i can’t just unfollow them bc they were apart of who i was

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The first thing Zoro notices is that something is wrong.

Not visibly wrong—anyone with eyes can see that already. The whole situation is wrong. Bodies swapped, voices mismatched, the crew louder than usual about it. That part is obvious.

No, what throws him is quieter than that.

It’s the way his attention keeps catching.

He’ll be halfway through sharpening his swords, steady, rhythmic, the scrape of steel grounding—when movement pulls his gaze up without permission. And there he is—Sanji, except not—leaning against the railing in Nami’s body, posture just a little too loose, a little too familiar. Like he doesn’t belong in that shape, and yet somehow fills it anyway.

Zoro clicks his tongue, drags the whetstone harder than necessary. Looks back down.

Doesn’t matter. Shouldn’t matter.

It doesn’t.

Except it does.

Because it keeps happening.

Sanji moves differently than Nami ever would—less careful, less aware of the weight of attention. There’s none of her calculated distance, none of the way she controls a room. Instead, there’s this careless sprawl, this irritating ease, like he’s comfortable in a body that should make him self-conscious.

And worse—he keeps getting close.

“Oi, marimo—”

Zoro doesn’t look up. “Get lost.”

But the voice comes from right there, too close to his ear, warm and teasing. “You’ve been real quiet. Missing me already?”

There’s a shift of weight. Then suddenly Sanji is stepping between his legs, like it’s nothing, like it’s natural, bracing a hand on the mast just over Zoro’s shoulder.

Zoro’s grip tightens on the hilt in his hand.

It doesn’t register at first—not consciously. Just that something has slotted into place in a way that shouldn’t make sense but does. Like this is a position they’ve occupied a hundred times before, even if it isn’t.

Like he belongs there.

Zoro exhales sharply, annoyed at himself more than anything, and finally looks up.

Wrong move.

Because it’s Sanji—he knows it is. That stupid eyebrow, that infuriating smirk barely contained in a face that isn’t his. But it’s layered over something else now, something that shouldn’t be part of this equation at all, and Zoro’s brain stumbles trying to separate it.

He’s never looked at Nami like that.

Not once.

And yet—

“Get out of my space,” Zoro mutters, voice rougher than he intends.

Sanji grins, clearly pleased. “Make me.”

It’s a game to him. Of course it is. Pushing, provoking, seeing how far he can go before Zoro snaps. Same as always.

Only—it isn’t the same.

Zoro shoves him back, harder than necessary. Sanji stumbles a step, then laughs, bright and sharp.

“Aw, what’s wrong?” he goads. “You getting shy now?”

Zoro stands, abruptly, sheathing his sword with a click that feels louder than it should. “You’re annoying,” he says flatly, and walks past him.

But he’s off.

The rest of the day, he’s off.

He misses cues in training, swings a fraction too late, misjudges distance. His focus keeps slipping, dragged back to the same point over and over again like a compass needle that refuses to settle.

Sanji.

Not Nami. Not really.

Sanji in Nami’s body, moving like himself, acting like himself, and Zoro—

Zoro is aware of him in a way that crawls under his skin.

It pisses him off.

It shouldn’t matter what body he’s in. It’s still the same idiot cook. Same loud mouth, same habits, same—

Something twists in his gut.

Because that’s not entirely true, is it?

There’s something stripped bare in this, something that makes it harder to ignore the pieces Zoro usually doesn’t look at too closely. The way Sanji always steps in first when things get bad. The way he watches the crew when he thinks no one notices. The way his presence is just… there, constant and inevitable.

Zoro has always known that.

He’s just never—

He grits his teeth.

Across the deck, Sanji is watching him now. Not with his usual exaggerated annoyance, not with that performative irritation they both fall into like breathing.

Something else.

Curiosity, maybe.

Zoro looks away first.

—

Sanji notices.

Of course he does.

At first, it’s funny.

Zoro being weird is a novelty all on its own, and Sanji leans into it with everything he’s got. He crowds him more, drapes himself over spaces he knows Zoro occupies, deliberately brushes past him in ways that should get a rise out of him.

And they do—but not the way he expects.

Zoro doesn’t snap the same. Doesn’t bite back as quick. Sometimes he just… freezes, like something short-circuits, and then pulls away entirely, distant and sharp-edged in a way that feels different from their usual friction.

It’s unsettling.

Still, Sanji pushes.

He leans in too close again later, bracketing Zoro against the wall this time, grin already forming—

—and pauses.

Because Zoro isn’t reacting.

Not pushing him away. Not insulting him. Not even glaring, really.

Just looking at him.

Not at the body. Not at the face.

At him.

Sanji’s chest tightens, unexpectedly.

“…Oi,” he says, quieter than he means to. “What’s your problem?”

Zoro blinks, like he’s just been caught somewhere he shouldn’t be. His expression shutters almost immediately, something closing off.

“Nothing,” he says.

It’s a lie. A bad one.

Sanji knows him better than that.

And for the first time since this whole thing started, the game… shifts.

Because that look—that moment—

It wasn’t irritation.

It wasn’t rivalry.

It was something Sanji doesn’t have a name for, not one he’s ever needed to use with Zoro before.

And suddenly, the space between them feels a lot smaller than it used to.

Sanji steps back.

Not because he’s done.

Pairing: zoro x Sanji

Summary: After Little Garden Arc, Zoro loses control of his body under Miss Goldenweek’s paint—and somehow Sanji is the one who won’t look at him after.

Zoro should be the one with a problem. So why does it feel like he’s the one being left behind?

Pairing: zoro x sanji

Summary:

After Little Garden Arc, Zoro loses control of his body under Miss Goldenweek’s paint—and somehow Sanji is the one who won’t look at him after.

Zoro should be the one with a problem.

So why does it feel like he’s the one being left behind? A.k.a I’m rewriting season 2 with more zoro/sanji :3