of an older woman guiding him through new, pleasurable positions and for a few exceptional months, a boy of the same age trading amateur blowjobs with him alongside entertaining conversations.

Despite this, he has never felt such immense sexual desire aimed towards him until this very moment—and he was determined to take it in stride.

More drinks kept being sent to their little booth, ranging from sugary and dainty to a full keg of some strong, sharp beer. Zoro drank most of Sanji’s gifts, continuing to endlessly down them in a way that Sanji has never seen before—all frustrated and moody in a way that contradicts the normal happiness the swordsman expresses when given access to unlimited, free alcohol.

He’s never upset when he gets to drink this much. What’s different tonight?

Sanji drinks his fair share as well, although decidedly leaving the higher proof liquors to the mossball. He knows his tolerance and wants to remain somewhere pleasantly below drunk but a little above tipsy. Knowing the shit swordsman, there’s a real chance he could drain this place dry and still walk without a sway.

Dirty glasses stack upon each other and cover the surface of the small table until it looks like they are surrounded by miniature, clear stalactites. The empty, dry keg is tucked under the table where Zoro had drained it completely with only slight inebriation to show for it. It’s grown late enough into the night where the hungry eyes surrounding Sanji have finally taken on an edge that feels slightly predatory and makes the hair on his neck stand on edge. Following his gut, he glances around before announcing to Zoro that ‘they should probably try to walk some of this liquor off.’

As they stand, Sanji realizes that Zoro may be slightly more intoxicated than he anticipated. He can still stand and walk thankfully, but the alcohol has softened his demeanor and has him clinging to Sanji’s arm meekly. Sanji notes this with some concern—drunk Zoro typically is loud and prone to provocation, but now he’s mellowed, and his limbs drag heavily.

Fresh air ought to do him some good, Sanji thinks as he guides the heap of moss out the tavern door and into the moonlight. The celebration is still in full swing despite the late hour and bleeds out from sidewalks onto the cobblestone street where locals and voyagers swing in excited dancing. Delectable scents waft from hot food carts, where Sanji purchases two pastries and begrudgingly feeds one to Zoro after the mossball simply opened his mouth and closed his eyes again in a mimicry of that afternoon.

The meager food seemingly rejuvenated the swordsman, and they walk around at a much brisker pace although he still clings to Sanji’s arm like a lifesaver. Eventually, Sanji’s face catches the attention of the locals once again and when petals are pushed into his hand, this time he accepts the invitation to dance.

The hand of a pretty girl drags him into the moving, dancing mass of bodies and he is swept up by the music and the motion around him. He changes partners more times than he can count: at one moment spinning a beautiful woman by her soft hand, and at the next, being led by the heavy weight of a man’s palm at his waist. His cheeks ache from the constant stretch of smiling and laughing, and eventually, he twirls his way back to the bench where he had left the mossball planted to rest.

It's hard to gauge how much time has passed since Sanji’s was swept up in the hurricane of festivities, but when he sits down at the bench, Zoro is no longer slumped over nor as drunk-looking as before. In fact, something like determination is written across his face and his mouth is set in a serious, straight line.

“Marimo, you should really dance now that you’re less drunk. It’s not all that bad,” Sanji teases with a smile.

Zoro visibly swallows and his hand reaches into his haramaki as he sets his steel gaze upon Sanji.

“I do want to dance.” His hand procures a small branch with multiple delicate, pink blooms adorning its surface—the same branch he picked earlier, Sanji realizes.

“Will you dance with me curly?”

There are several gasps and stares from the locals upon seeing Zoro’s offering, but Sanji doesn’t hear any of it. He is much too focused on the frustrating situation at hand. Sanji is helpless against that painfully earnest hope written across Zoro’s stupid, handsome face. He backtracks for a moment. Handsome?

Sanji’s eyebrows pinch together as a flush washes across his face. He plucks the branch from Zoro’s fingers, and he places it gingerly in his breast pocket. He tries bravely to make an angry or frustrated face, but he’s aware that its effect is probably dampened by the embarrassing color smeared across his cheeks.

He holds Zoro’s gaze before creasing his eyebrows further together. “What are you waiting for? Aren’t you going to dance with me?” he probes the mute swordsman.

Zoro blinks several times in quick succession, as if unbelieving of the situation, and promptly scoops Sanji’s hand in his and leads him back into the dancefloor taking place on the street.

The sound of the music slows its tempo as they find their space amongst the other moving bodies. Couples quickly begin to form and dance slowly along to the romantic tune. The swordsman’s face is resolute as he follows along and gently takes Sanji’s waist in one hand and cups his other with a sweaty palm. Sanji gulps as he realizes Zoro’s hand practically holds half of his waist easily, and that once again, his hand reveals his uncharacteristic nervousness.

They began to sway alongside everyone else, but the swordsman presses close enough that their faces slot on each other’s shoulders and Sanji trembles as he feels Zoro’s breath ghost the shell of his ear.

“We’ve never danced like this before,” Sanji whispers into the mossball’s ear, hoping that his tone is more insulting or teasing rather than anxious.

“You danced with all those other guys earlier, though,” comes the hummed reply.

“Do you have a problem with that or something?” Sanji’s whisper sharpens involuntarily.

“Told you earlier that—that it would be better if it wasn’t in front of me.”

Sanji feels familiar exasperation washing over his body, and the back of his throat fills with a bitter taste.

“Out of everyone, I really never expected you to have a problem with a man liking other men—I mean seriously, you don’t even—”

His denunciation is swiftly interrupted by the unmistakable sound of poorly suppressed laughter against his ear. His curly eyebrows shoot up, then crash back down in an angered furrow.

“You bastard, what’s your problem now?!” he whisper-shouts into the swordsman’s ear.

“You’re really funny, is all.”

Sanji is taken aback by the blatant compliment and is simultaneously offended by whatever attempt the idiot is trying to anger him even more.

“I’m being dead serious, you shit swordsman! I’ll just add judgmental to the already long list of your horrible qualities and—”

“Cook.”

Zoro stops their swaying and pulls his hand away from Sanji’s—grimaces at the cool air hitting the damp skin of their palms—and places it on Sanji’s waist. Sanji’s head whips down to see that Zoro’s hands really are big enough to encircle his whole waist and resolutely decides to never think about how that realization made something hot curl in his stomach.

“Are you being serious?” His gray eye searches Sanji’s blue pair and finds something serious enough that causes the remaining amusement to dissolve from his expression.

“I’m the same, you know. I like men and I don’t care who anyone else chooses to love.”

With that declaration, Sanji feels whatever he has left of his brain trickle out of his ear and splatter on the cobblestone below.

Zoro likes men. Zoro knows I like men. Zoro doesn’t care. Zoro is telling me he likes men while holding me like I’m the only thing that matters.

The ringing in his ears subsides as the tune of the music picks up and transforms into something more vivacious and the frenetic movement of the people around them jostle them out of their intense moment.

“Oh,” is the only thing that Sanji can dumbly reply.

“Yeah, oh, you idiot. Now are we going to keep dancing or what?” Zoro grins.

“Okay.”

And with that, something playful sparkles in Zoro’s lone eye as he begins dancing in a way that Sanji is pretty sure humans have never invented before. Must be derived from mossball movement, he muses distantly.

Still, the swordsman is unashamed and energetic, and his ridiculous grin infects Sanji’s face, and his movements inspire Sanji’s body to move alongside the beat as well. Laughter bubbles up between them and they let it ring out brazenly into the night sky.

Something winged and soft is fluttering around in Sanji’s chest as watches Zoro move his body in that horrible, embarrassing way. It beats it wings even harder at the sight of a rare, true smile spread across the swordsman’s face, and Sanji can’t find the will to cage it as a grin of his own grows in response.