mistress of mischief

She sidled up to Sanji who was hunched over a book in the galley, tips of his ears red and in deep concentration. At her question he jumped in surprise, clearly unaware anyone had come into the galley let alone crept up next to him, and he slammed the book shut, sliding it out of view.

“Yes hello,” Sanji squeaked.

Nami blinked back surprise and then erupted into a gleeful expression, complete amusement radiating from her every pore. She had the “this is going to be a great money scheme” look on her face and Sanji’s eyes bugged in fear and embarrassment, his face reddening with the realization he’d been caught.

“Oh wow,” she smirked. “Hand it over.”

She extended her hand for the book that Sanji was, at present, hugging against his chest like a child about to be abducted or perhaps some sort of expensive heirloom about to be stolen.

“Nami…” he pleaded.

“I know you can’t afford what it’s going to cost you to deny me,” she dropped the words like the weapons they were.

He contemplated the merits of assuming a crushing debt burden and then sighed, he wouldn’t deny her anyway. He sheepishly pulled the book from his side and slowly, hesitantly began to move it incrementally closer to her. Nami rolled her eyes and snatched the book from his hands, turning it over so she could see what it was.

It was a rather thick black book with a gaudy cover on the front made to look like it was peering through to a scene of a couple. The couple stood on a dock with a blue sky, seagulls flying in the back, the sparkling ocean and flowers growing around the dock. They were both men wearing beanies and otherwise dressed sharp as one knelt before the other, hands interlocked as they peered into each others eyes.

“Blue skies and wayward hearts…” Nami read the title aloud.

Sanji cringed and immediately tried to go into damage control.

“It… I found it… only one… I didn’t… you know…” the words tumbled out in a garble of nonsense approximating excuses. She ignored him completely as she stared at the book like a curious never before seen item.

“Sanji-kun, what the hell are you reading? You read… romance?”

“Well no…”

“This certainly looks like a romance book,” Nami said flatly.

“Well I mean…” he hedged, poorly.

“And it’s gay romance?” She eyed him suspiciously.

“It was the only one…”

“You were that desperate for a book you picked up a…” she flipped to the end of the book and looked at the last page number, “800 page queer romance?”

Sanji croaked something incoherent and tried to shrug off his clearly weird justification.

“Oh my god you’re so…” she stared at him like she both had no idea what the hell was wrong with him and also like every thought she’d ever had against him now made perfect sense. He hated it.

She flipped the book back open to the page he’d been on, where he’d been able to leave his bookmark despite his panic, and began to read to herself.

“This is filthy— what the fuck,” she said in a scandalized tone.

Sanji lit a cigarette and avoided her eye contact as he buried his head in his free hand.

“Sanji… oh my god.”

“It’s not… that… bad…” he sighed.

“Jonesy slid his mouth to the front of Smith’s pants, sucking through the fabric on the bulge that…”

“Nami…” Sanji whined.

She threw the book on the table at him, it sliding over between his arms. Stealing the seat next to Sanji, she got in close and coaxed his eyes to hers.

“You know there’s nothing wrong with it. Why are you so embarrassed?”

“I’m not!” The words came out too quick, too defensive and she laughed.

“So, who is it? Usopp?”

“Wha— what do you mean?”

“Which one of the crew has you fantasizing about getting sucked through your pants?”

Sanji choked on his cigarette smoke and thumped his heart with his fist.

“Why would it be Usopp! You know I only have eyes for ladies…”

“So it’s Luffy…”

“Luffy! What! I don’t even think he’s into anyone and that’s fine he’s a good guy but he’s gross.”

Nami laughed and sat quietly contemplating for a moment. Sanji could watch the thoughts work their way through her mind as she had them and hated to see her face light up and her piercing gaze settle deviously on Sanji once more.

“No way.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” he feigned ignorance.

“It makes so much sense— oh my god how could I have not noticed before!”

“What are you talking about?” Sanji’s voice was getting higher and his fear was growing.

“All the constant bickering… the in your face practically fucking each other, the nicknames, the…”

“Don’t say it. As if I’d ever fall for such a gorilla-brained, algae infested…”

“He doth protest too much,” Nami replied with a flippancy only overshadowed by the smirk on her face.

“You… you… you don’t know what you’re talking about,” Sanji whined.

“Oh, but I do. Don’t I? Don’t worry, I won’t tell.” She waved her hand and got up to leave, casting one last glance toward him.

Sanji didn’t mean to break down, he didn’t mean to get caught in the first place. But now that his secret had been discovered, it was like all the insecurities and fear that had dammed it behind the walls of his heart collapsed and let the emotion spill out of him in one gushing catastrophe.

“Oh Sanji,” Nami sighed. She sat down next to him once more and brought her hand to her back.

“The thing I hate most about it is, in the end there’s always something, they’re always so happy and in love, they’re always so supportive and… I don’t know why I can’t have that,” he choked the words out through sobs, an embarrassing predicament to be so pathetic in front of Nami of all people.

“You know, I bet he would be the kind of boyfriend in your little books. But he’s dumb as a rock and would never get it unless you said something.”

Sanji couldn’t even laugh at her attempt to make him feel better. He was just consumed with painful yearning that only seemed to grow with each passing day.

“I just want to know what it’s like to be loved… to… have someone I trust so fully that I have no choice but to relax when they’re around. I… want to be wanted.”

Nami hugged him in close to her, his head resting on her chest as she rubbed his back and comforted him. Even as he revealed himself like this, a rare moment of vulnerability, he knew she was gonna kick his ass.

“You fucking loser,” she punched him and kicked him out of the chair. “You seriously got a nosebleed from me hugging you! I hate you!”

“I’m sorry…”

“What kind of weirdo gay boy are you, goddamn.”

“I’m sorry Nami-swan.”

“Ugh. Gross ass. Whatever, I’ll help you anyway. Freak.” She got up and grabbed a napkin to wipe the blood off her chest while Sanji sat mulling over everything that had happened, had been confessed just now.

“I will play matchmaker for you if only so you can stop being such a hopeless pervert,” she snapped. She threw the dirty napkin at Sanji and grabbed a tangerine as she made her way to the door.

“Thanks Nami,” Sanji said. He wasn’t sure what to say exactly, but thank you seemed fairly appropriate. He resisted the thought that this napkin had been on Nami’s boobs as he wiped his nosebleed with it.

“Shut up. And I’d get a cover for that if you don’t want to get caught by someone less understanding than myself.”

“Good idea, my endlessly intelligent, sweet, ever brilliant…”

"Oh because you're the perfect picture of kind yourself," Sanji snaps back at him.

"I never said... I just..."

"I never said, I just," Sanji mocks him. "Is it too hard for your grass brain to form a proper thought or you just want to lob accusations at me about being "so fucking mean" and then forget how to talk?"

"Fuck you, Sanji," Zoro says.

He's well aware that it's the first time he's said Sanji's name and at this point he doesn't care. He would have said it a thousand times before but the cook is an asshole, always pushing him, always snapping at him, insulting him, kicking him, berating and belittling and grinding him into nothing with his words.

"What did you say," Sanji spits the words at him like he's throwing daggers or, more apropos, kitchen knives. Not that he would.

Zoro can't tell if it's malice or something else, he doesn't care any more. He knew it was stupid to like the idiot. He also knew that you can control a lot of things in life, just not who you wind up falling for and not who stays in your life no matter how hard you try to keep them there.

"You heard me."

"I don't think I did," Sanji replies.

Maybe it's a softer tone than it had been, Zoro doesn't care. He's too tired. Soul tired, the kind of tired that hollows your bones and rips the muscles from them leaving only ache behind.

"I said fuck you."

He's lingering at the door of the galley, for what reason? He should have already left. He shouldn't have ever bothered.

"The other part."

"That's it."

"You said my name," Sanji says the words in a low voice, hints of uncertainty in it.

"So what."

"So you've never said my name."

"You never say mine."

"I have."

Zoro shrugs.

"Don't-- don't leave."

"Why not?" Zoro turns sharply and crosses his arms.

"Because..."

"You might think because I don't show it or I'm "so stupid" that the constant insults don't bother me but they do. It stopped being fun a while ago-- you treat everyone else like they matter and when it comes to me I just have to pretend that I'm not trash to you."

"You're not a fucking victim, Mosshead," Sanji snaps at him. "You're as much the problem as you're accusing me of being."

"Sure, cook."

"What do you mean "sure, cook" as though you've been so damn nice to me this whole time? You never even said my name in the years I've known you and the first time you do it's to say "fuck you?" You think you're just uniquely suffering because of me? I'm suffering because of you," Sanji yells at him.

"Whatever you say."

"No, you don't get to "whatever you say" me. You came in here asking for booze. No please, no thank you, no fucking thoughts just "Cook, booze." But you're mad that I tell you to get fucked?"

"I believe your exact words were "why don't you jump into the ocean you useless third rate swordsman?" Zoro interjects.

Sanji opens his mouth to say something and then closes it.

"You're right, I could always ask nicer. I could say please, I could say thank you. But I don't think I deserve... that."

"You... you..."

"I didn't start it, either," Zoro sighs. This is spiraling and he's over it.

"You definitely..."

"I tried to include you from the beginning, you are the one who said I was stupid and my dreams were stupid. I thought you were just riling me up but..."

"But every time I said Nami was beautiful or flirted with a woman you made disgusted sounds and mocked me."

"No, curly br--"

"Or made fun of my eyebrows."

"Mosshead?"

Sanji purses his lips and crosses his arms.

"You started--"

"I did not start the nickname thing."

Sanji sighs and clenches his fists. Zoro would try to comfort him but he doesn't care to bother any longer. It hurt, he didn't need to go into the details of why, rather just vent that it did. Everyone has a saturation point and he'd been drowning in his for far too long.

"So what," Sanji snaps at him again.

Even now, when it seemed he wanted Zoro's attention, to keep him from leaving, he still couldn't be nice. He's always snapping, like a damn beast growling and ready to bite Zoro's head off. He rather likes his head, and he rather cherishes what's left of his heart.

"So nothing."

"It can't be..."

"Sure it can. Hasn't it been "nothing" this whole time?"

Zoro didn't know if the hurt in his voice was obvious or breaking through the carefully cadenced and measured words he was saying, but Sanji unclenches his fists and sighed again.

"I'm sorry."

He had to have been dreaming that, he had to have misheard. Cliche, but his knee jerk reaction is to stutter out a shocked "what" and stare dumbly at the cook.

"I said I'm sorry."

There was no bite behind his words, just an authentic apology. And still, it hurt to hear it. The hurt wasn't that Sanji had apologized, it was that Zoro didn't feel anything when he did. Absurdly, he'd thought that maybe if the cook knew how he felt, if he took Zoro's feelings seriously, that maybe he would feel better and everything could start to be something resembling good. And now that the first step toward that utopian pipe dream he'd had was taken, he felt... nothing.

"Are you gonna say something or just stand there?" Sanji asks him in a harried, uncharacteristically desperate tone.

There was a false meanness in his voice, more of a mask covering fear if Zoro had to peg it.

"I don't know what to say," Zoro mumbles in response.

A stuttered breath escapes Sanji's lips as he fumbles for a cigarette. Zoro notes how his hands shake while he does. He hates how it twists his stomach into knots, how despite the discord inside him, his chest remains empty of ache, of joy, of anything.

"You scare me," Sanji whimpers quietly.

Zoro's impulse was to fight him for saying something so horrendously off the mark but he decides to stand there waiting instead. If the cook said nothing else, then he could hold it against him like a nail in the coffin of their "almost" friendship if he could even call it that. But Sanji takes another drag of his smoke and continues.

"The things I feel when you're around, they're terrifying. I... you're not stupid. And you're not useless. I just... don't know how to be around people without fighting or hiding."

It was a deep confession, Zoro knew. It was probably terrifying for Sanji to say as much, probably took more strength than the bastard had used in any of their fights to admit something like that and allow himself to be as vulnerable as he was at present. And it was something Zoro already knew about the cook, it's why he'd given him so much grace despite the fact that he's not that way with women or Usopp or Luffy half the time. He doesn't know how to respond to that-- anything he might say would be flippant, hurtful because he'd point out all the ways Sanji's confession is closer to an excuse specifically designed for Zoro than it is some sort of a reason to treat him as Sanji does. To stay quiet or say something, he can't say what is or isn’t right. And so they stay in quietude for some time before Sanji speaks again.

"I know I'm mean. I won't make excuses. I promise, I'll do better."

"Don't trouble yourself," Zoro replies.

He means it genuinely, he means it sarcastically, he means it in every way it could be interpreted.

"I will. You're important to me."

Those six words knock the damn air from Zoro's chest. The room has become unstable, shifting beneath his feet-- was there a storm? A sea beast? He's falling, he must be-- or is he? He realizes with some embarrassment that he's crying, actually, unmoving despite the swimming feeling washing over him.

"I... you're important to me, too," he replies; too quick, too quiet.

"I didn't know I was hurting you like this," Sanji's voice cracks into a sob. For a solitary moment, hearing as much makes Zoro want to break into a million pieces, but he pulls the shattering heart together and grits his teeth.

"How could you not." As much a statement as a question.

This was becoming too much, too outside any comfort zone. Zoro curses himself for even opening his mouth at all instead of just enduring it and shoving it down with all the other painful shit he goes through, holding on to it as some kind of twisted proof that he wasn't-- isn't-- good enough until he was or will be. If ever.

"Because... I..."

The urge to leave ripples through Zoro like bad whiskey. He's not one to turn his back on a fight, on a challenge, on anything. But right now, he desperately wants out of this conversation, out of this room, even off this ship. He knows the impulse all too well, and yet, this isn't something he can solve with swords. This is something he has to reach deep inside himself and weather.

"I was too worried about being..."

Sanji lets out a frustrated yell and kicks one of the chairs. It's such a petulant, bratty, Sanji thing to do that Zoro begrudgingly laughs and shakes his head. This is why... this is why...

"I'm trying to tell you that I like your stupid ass and you're laughing at me," Sanji lets out a scream of a sob and then collapses on the floor.

The gravity of what Sanji had just said goes beyond anything Zoro could have expected to slip from the cook's lips. Ever, really. It shocks him into himself and he stumbles over to where Sanji had thrown himself into a pitiful ball, head buried between his knees, hands on his head.

"You what?" Zoro kneels beside him.

"I like... I love you. I'm such an idiot, piece of shit."

"You..."

"I'm in love with you, stupid. Just... go. Please. I just fucked up making this about me. Please..."

"I..."

"Just tell me to go fuck myself like you always do and I'll just... I don't know. Just... tell me to fuck off, please."

Sanji sounds like he's begging for Zoro to push him away, to erect the walls between them until they block out any light they might have cultivated, to mock Sanji for having feelings and being a "love cook" as he'd maligned him so many times before. How could anyone get it so wrong, he wonders, a familiar ache returning to his chest.

"I like you..." Zoro replies. "Sanji."

"Wha-- really?"

Sanji peeks his eye up from his legs, Zoro's hand comfortingly rubbing his back. Zoro hopes the peace and adoration he feels, always feels, shines through to his expression which it must because Sanji releases his legs and sits up to get closer to Zoro's gaze.

"'S why your comments hurt, 's why I'm... hurting."

"I..."

"I know. Maybe we're both stupid."

Zoro’s words had echoed endlessly in Sanji’s head since he’d said them creating within him what he can only classify as a blooming crisis. Sanji had explicitly said “ladies” could call him Prince not crusty algae-brained gorillas.

It had frozen Sanji dead in his tracks despite the adrenaline of fighting coursing through him making him giddy. The smell of blood and sand and sweat clinging to the dry desert air seemed to whoosh from his senses which zeroed in on the swordsman. Suddenly the expanse of dying land became an island of just the two of them and Sanji’s ever sturdy feet felt they might betray him.

If he wanted to mock Sanji, he would have simply said mocked his moniker, not added a possessive “my” in front of it.

If he wanted to piss Sanji off, he would have said it louder and more boldly instead of affectionately mumbling it to himself.

If he wanted to flirt with Sanji, well, Sanji had never seen the swordsman flirt with anyone and wondered whether he even had it in him. Why Sanji would be the object of the swordsman’s non existent flirting seemed more an absurdity than some sort of malicious intent on Zoro’s behalf.

He’d sat with this through the days afterward when he could reflect on the fight and everything that had happened in Alabasta. He was sitting with it as they relaxed in the bath house together with the king. He was sitting with it now after they’d all peeped on the girls and been punched with “happiness” from Nami flashing them.

Except…

Zoro hadn’t bothered to look, sitting there unperturbed and disinterested and it rankled Sanji. He really thought he was so much better than everyone else, didn’t he? He’s not better than a king, though. And he’s not better than a prince… his prince. Insufferable. Did he think he was a girl or something? That there was no need to look at them because everyone should be sneaking peeks at him? A ridiculous thought, the bastard was the equivalent of discarded masculinity made sentient.

“You too good to look at boobs?” Sanji snarked at him.

Zoro raised one eyelid to lazily gaze at him before shutting it with a scoff. Somehow the action was smug and self satisfied and it pissed Sanji off more. He wanted to rile Zoro up, to make him feel the kind of uneasy that Sanji felt when he’d said “my Prince” and the comment had popped up unbidden and unwanted a thousand times a day since then even in the midst of fighting for his life. How even now when they were days past it, he still had “my Prince” playing on a loop in his crap head.

“You think you’re one of the girls? Maybe we should be peeping at you, stupid Moss,” Sanji said.

Zoro’s face changed from a resting scowl to an amused expression like he got when Sanji said something particularly stupid to bother him. However, that usually was followed by Zoro being legitimately bothered so…

“Well your prince is looking at you now,” Sanji added, malice dripping from his words.

“Shut up,” Zoro sighed and turned his head away from him. The faintest hint of reddened cheeks caught Sanji’s eye before Zoro’s face was turned.

It wasn’t really working, it seemed. Being a dick was taking him further from his goal of bothering Zoro. He wanted Zoro to feel the same kind of personal crisis he was feeling, to sit there ruminating and emotional over Sanji’s words in a messy approximation of justice. And then it dawned on him, if Zoro wanted to be one of the Prince’s ladies, then he’d treat him like one of the Prince’s ladies.

“Oh Zoro-Chan you look so handsome with your big muscles,” Sanji cooed. “Just baring your chest and showing such strength and power, my heart can’t take it!”

The shade of red that consumed Zoro’s face and trickled down to his chest was something Sanji could confidently say he had never seen on Zoro, ever. Something inside of Sanji registered this in a place he would probably never admit to having, even bottles deep or under threat of death.

Zoro quickly got up from the bath and grabbed his towel in a move Sanji would call “shyness” if he didn’t know the swordsman better than to call anything about him shy.

“Ah Zoro come back,” Luffy whined. “Sanji was just kidding. Weren’t you Sanji?”

“Oh the big strong sensitive Marimo, don’t leave,” Sanji cooed again.

He watched as Zoro’s body tensed and the blush somehow deepened.

“‘S fine. Too hot, done anyway,” Zoro croaked in response.

“Pfft, fine,” Luffy replied and pouted.

“Maybe we’re all a little overheated,” Usopp said in the placating diplomatic way he did. He, however, was looking specifically at Sanji when he said it which drew the attention of the rest of the bath companions.

“Yeah, Sanji, you look pretty hot too,” Luffy agreed.

“Wha— me?”

“You’re all red— like Zoro.”

Shit.

Adopting an effective battle technique that also dealt damage to himself was not going to work. A begrudging stalemate erected itself in place.

~~~~~~~~

Another Island…

“Do you have to be such a damn pervert?” Zoro spat.

Sanji’s eyes snapped to the swordsman behind him. It had been enough to hear him audibly and obnoxiously huff at every interaction Sanji had in this damn market let alone be called names simply for delighting in the presence and attention of beautiful women.

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

“What exactly is perverted about complimenting beautiful women?”

Zoro scoffed in reply, looking petulantly away from Sanji’s piercing, accusatory gaze. There it was again, this quiet kind of truth clawing under the icy surface that comprised their usual interactions. It made something in Sanji crack, a want that felt like treading on a frozen lake, wondering if the surface was going to break and swallow you, or if you could safely find your way across.

“Is my little Mossy jealous,” Sanji said the words with precision, a precision notably at odds with the chaos swirling inside him at the moment.

“You’re really a dumb ass, you know that?” Zoro replied.

The intimacy of being alone, together, in this crowded place of strangers, far from the prying eyes of their crew, far from anyone who would know or care about them, made Zoro’s blushing cheeks feel profound somehow. If it meant nothing, why would he react like that? And if it meant nothing to Sanji, why was his heart trying to escape his chest in every direction?

He swallowed, too rough, as though his body had forgotten how to do simple tasks he’d otherwise unconsciously excel at. In for a beri, in for a billion of them…

Sanji flamboyantly brought his arm to the air and the other to his chest, donning a peaceful, coy expression as he turned to face Zoro, walking backward through the stalls.

“Oh how the gods have blessed me on such a fine day only dwarfed by the beauty of such a Moss as you! As though the earth herself rose up and kissed your head, your eyes echoing the storm gazing upon such a sight as yourself brings to my heart. A tempestuous blessing to overtake me, but a humble admirer of such heavenly…”

“Shut it.”

Zoro’s face had contorted into a kind of constipated tomato if Sanji had to call it anything. He didn’t bother to consciously log how it twisted his insides with excitement beyond confirming this new means to torment Zoro was a thrilling divergence from the norm.

Sanji smiled smugly and they said little else beyond the necessary for the rest of the day.

~~~~~~~~

On the ship…

They’d been sitting in the water too long: no wind, no nothing. Luffy draped himself over the railing, bored and sighing; Usopp fiddled nervously with his gadgets while Nami did her navigator stuff trying to calculate when and where they might catch a wind. Chopper and Robin sat playing games while the idiot Mosshead worked out. He was always working out. Always shirtless. Always pushing himself as his stupid tan skin glistened in the sun, sweat trickling down the ridges of his stupid muscles, as each part of his body rippled and responded to the pressure the swordsman challenged them with. Sanji leaned, smoking, watching, pissed that Zoro was so captivating to him. Pissed the swordsman never seemed to notice him— a thought immediately banished from his mind with an aggressive drag on his cigarette.

“Enjoying the show?”

Zoro’s self-satisfied voice cut through Sanji’s melancholy thoughts, sharp and piercing like Sanji imagined he cut down his enemies. Annoying to be on the receiving end of his violence, despite the notable lack of malice and the underlying twinge of affection. Could affection kill? Could affection cut you open and leave you bleeding and useless in its wake?

You wanna play dirty, I’ll play dirty, Sanji thought.

But really, it was boredom he would tell himself. It was tit-for-tat. Implying Sanji was a girl staring at Zoro, then Sanji would imply Zoro was a girl hitting on Sanji. Fair is fair. He ignored the cliche that skittered across his mind like a cockroach: all’s fair in love and war.

“Oh my sweetest most beautiful Mosshead-Chan, how I am blessed with the privilege of your presence, to witness the incomparable beauty that is your sweaty muscle crap,” Sanji cooed in what he hoped landed as sarcasm but feared sounded too authentic to be taken lightly.

Zoro smirked, his usual blush notably absent. The curl of his lips sent Sanji’s heart lurching into his throat.

“So that’s a yes, then?”

Sanji watched as Luffy begged Zoro to go ashore with him. He couldn’t pretend to be jealous of his own damn captain and the way he presently fawned all over Zoro who steadfastly refused to acquiesce. But… he felt a little jealous of Luffy. Must be nice to have such a relationship with the moss.

Luffy followed Zoro around the ship asking him to no avail to join him on the island. Luffy would climb on his shoulders and stick his face in front of Zoro’s befitting his name, and the swordsman would refuse. He would dance around Zoro begging him to come ashore and Zoro would refuse. Luffy would slingshot himself to tackle Zoro to the ground and still the swordsman would refuse.

“Please Zoro!” Luffy whined. He shook the swordsman back and forth while Zoro stood there, arms crossed, unmoving, the faint and fleeting twitch of annoyance the only emotion he expressed on his face.

“Go with Robin,” Zoro gruffed in reply.

“Zorooooooooo,” Luffy whined again.

Luffy let go of him and stood to his side, hands clasped together and eyes big and pleading like a puppy. He chased Zoro’s gaze until finally the swordsman locked eyes with Luffy’s pleading face like a dog begging for food off the table.

“Ugh, FINE,” Zoro relented.

Sanji nearly choked on his cigarette. Robin chuckled in the background, working out the details with Zoro while Luffy cheered for having worn Zoro down. Only Sanji seemed to have noticed exactly how Zoro had been worn down. Did Nami know this? He wracked his brain for moments when the navigator had asked Zoro for anything.

“Zoro, please can you do it for me…” he recollected Nami doing exactly what Luffy had just done with Zoro for everything from lifting heavy things to fighting tough fools and everything in between. Zoro had always agreed— frowning and then acquiescing. Sanji had never realized until now this soft pushover side of the brute, he’d always been too focused on how the swordsman was being asked to do anything by Nami than exactly what was happening.

The real question was, would this work with Sanji?

“Yes, yes, yes!” Luffy cheered. “Zoro is coming! Zoro is—”

Sanji inserted himself into the mix and laid his hand on Luffy’s shoulder.

“You’re going to come with me right? We can get food and I can make sure you’re not gonna get into trouble and this guy,” he motioned to Zoro, “won’t get lost.” He could hear Zoro scoff but Sanji was undeterred.

“Oooh! Yes! Food! Zoro! You, me, and Sanji can go together!” Luffy cheerfully bounded around the ship celebrating.

Great. That was the easy part. Sanji took a deep breath in and then steeled his face, putting on his best sweet and gentle expression with his own version of puppy eyes before turning to Zoro.

“That’s okay with you, right?” he asked the Mosshead, hands in his pockets approximating his daintiest dainty humble look.

Zoro blushed and frowned. “‘Course.”

It was everything Sanji could do not to break into a huge smile— his hypothesis proven correct, he was giddy with this newfound power.

———

As Zoro, Sanji and Luffy meandered through the food stalls, Sanji paid close attention to how Luffy failed and succeeded to get Zoro to do as he wished. Every time, the puppy eyes and pleading worked, half the time an honest and heartfelt request worked (namely if Zoro shared the desire) and none of the time did a demand work unless it was critical which wouldn’t have been a demand, Sanji reasoned, as it was more of an order. Sanji mused on this new information and their own challenged interactions thus far. Of course Zoro would refuse Sanji when most of the time Sanji was demanding Zoro do something that Zoro probably didn’t want to do at all let alone when it was being phrased in a way Sanji begrudgingly admitted to himself was aggressive and entitled.

It was his own insecurity that had strained things bringing them head to head countless times over the course of their trip together. Now he was going to remedy that.

“You’re quiet today,” Zoro casually remarked.

Sanji handed him another package of goods to bring back to the ship which Zoro took and hoisted onto his back.

“Focused,” Sanji hedged.

He was focused but he was focused on Zoro and less on shopping. Zoro “hmphed” in response and they continued their trip around the stalls, both of them reigning Luffy in until they were done getting supplies.

——

“Whew I’m starving!” Luffy exclaimed as Zoro and Sanji unloaded the last bags of supplies into the galley.

“Too bad,” Sanji snapped and threw a bento box at him. “You ate ten times our body weight at the damn market I’m not making you food.”

“Thank you Sanjiiiiiii,” Luffy laughed and bounded off.

Zoro began to walk away as well but Sanji grabbed his shoulder without thinking.

“Nuh uh. You…” he froze.

What was he thinking?! Zoro’s menaced expression encapsulated the audacity Sanji was grappling with at precisely the same time. He took a breath in and smiled, softening his face.

“Wanna get drinks?” He asked Zoro. He made sure to give him the big eyes and sweet smile with his softly asked question.

Zoro looked at him stupidly for a moment before taking a deep breath in and smirking.

“You buyin’ Curly?” He replied.

“Least I can do for all your help,” Sanji replied, again trying to hold back his grin.

The air was temperate despite the night air, only the slightest wind, a lovely night by any other metric. Sanji leaned casually on the banister of the Sunny, smoking, a mess of careless pensive contradictions. Zoro sat nearby, leaning against a wall, pretending to sleep. He was a terrible liar if Sanji were to admit it— always pretending to be asleep when Sanji was trying to talk to him. He preferred to keep that secret lie for himself, a little song and dance between them where he could see the slight incline of Zoro’s head toward him, the way his breathing became measured like he was blocking out the world but for Sanji.

“Not like you do,” Zoro replied.

Too soft a response, it warmed the cool night air and sent a begrudging flush to Sanji’s cheeks he thanked the night for concealing.

“What if you fail, you know?”

“Then I’ll be dead and won’t care.”

Sanji barked a laugh. Idiot. Things were always so simple to him. For so long he’d mistaken that for a kind of deficiency, and then… and then. Sanji felt the weight of his insanity— he’d conquered the air so he could never be let down and here he was trying to skywalk over his own heart. Even so, he chose to pick a fight which seemed easier than leaning into a closeness that felt too much like falling.

“So you’re fine with dying a shitty swordsman and leaving behind everyone?”

“You afraid I’m gonna leave you behind, love-cook?”

Sanji felt the Sunny slipping out from under him, the world spinning his body as though it revolved around him in this moment. In his panic he locked his gaze on Zoro who stared directly at him, knowingly. Much to Sanji’s chagrin, everything came into focus and a firmness returned to his feet, as though Zoro’s piercing stare had given him roots.

“Shut up.”

“Make me.”

Swirling contradiction that he was, the invitation to fight was right there and instead Sanji smiled into his cigarette and exhaled the smoke into the night sky. He heard Zoro laugh, the soft, rasping treasure of a laugh Sanji kept in his heart to pull out and reminisce about when he was alone. A silence grew between them, the sloshing of the waves against the Sunny the only sound holding the moment where it wrapped their stupid hearts together.

“If I die, I’m taking you with me,” Zoro said softly, half to himself.

“I’d like to see you try,” Sanji replied.

Of course you’d take me with you, he thought. I’d die without you.

“I’ll haunt you,” Zoro added.

“I’ll get a priest to banish you to hell.”

A lie.

“I’ll claw my way back.”

A promise. One he’d already made.

Sanji smiled and buried his face in his hand, childish like he was hardly older than a child crushing for the first time.

“I’ll exorcise you.”

“I’ll possess you first.”

Their words tread dangerously close to something real. Did Zoro know what he was saying? He never did anything without thinking…

“You’d make me as helpless as your directionally challenged idiot self?”

“My ghost found you didn’t I?”

“I’m not, I’m…”

Zoro stared with a smirk upon his face, thinking he’d got Sanji backed into a corner— but what game did he think they were playing?

“This is a hypothetical, you’d never be able to.”

“I’d always find you,” Zoro said softly, this time it was only meant for himself.

“I’m the one who always finds you,” Sanji said just as quietly.

The lapping of the waves seemed to overtake the silence, drowning the moment between them. Sanji could touch him, he could close the distance between them with three strides. He could take the swordsman’s chin into his hands and lock eyes with him, search his eye for the answers to all the things neither of them could say and then pull him closer until their lips let their hearts begin to fold in on each other, until their bodies craved a kind of closeness no person could ever have. Sanji could forget all his blustering and fawning over everyone but Zoro and throw himself at the feet of the idiot like he was a dog waiting to be picked up and leashed. He could do a thousand things but he stood there and lit another cigarette. The night’s grip loosened as the stars began to fade in the gentle call of the sun on the horizon.

“I won’t fail,” Zoro said.

An unspoken promise packed into those words — you won’t have to find me, you won’t have to miss me, I won’t leave you.

“You want breakfast?” Sanji asked him.

"We weren't that young," his companion replied, fidgeting with the bottle in his hand.

He took a long drag on his cigarette and looked up to the sky for just long enough that maybe it would be obvious he was trying not to let the tears threatening to spill from his eyes make good on their threat.

"I was," he lied. "I didn't know shit about shit, I didn't know about the world. Are you saying you did?"

"I knew what I wanted," his companion said.

He noticed the crack in his voice, the way his knuckles were white around the thick of the bottle, the way the edge of his mouth was tight even if he was still so adept at hiding behind that impenetrable mask of being fine. Damn fool.

"Oh? And what was that?" He asked, stamping his cigarette out.

"Don't act like you didn't know. You're too old to remember?"

He laughed, always such a bastard. As if years between them would change that, and if he was honest, it was heart achingly nostalgic. It made him miss the good times and what their version of bad had been.

What he wouldn't give to have a bad day like he had back then, at his side, in his arms...

"I was there when you got it," he replied.

His companion laughed, bitter, choking and sorrowful. It made his heart seize in his chest like it wanted to leave his body entirely.

"You were there when I lost it."

"How could I be?" He played dumb.

His companion, his lover, his everything had asked for forever and a happily ever after and instead... all they had left was the short time they'd spent as lovers and the decades of regret and separation between them.

"You're right," his everything replied. "My bad."

He knew him too well, he didn’t mean the words, he just didn’t want to argue something, to lose a battle he knew he wouldn’t win.

They sat in silence letting the unsaid between them linger as a suffocating reminder of all that could have been, all that never would be.

"It was nice, you know, to see you again."

"Yeah. You look good."

"No I don't," his love laughed.

"To me, you do."

The comment died in the space between them.

His companion got up from the bar, he hadn't even finished his drink.

"See ya around," his companion replied after too many beats of silence.

"No you won't," he replied. He knew him too well to expect otherwise.

"No, I won't," he laughed, this time a lightness to its sad tone.

Why was it so hard to admit what he wanted? To say what lived in his heart? Time had come and gone and he never thought he'd be here now to do it all over again. Too much time had passed, that they'd met at all meant his love was also having the same stupid unyielding want that plagued his dreams and nightmares and every damn waking moment since they'd parted.

If only he could say... I love you. Spend the rest of our shitty lives with me.

I still think of you as my lover, as my one true love, as my world, as my everything. There has never been anyone quite like you. I need you like air... But instead, as his companion lingered at the door, leaving, waiting for all the words he was going to let die on his lips and haunt him to the grave, all he could find it in himself to say was,

"don't catch cold."