welcome to shitty restaurant

Zoro has so far — much to everyone’s surprise — been pretty well-behaved throughout the wedding preparations. He went to all the suit fittings (dark green shirt and single-breasted white jacket, with fuller sleeves and high-cut trousers, allowing plenty of room for movement), tried all the cakes during the tasting sessions (three tiers with rum, and Luffy’s getting his own cake), and even had a lot to say on the guest list (Pudding is not invited, and certain male guests are on thin ice, apparently; Zoro will not be held responsible for what he’ll do if they look at Sanji funny). For the most part, he is an obedient moss, following Sanji’s instructions with minimal complaints.

Sanji thought this was a sign — Zoro, perhaps, had finally gotten a little sentimental at the prospect of tying the knot after five years of relationship.

Until today, that is. A supposedly peaceful lunch, one week before the big day, and Zoro suddenly asked, can we just skip the wedding vows?

“Because that’s the most important part of the wedding, Mossy,” Sanji explains, trying his best to be patient. “Everything we’re doing — the fancy decorations and the cake and the dancing — everything is in service of the vows. You can even say they’re all… accessories to the vows.” 

Zoro frowns, like he’s unable to comprehend this very simple concept.

“Can’t we just exchange the rings and shit?” He suggests after a moment. “Isn’t that the same thing?”

How the fuck did Sanji fall in love with this brute again?

Sanji puts down his fork. He leans forward on the table, pressing a finger to Zoro’s chest for emphasis. “You, of all people, should understand the power of words. The same way you vow to be the greatest, I want to do that for us. To vow to be with one another.”

“But I have vowed to be with you,” Zoro says indignantly, grabbing Sanji’s outstretched hand with his own. “When I said I wanted to be with you, five years ago — I meant it, Cook. That was it for me.”

Oh, right, this is how Sanji fell in love with Zoro.

Zoro is a brute, his affections clumsy and his words sandpaper rough, but they are always honest and true, and Sanji wouldn’t want it any other way.

So Sanji does what he’s always done best when it comes to Zoro: meeting him halfway. He tries tackle this from another angle, rubbing the side of Zoro’s hand with his thumb as a peace offering. “Why do you hate the wedding vow so much?”

Zoro looks away at that and shrugs. “‘s just. You know, the lines you gave me?”

It took Sanji a moment to realize what Zoro was talking about. “Oh, the standard wedding vow I gave you, right? To have and to hold, the whole deal?”

Zoro nods. “Well, it’s stupid , that’s what it is.”

Sanji huffs. “Too long for your mossy brain to memorize?”

“‘Till death do us part is a stupid line, Cook,” Zoro says, looking straight into Sanji’s eyes now. “Why would death part us? You are mine in death and every life after this.”

Sanji’s cheeky reply died in his lips.

Oh .

Sanji can feel his own face heating up involuntarily from the words. “You just —” he sputters, gesturing vaguely at his stupid fiancée with his free hand. “You can’t just say shit like that!”

“What?” Zoro continues, “I told you I came back from hell to get you —”

“Oh my god,” Sanji’s given up on flailing and starts covering his face instead. “Shut up.”

He tries pulling away the hand Zoro’s holding, but the swordsman is faster — before Sanji could react, Zoro has stood up with a smirk on his face, because he knows the power he has over Sanji, that asshole. He goes to stand at Sanji’s side and pulls him into an embrace, pressing kisses on Sanji’s temple, his nose, his cheek, before finding his lips.

They stay like that for a moment, content with soft, fleeting kisses on the lips, before Sanji pulls away and points out, “by the way, you know you can make your own vows, right?”

Zoro blinks. “What?”

-

vi. confession 

“I can’t dance,” she tells him.

There are two half-empty glasses of wine on a nearby table, and the room sways slightly as she takes a step closer towards him. When he smiles, it’s brighter than the dim lighting of the galley, and she tries to tell herself it’s the wine too, but.

They can hear Brook’s night lullaby from the deck, faint and delicate. The rest of the crew is already asleep.

“Everyone can dance,” Sanji says, extending one hand towards her, palm up. The light dances in his eyes, and something else, too. Giddy, and light, and. “As long as they have a good teacher.”

She takes his hand, calloused fingers against her ink-stained ones.

Her heart leaps in her chest and her world tilts just so. She tells herself it’s the wine, but.

-

v. underwear

When she enters the crow’s nest, she is surprised to see Sanji there instead of Zoro.

She understands, in a detached kind of way, that Sanji must have trained regularly—there is no way any normal human can keep up with Zoro and Luffy through cooking meals three times a day alone—but she never actually sees him train that it catches her off guard.

Sanji is facing away from the trap door, hands locked around a pull-up bar Franky built a couple of weeks ago. He is halfway through a routine, body a tight line of muscle, and he is not wearing any shirt. Nami is hit with a realization that she has rarely seen this much of Sanji’s skin, and her eyes are immediately drawn to his legs, the broad curves of his calves narrowing down to his ankles.

She is so enraptured with the sight that she almost jumps when his feet hit the ground.

“I’m so sorry, Nami-san—” he says, instantly scrambling towards her and already halfway through an apology, “I can’t believe I just ignored the presence of a beautiful maiden like you! I just had to finish my reps and I didn’t think it would take so long—“ he finally notices her silences and pauses. “Nami-san?”

Nami blinks. He has always looked so lean, wrapped under multiple layers of clothing and standing side by side with the collection of bulky muscles that is Zoro, but up close like this, she can see every curve of his muscles, coiled tight under the expanse his pale skin. She can also see a scar—a nasty, white crescent inches above his heart, where he took a stab of a knife in Thriller Bark, in place of her.

She has half the mind to raise her hand and touch it before he breaks her out of her reverie. “Nami-san?”

She jerks her hand away. “I was going to ask,” she begins, but she can feel her face heat up, and can only hope that he won’t notice. She doesn’t even remember what she wanted to ask anymore. “Never mind,” she sputters, “see you at dinner.”

She flees the place before she makes any more dumb decisions.

-

iv. jealousy

“Wait. Wait,” she says, tone dripping with disbelief. “Let me hear you say that again, because I must have misheard. We’ve saved your pathetic excuse of a family, we’re one step away from Sunny, Big Mom is currently distracted, and yet you want to…what was it again?”

Sanji gives her a weak smile. “I, uh, I wanted to save Pudding, Nami-san.”

There’s something red-hot, stuttering in her chest. It’s not jealousy. She knows Sanji is so full of love, brimming with it until Nami isn’t sure if he has anything else but love, and he always gives so easily and readily that he has nothing left for himself. She knows this.

But sometimes she’s scared that one day he’s given a little too much, and he’s finally been eked out, emptied, and no matter how much she tries to pour something back in it’ll never be enough.

It’s not jealousy. It’s something so, so much more.

She opens her mouth to protest, but what comes out is, “well, that’s just you, isn’t it.”

That startles a laugh out of Sanji.

When she looks at him, he has one of those private Sanji-smiles. Not the kind that’s somewhat stupid—she has seen plenty of those, and they are certainly nowhere near private—but the barely there thing, the kind that’s soft, that makes him look like he’s glowing inside his skin. The kind that he reserves just for her.

She doesn’t know if this is the right decision or not, but Sanji is smiling and that’s okay. Everything is okay.

-

iii. can you hear me?

“Sometimes,” Robin explains patiently, “affection can even be shown subtly. Through names, for example.”

“YOU’RE ALL IDIOTS,” Nami yells from across the deck, hands balled into a fist. Usopp, Luffy, and Sanji cower before her wrath. “USOPP, LUFFY, SANJI-KUN!”

Sanji rubs the top of his head as it starts to swell up from her hit. “Nami-san.”

Zoro crosses his arms at Robin, oblivious. He tilts his head. “I don’t get it.”

Robin smiles. Across the deck, Nami continues her rant on the three boys, her body leaning unconsciously towards Sanji. “You’re not the only one,” she says, and leaves it at that.

-

ii. mother

Bellemere used to tell her, find a boy who would bleed for you.

Nami takes Sanji’s bandaged hand into hers, watches the rising and falling of his chest; faint, but there. Patches of blood seep through parts of the cloth, a spattering of red on too-pale skin, and she feels something scrape along the underside of her ribcage. Crackled, rough.

I found him, she thinks.

She wishes Bellemere had told her the other part; the part where she would bleed along with him, inside.

-

i. the little things

The Strawhats don’t care about who she was or what she has done, which is something she is grateful for—she has done many terrible things in the past, none of which she is proud of.

But sometimes she is more grateful of Sanji, who asks her about her tangerines, her family, her maps. They talk at dawn before the sun lights up the sky, and as her tea mists in the cool air and Merry wakes up at their feet, he reminds her that she was always more than blood and solitude and lies.

“How are you feeling, Sanji?” Chopper says, eyebrows furrowing in worry. His hooves are touching him all over — his forehead, his throat, his stomach — as if he can somehow sense the sickness on Sanji’s skin.

Sanji sighs. There’s a painful hum at the base of his skull — distracting, but he’s had worse. Luffy has given him worse headaches from his eating habits alone. “Honestly?” He says, gesturing vaguely at the back of his head, “just a little headache, around here. Nothing I can’t sleep off.”

“You sure?” Usopp pipes up, head peering into the infirmary. “You and Zoro were glowing after getting hit by the guy’s power, and the glow was ominously red.”

“Zoro has shown no symptoms so far,” Robin’s voice from behind the door adds, “so we figured the power must have affected you somehow, Cook-san. Perhaps it is something non-visible? A head tumor? An internal bleeding? An organ failure?”

“An organ failure?” Chopper shrieks, “somebody call a doctor!”

“You’re the doctor,” Sanji points out, patting the kid on the head to calm him down. “Besides, I’m fine. The power must’ve been something weak, like inflicting a flu or something.”

“Or you’re just not strong enough to repel it,” Zoro says from the other bed, a smirk plastered across his face. “Because I’m not feeling anything at all.”

“Yeah? Or maybe,” Sanji growls, head whipping to glare at Zoro. “The power is only affecting humans , and doesn’t acknowledge a patch of growing mold like you as human.”

“You’re trying to start a fight, Cook?” Zoro glowers back as he climbs out of the bed and scrambles to his feet. 

“You started it first,” Sanji snarls, stomping towards the swordsman and pulls him by the collar. He watches Zoro’s hand move toward the hilt of his sword, and he twists his own leg, ready to spring into a kick —

“Stop it, you two!” Nami yells, slamming the door open. “This isn’t the time!”

“Tch,” Zoro grunts. Sanji feels the tension between them defuse, both fearing Nami’s wrath, and as Zoro leans away, Sanji feels something shoots up his spine —

“Wait,” he quickly says, pulling Zoro closer again.

“What the fuck,” Zoro says, clearly surprised, but Sanji ignores him. The pain has already subsided, turning back into the familiar low hum.

He experimentally leans away, releasing his grip on Zoro’s collar, and the pain is back — slower this time, like someone’s wrapped a band around his head and is tightening it, bit by bit. He massages his temple.

“Oi, Cook, you’re all right?” Zoro asks, hand hovering between them, like he’s unsure if he wants to reach out or not. Sanji would’ve slapped it away in any other instance; but he’s had a hunch, and before he can talk himself out of it, grab Zoro’s outstretched hand and hold it.

The pressure around his head is immediately lifted.

“Shit, Chopper,” he says gravely, “I think I’ve figured it out.”

-

“So the pain is gone when you’re touching Zoro?” Chopper asks as the rest of the crew fills in the infirmary, curiosity getting the better of them.

“Yeah,” Sanji says, raising his and Zoro’s intertwined hands for emphasis. “I think it has something to do with the distance between us, too, because it hurt even more when the shitty swordsman was still sitting on the other bed there.”

Zoro, surprisingly, doesn’t rise to the bait at the insult. In fact, Zoro has been going suspiciously quiet, face flustered and eyes refusing to meet Sanji’s. He’s barely gripping Sanji’s hand, his arms and shoulders visibly tense, like he’s ready to bolt anytime soon.

Sanji doesn’t fault him — Zoro hates him, after all. Not hate hate, obviously, they’re nakama — but Zoro insults Sanji whenever he can and challenges him to a fight just as often. There’s no one else Sanji trusts more than Zoro to have his back, but they aren’t exactly close.

And definitely not holding-hands close.

Well, fuck it, it’s not like Sanji’s having a grand time either. He squeezes Zoro’s hand, as if trying to say, look, I’m also forced to do this. Zoro’s face just turns even redder — he must’ve been so mad.

“—hugging?” Robin says, and Sanji is snapped out of his own thoughts. Zoro starts coughing beside him. 

“Uh, I’m sorry, my dear, I wasn’t listening,” he admits apologetically, “you were saying something about…hugging?”

“I was wondering if the two of you could try hugging each other?” Robin repeats, and Zoro coughs again, like he’s choking on air.

“Shut up, Marimo, stop interrupting Robin-chan’s knowledgeable insights,” Sanji snaps, elbowing him on the side, and it’s infuriating, how Zoro just refuses to meet his eyes. “Though if you don’t mind me asking, Robin-chan, why should we?”

“If proximity between the two of you is the main factor, perhaps there’s a chance that being even closer could nullify the powers entirely.”

That…is sound logic, as painful as it is for Sanji to admit. He tries not to gag at the idea of hugging Zoro. When was the last time the brute took a shower again? Fuck.

He sighs, turns to face Zoro and opens his arms.

Zoro makes a choked noise that sounds a lot like a dying chicken.

“What? Believe me, I’d rather swallow your swords than do this, too,” Sanji says, feeling the migraine return as soon as he let go of Zoro’s hand. “But our brilliant, knowledgeable Robin-chan has a point. Let’s get this over with.”

“Swallow?” is all Zoro says, and Sanji just can’t deal with Zoro’s one brain cell right now, so he decides to walk up and hug him.

Hugging Zoro is…surprisingly nice. Zoro has a broad chest, larger than Sanji thought, and when he wraps his arms around Sanji in return he’s surprised to find that they’re long enough to envelope Sanji’s entire torso. They seem to be heading towards a Winter Island, the air inside the infirmary chiller and crispier than usual, but Zoro’s body is like a furnace, warming him all over. Sanji could feel his own body settle into Zoro’s embrace, like it’s natural.

It hits him then and there that he’s hugging Zoro, what the fuck, and he immediately pushes Zoro away by the chest. “All right, that was — that should do it. The curse. Thing.”

“Yeah,” Zoro sputters, looking flustered, though Sanji can’t figure out why. “You should — we were close enough — I mean physically — as in —” he clears his throat, and settles with a lame, “Yeah.”

Yeah . Sanji wishes he could agree with that, but he can already feel the pain returning with a vengeance, a sharp pressure around his neck. He winces, hand instinctively rubbing the sore spot.

“Not that easy, I see,” Robin comments, and Sanji continues massaging his neck, trying to ignore the way his body now feels very, very cold.

-

Chopper and Robin resolved to hit the books first before carrying out more experiments, and by the time evening rolls around Sanji manages to at least find a happy medium — five inches apart, apparently, is equivalent to having a crick on the neck. Not optimal, but manageable.

It does mean having the huge lump of useless muscle standing beside him as he prepares dinner, though.

Sanji is putting in the cooked rice on the pan when he sees Zoro reaching out for his condiments.

He smacks Zoro’s hand with his wooden spatula. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Zoro scowls. “Was just trying to help, Curly, calm down,” he says, pushing the salt and pepper bottles towards Sanji’s side. “You’d rather I just watch?”

Sanji imagines Zoro, scowling face and all, glowering at the stove as he tries to cook. Right. “All right,” he concedes, “but try not to break anything.”

“I’m not Luffy, Cook,” Zoro says indignantly, but he seems to be particularly gentle as he hands Sanji the eggs he needs for the recipe.

They fall into comfortable silence after that, Zoro occasionally passing the ingredients or some utensils, and it doesn’t dawn on Sanji until everything is properly served on the table that Zoro is surprisingly knowledgeable about cooking. Not anywhere near professional, sure, but more than a layman, and definitely more than Sanji expected of him.

He half-suspects that this is all in his head — a side effect from the headache or something — so he tries, “can you pass me the cilantro for the fried rice?”

Zoro hesitates for a moment, but eventually snatches a few leaves of cilantro from the small bowl on the pantry.

Sanji stares at him, wide eyed. He thinks his mouth is hanging open. “How?”

“What?”

“How did you know what a cilantro is?”

“I know what a — a see-lantern is,” Zoro says, unconvincingly.

Sanji raises his eyebrow. “No, you don’t.”

“All right, I don’t,” Zoro pushes the leaves into Sanji’s hands. “But you mentioned the fried rice, and since everything else is done, it doesn’t take a genius to guess you’re talking about those fancy leaves you always put on them.”

That — Sanji doesn’t even know where to even begin with that. “How do you even know what recipe I like to use for this fried rice? You know this has nothing to do with intelligence.”

Zoro shrugs. “It’s not that hard to figure out if you’re paying attention.”

“And you are?”

Zoro looks away again, and Sanji can swear he’s seeing a blush dusting across the bridge of Zoro’s nose, all the way to the tips of his ears. Is he — ashamed of this? “I didn’t know the others’ eating habits interest you too, but I do this all the time,” he finally says, after a moment, because Zoro needs to know being curious about other people’s diets is not that embarrassing, come on. “I think it’s interesting how people have certain preferences they aren’t even aware of, you know? Like Nami’s penchant for zestier desserts, or Usopp’s thing against softer tofus because it reminds him of mushrooms.”

Sanji thinks he makes his case pretty well, but Zoro just frowns. “That’s not the thing I was paying attention to —“ he sighs, shoulders sagging. “Never mind.”

Zoro starts putting all the spices back into the rack, signaling the abrupt end of their conversation; and Sanji can’t help feeling that he’s missed at least half the context.

-

“No fucking way,” Sanji says.

Zoro gives him a look from the hammock, like Sanji is the one being unreasonable. “Suit yourself.”

“I’m not sharing a hammock with you, ” Sanji hisses, trying his best not to wake the others up. He had somehow convinced himself that the problem would be resolved before the day ended, and foolishly went about his day without thinking about the… further implications of having to keep Zoro close 24/7. 

In his defense, having Zoro around has not been as terrible as he expected. Zoro was surprisingly compliant throughout the day, following Sanji around as he did his errands without complaint. Zoro’s only schedule was his training sessions, and Sanji needed those trainings, anyway. They still bickered and fought, but even that wasn’t so bad — Sanji wouldn’t admit this out loud, but it’s nice , to have someone who can keep up with Sanji’s foul mouth and crass sense of humor. It reminds him of his days back in Baratie, where the cooks would hackle each other for fun.

Sharing a hammock with Zoro, though? That’s a different beast altogether.

“I’m not sleeping with you,” Sanji repeats, voice rising a little higher.

Zoro’s face burns at that, and it takes Sanji a moment to realize that his words came out wrong. “I mean,” he quickly clarifies, “like, literally sleeping —”

“Listen, Cook, I just want to sleep,” Zoro cuts him. He turns around so he’s no longer facing Sanji, and he lazilly mumbles, “‘m not gonna even look at your ugly eyebrows. Just go to sleep.” 

“That’s my line, algae hair,” Sanji hisses back, but Zoro doesn’t take the bait. He feels a little defeated as he watches Zoro’s breathing even out, completely unbothered by Sanji’s predicament.

I’m not being stubborn, he tries to convince himself as he gets into his own hammock at the other end of the bunk room, feeling the migraine returning with a back pain. He loves his personal space, sue him — and Zoro sounds like the worst bedmate ever. He hasn’t showered for the past few days, he takes up space with those bulky muscles of his, and he snores. Sanji would rather sleep with a wild boar.

(And if Sanji were to entertain certain thoughts, in the safety of his own mind — perhaps the idea of being so… intimate with Zoro scares him; to have this ever-vigilant warrior letting Sanji into his own space when he is most vulnerable, all for Sanji’s sake —)

Sanji buries his face into his pillow. Stupid devil fruit making him think of stupid thoughts. He’s sleeping alone tonight, fuck you.

It only takes half an hour of tossing and turning before he finds himself climbing into Zoro’s hammock. Zoro’s breath hitches as the hammock dips from Sanji’s weight. 

“Not a word,” Sanji whispers, and Zoro doesn’t respond. Sanji is not entirely sure that Zoro is awake enough to even realize what’s going on. 

And if Zoro notices Sanji’s tentative touch against his back, he doesn’t say anything, either.

-

They’re not talking about it and it’s fine.

“Hold onto this,” Sanji shoves another paper bag into Zoro’s arms, trying his best to focus on a new recipe he’s making with the island’s unique and oddly-colored blue apples. The storeowner said they were more sour than the regular Grand Line apples, so he needs to adjust the amount of sugar on tonight’s pie, and —

He feels a hand circling his wrist before a light tug , and he stops in his track, barely avoiding bumping into another guy.

“Careful,” Zoro says from beside him, hand still on Sanji’s wrist. They’re now close enough that Sanji could feel Zoro’s chest against his back.

Sanji is immediately caught up in images from this morning — Zoro had somehow clambered all over his body overnight, hands and legs curling over Sanji’s torso like an overbearing octopus. And Sanji, embarrassingly, had responded in kind, head resting against Zoro’s chest like it was natural to be the little spoon to Zoro.

They’re not talking about it.

“I’m fine, mosshead,” he dismisses, but can’t bring himself to shake Zoro’s hand away, especially after Zoro was just trying to be helpful for once.

Zoro scoffs. “Yeah, right, just tell me next time if you don’t know where to go.”

“I’m not taking that from a directionally-challenged oaf,” Sanji bites back. “Hadn’t you been a lost child before Luffy found you back in Shells Island? Baratie’s been there a couple of times before. It’s a little ways from Shimotsuki, you know.”

It’s Zoro’s turn to get flustered, and he walks a little faster. “I wasn’t lost,” he says, defensive. “I was just doing my job at the time. Being a bounty hunter and all.”

Sanji snickers. “Oh, right, because Shells Island and its huge military base needed the help from a no-name bounty hunter from East Blue.”

“I had a name, they called me the Demon of East Blue,” Zoro counters, and Sanji can’t help laughing at the chlidish pout on his face. “Besides, it’s not like my mother gave me some pointers. Had to wing it most of the times, when Johnny and Yosaku weren’t around.”

It takes Sanji a moment before the information sinks in. “Wait, what? Your mom was a bounty hunter?”

“As far as I know, yeah. Didn’t get to teach me much, though — she left me in the care of Koshiro’s Dojo when I was around five or six to pursue a group of pirates that terrorized the neighboring island.” Zoro seems to hesitate for a moment, squeezing Sanji’s hand unwittingly. “She never got to return from that.”

Sanji feels like his heart is being squeezed, too. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Zoro shrugs. “I mean, it hurt, back then. But she made her choice. They all said she died a warrior’s death, which is what she would’ve wanted.” Zoro looks away at that, and he feels untethered, at the moment; like he’s looking at someone, somewhere else. “She had a choice in how she died. That is more than what a lot of people are dealt with.”

He takes a left turn then, tugging Sanji along with him, and for once Sanji doesn’t feel like telling him that it’s the wrong turn. They walk in silence for some time, away from the cacophony of the market place. 

Sanji waits until Zoro is ready to talk again before pointing out, “you know, this is — huge, Zoro. Why haven't you told me this before?”

Zoro shrugs again. “You never asked,” he answers, simply.

“That’s fair,” Sanji says. “Thanks — for sharing with me, I mean.”

“‘s nothing, Cook,” Zoro says, rubbing the back of his head with his free hand in a rare sign of embarrassment.

Sanji feels a little winded; unsure of what to think about this new information. This — new side of Zoro, who is more than steel and blood and the bodies under his feet, who has his moments of hesitation, and doubt, and weakness. He thinks of Zoro from this morning, still asleep, the hard lines of his face smoothened out by sleep, rendering his face impossibly soft.

Zoro still hasn’t let go of his hand. They’re not talking about it.

-

All right, so maybe Sanji likes his new routine with Zoro.

Zoro is more helpful than he isn’t, and even more fun to have around than he is helpful. Sanji has always known that they have a similar sense of humor, snarkier than rest of the crew is used to, but it surprises Sanji that they don’t bite hard each other enough to bleed — that Zoro only pushes his buttons when Sanji needs him to, and goes quiet before it gets too much.

They share things so effortlessly after the first few days of hiccups — spaces, as per the requirements of the devil fruit; but also other things, like stories and secrets and silences. Zoro helps him with the dishes, and Sanji improves Zoro’s workout routine on his legs. Zoro talks about this wonderful girl named Kuina sometimes, life snuffed out to soon by the cruelest of fate; and Sanji’s nightmares get easier when there’s another warm body in his bed.

This is a new Zoro, he thinks. A calm, steady presence by his side. Which is the same as the old Zoro, now that he thinks about it — just in a new light.

And Sanji likes him.

-

Sanji has always been a light sleeper, and he’s awake as soon as Chopper raises his voice a little higher, catching the tail end of his sentence of, “— you two all right?”

“It’s fine, I’m fine,” Zoro immediately tries to calm him down. “The Cook’s…managing, I suppose.”

Sanji knows he should announce to the room that he’s awake, but it feels awkward, considering they’re actually talking about him. He schools his breathing, hoping that nobody notices.

Chopper’s mind is clearly preoccupied, worry dripping from his voice when he says, “please tell me if something comes up, okay? I’m your doctor, after all.”

“I know, I know,” Zoro says, “You’re not just our doctor; you’re the best we’ll ever have.”

“That doesn’t make me happy at all!” Chopper says, and there’s a lull in the conversation as Zoro presumably pats Chopper on the head. They all have a soft spot for the kid, but there’s something about Zoro being soft in particular that makes something in his heart warms.

Chopper speaks up again after a moment. “I’m sorry that I haven’t found the cure, Zoro.”

“Nah, it’s my bad for trying to rush you,” Zoro says, and Sanji almost sits up in surprise. Since when is Zoro so eager for a cure?

“I understand,” Chopper says. “It’s for Sanji, after all.”

He hears Zoro sigh, and feels the hammock dip as Zoro leans forward. “Honestly, this is mostly a selfish demand from me. It’s — sometimes it’s so hard , I don’t think I can stand another day of this —”

Zoro is still talking, but his words have stopped making sense — all Sanji could think about was his earlier words, echoing in his ears like a curse. I don’t think I can stand another day of this.

Sanji feels like a fool now. He thought they both felt comfort in their newfound routine; that everything fell into place as naturally as breathing. But now that he thinks about it, Zoro is forced to be around the kitchen while Sanji cooks, cutting his training time short. He also has to follow Sanji around whenever they’re docked for a supply run, even though Zoro usually prefers wandering by himself until he either runs into a challenging obstacle, a generous supply of alcohol, or both. 

What was Sanji thinking anyway? Nobody could stand being around him that much. Much less Zoro, who only a couple of weeks ago would turn up his nose at the thought of being in the same room with Sanji.

(He thinks of the rock in the middle of the ocean, vast and colossal; he was a frail little kid, but he took up too much space anyway. He always did.)

Sanji tunes the two out and closes his eyes.

-

There is a dull, aching pit in his gut. His head is swimming, bright sunbursts of pain flaring at the back of his skull. He grits his teeth, trying to chase the tension away. 

“Cook?” Someone calls out.

He thinks it’s Zoro, but it’s kind of hard to see through the haze of pain. He jumped out of the ship as soon as Merry docked, and spent the day foraging in the forest by himself; he thinks the sun is setting now, the sky a darker shade of red, but it’s pretty hard to figure that out with a fever.

The person grabs him by the shoulder and forces him to turn around.

“Why are you here?” Sanji growls.

Zoro balks at the question; the hand on Sanji’s shoulder stills in surprise. “Why shouldn’t I be? The devil fruit —”

“It’s fine,” he says, shrugging off Zoro’s hand. He turns back and starts wading aimlessly through the foliage again. “I don’t feel anything.”

Zoro grabs him by the arm, undeterred. “You’re lying.”

Sanji glowers and tips his chin up defiantly. “Yeah? How do you know?”

“Because I know you, Cook.”

“Well, then you should know that I don’t want you here right now.”

Zoro’s face falls for a split second, like he’s been struck; but it immediately morphs into an angry scowl as the swordsman steps forward, closing the distance between them. “Where is this coming from?”

Sanji steps back instinctively. “I heard your conversation with Chopper last night,” he says bitterly. He can feel their closer proximity instantly working wonders on his headache and fever, and hates himself for it. “You told him that you wanted a cure as fast as possible. That you — and I quote — can’t stand another day of this . So, here you go. I was just giving you what you wanted, which, is coincidentally also what I want — some peace and quiet without seeing your ugly mug. You’re welcome, Marimo.”

He’s rambling, he knows, but he can’t help it; he remembers being a little kid on the rock, alone. Nobody is coming, nobody ever comes for him —

“Damn it,” Zoro curses, pulling Sanji out of his thoughts, and there’s a frantic, almost desperate look on his face. “I didn’t mean it that way, Cook —”

“Stay away from me!” Sanji lashes out and steps further back, except there’s nothing below his feet — it takes him a little too late to realize he’s backed himself up against a ravine, and before he could find his footing, he feels himself plunged into the river below.

-

“I’m not taking my clothes off,” Sanji declares, voice echoing against the wall of the cave.

There’s a particularly strong wind sweeping through the cave entrance, and Sanji instinctively curls into himself. Zoro, wet shirt already off and hung beside the campfire, raises his eyebrow at him.

“Okay, fine, I’m taking my clothes off,” he concedes, moving to hang his own blue shirt to dry beside Zoro’s. “But I’m not — cuddling with you.”

Zoro sighs, like he’s dealing with a particularly difficult child. “Just c’mere,” he gestures.

Sanji stubbornly doesn’t move, digging his pocket for a pack of cigarette instead, though he expects it to be as wet as the rest of his clothings are. It takes three attempts at lighting two wet stubs and another blow of cold wind before he drags himself to sit beside Zoro.

“We’re… sharing body heat, okay?” He says through chattering teeth. If Zoro notices the blush creeping up his face, the swordsman doesn’t comment on it; instead he slips behind Sanji’s back, circling his torso and pulling him until Sanji’s back is flush against his chest.

Sanji yelps and jumps in surprise, but Zoro’s arms around his chest are firm. “Stop movin’ around, Cook.”

Zoro’s body, somehow, feels hotter than even the fire in front of them; Sanji feels his own body thaw, burying itself into Zoro’s toned muscles. Pressed against Zoro like this, skin-to-skin, the devil fruit power is barely noticeable, and Sanji can’t help getting comfortable.

Too comfortable.

The conversation with Chopper sprung to his mind again, and Sanji straightens up, reluctantly trying to put as much distance from Zoro as their position allows. “...Sorry,” he manages to mumble after a few minutes of uncomfortable fidgeting. “I know I can be a lot to handle, but please bear with me for a couple more days.”

He can hear Zoro sigh from behind him, hot breath fanning against the back of his neck. Sanji shudders at the sensation. “That talk with Chopper…it’s not what you think it is,” Zoro says. “I like watching you cook, and, you know, spending time with you and shit.”

Sanji frowns, trying as much as he can inside Zoro’s caging arms to look over his shoulder and face him. “Then why…?”

“Was afraid of the other way around,” Zoro continues, voice low and hesitant.

It is an odd tone, coming from Zoro, who’s usually so self-assured. “What do you mean?”

“I was afraid I was getting too comfortable,” Zoro says, the words pressed against the base of Sanji’s neck, echoing the same thoughts plaguing Sanji’s mind for the past few days, “and I wouldn’t be able to let you go anymore.”

He doesn’t know who moves first after that — they meet each other halfway, lips against lips, fingers interlocking one another, and Sanji thinks, finally . The pull towards Zoro isn’t new, something the devil fruit has made familiar over the past few weeks, but the heat pooling at the base of his stomach is — he feels Zoro’s hands roaming his skin,and he can’t remember the last time he ever wanted to touch and be touched this badly.

“Stupid Cook,” Zoro says, because it’s so very Zoro — so very them — to insult each other even as their lips move against one another’s. “Wanted this,” he pants against the underside of Sanji’s jaw, “wanted you for so long.”

Oh, he thinks, that’s what this is. He slides a hand through Zoro’s hair, down his cheek and neck, and thinks, I want. He presses small, light kisses against Zoro’s temple, the scar over his eye, the corner of his mouth, and thinks, I want. He finds Zoro’s hand and entwines their fingers, the gesture somehow feeling most intimate, sending something rattling against his ribcage, and thinks, I want.

And as he lets himself fall further into Zoro’s embrace, he thinks that he doesn’t need a devil fruit to tell him how much he wants to stay by Zoro’s side.

-

“Are you sure you’re not feeling anything?” Chopper asks, wide eyes peering over the clipboard in concern.

“Nope,” Sanji says, thumping his chest for emphasis. “Feeling good as new, doctor.”

“Are you sure? A hundred percent sure?”

“A thousand percent,” Sanji says, patting the kid on the head. “And you would know if I wasn’t, right? You’ve already run all the tests you could; I trust you on this, Chopper, you’re the best doctor I know.”

“As if that would make me happy!” Chopper denies, hands wiggling adorably in a happy dance that betrays his words.

“Cook’s good,” Zoro says from across the room. He is leaning against the doorframe, watching the whole exchange from a safe distance. “We fixed him.”

“Don’t make it sound like I’m one of Usopp’s inventions,” Sanji grumbles.

“But how?” Chopper tilts his head, his curiosity now taking over. “I don’t think it’s because of one of my experimental medicines, is it?”

“I’m afraid not. I think Zoro and I happened to meet the requirements to cancel the devil fruit power. It’s,” he begins to explain, but immediately pauses as images of the moments inside the cave caught up in his head. He feels a blush making its way to his face, and clears his throat. “I mean, since the power is about — um — being close and shit, we just needed to be — uh — close to one another. Closer than usual.”

Chopper, thankfully, doesn’t seem to notice his embarrassment or awkward stuttering. “All right, then, I’ll inform everyone of the good news!” The reindeer says, scrambling to his feet with a big grin on his face.

Sanji watches Chopper disappear out of the infirmary before throwing a smirk at the man still standing by the doorway. “Guess I’m no longer stuck with your ugly mug, huh.”

“That’s my line,” Zoro scoffs as he makes his way towards the infirmary bed. “Don’t have to listen to your annoying ass anymore.”

Sanji doesn’t protest when the oaf plops down on the bed beside him. “Yeah,” he says instead, sobering. “You don’t have to.”

“I don’t have to,” Zoro quickly replies, squeezing Sanji’s hand as he says so. “You can leave if you want.”

Zoro’s hand is warm and solid around his own. Like an anchor, steadying. He doesn’t let go.

 -

“Do you have someone important to you?” Mihawk asks.

It is a simple question, but jarring, in its suddenness — only seconds ago he was flung over a cliffside with a knife embedded in his guts, falling into the sea below. Now he is lying on the beach of Kuraigana, out of breath. His right eye has closed shut, swollen. Cold waves lap at his legs, numbing the pain.

It might be the throbbing stab wound, or the fact that he can’t even lift his own head now, that compels him to indulge Mihawk. “You know I do,” Zoro answers. “My captain. My crew.”

“Not the kind you would die for,” Mihawk says slowly. “Not the ones you would show your back to.”

Zoro watches Mihawk walk through the shallow water, ripples spreading. His legs are freezing and his stab wound burns hot, like a brand. “What do you mean.”

“Not the ones you protect,” Mihawk says as he stops to stand beside him. “Nor one you swear your loyalty to. But someone you would stand with, side by side.”

A certain blonde immediately flashes through Zoro’s mind, and he looks away. “And what if I do?”

Mihawk bends down over him, and for a moment Zoro thinks he’s going to offer him a hand; but Mihawk’s outstretched hand reaches towards the hilt of the knife instead, and Zoro can barely react as Mihawk pulls — the burning in his guts explodes to a fever-pitch as he doubles over in pain.

“Fuck!” He yells, clutching at his stomach. The seawater leaves pinpricks of pain against his wound. He thinks he’s going to throw up. “Fuck fuck fuck — why would you do that —”

“Remember this pain,” Mihawk says, and he rests the bloodstained blade against Zoro’s eyelid. “I will ask you another question, next time.”

“You fucking asshole,” Zoro yells, no longer caring about Mihawk’s cryptic words. Red floods his vision as Mihawk presses, and Zoro lets go.

-

“Stupid Cook,” he yells, staggering backwards as he tries to block the flurry of kicks aimed his way. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Sanji doesn’t answer. He spins instead, the movement blowing dust around them and catching Zoro off guard; he coughs just as a kick manages to slip past his defenses, slamming straight into Zoro’s chest. It knocks the breath out of him.

Remember this pain, he remembers Mihawk said, and grits his teeth around Wadou. He bats another kick away from him and slams the hilt of Enma against Sanji’s throat. “Oi, Swirly,” he growls, yanking him by the collars with his free hand as the Cook chokes and sputters. “Stop ignoring me — what do you want?”

Cold, dead eyes stare back at him. Zoro remembers the freezing water of Kuraigana, lapping at his feet.

“I don’t want anything,” the thing says — with Sanji’s mouth, with Sanji’s voice; but not with his warmth. “You’re simply in my way,”

Zoro makes a piercing cut with Kitetsu, and his heart sinks as he sees Sanji block the attack with his hands — the treasured hands of a cook.

Zoro thinks of his bleeding arm and bruising ribs and split lips — of Mihawk’s knife, slicing through his eye — and he knows none of those hurt as much as the cold way Sanji looks at him right now.

-

“That Cook of yours,” Mihawk begins.

Zoro scowls at him. Lightning flashes overhead, and the rain is soaking the bandage over his eye; the wetness makes it itch, but it doesn’t hurt anymore, and it is the least of his concerns right now. “He’s not mine —”

“The Cook, then,” Mihawk concedes. “What would you do if he was going to die?”

He immediately sits up straight. Mihawk has parried and flung all his swords away during their earlier spar, but he instinctively reached for them anyway, only to be met with empty hilts. He clenches his fist, frustrated. “What the fuck kind of question is that.”

“It invokes a different kind of pain, isn’t it?” Mihawk continues, clearly ignoring Zoro’s reaction. “You are used to wounds left behind by sharp blades and closed fists.”

“What is it to you,” he rasps.

Mihawk shakes his head. “Your enemy will not always be so kind.”

He bends down to pick Wadou up from the ground, and throws it back to its owner. “You need to be prepared for everything, Roronoa,” he says, unsheathing Yoru once again as Zoro staggers to his feet, Wadou back in his hands. “Now tell me — what would you do if he were to die?” 

-

It has started raining, but Sanji’s fire burns bright still. Smoke fills the space between them; Zoro coughs, suffocated.

“You know,” Zoro says, together with a swing of Kitetsu. Ever bloodthirsty, it manages to nick the underside of Sanji’s leg. “Someone important to me asked me to stop you.”

The thing that wears Sanji’s face doesn’t seem particularly interested, kicks unrelenting. “I don’t care.”

You need to be prepared for everything, Roronoa, Mihawk’s voice says, like a ringing in his ears. What would you do if he were to die?

He crosses Enma and Kitetsu in front of him, but instead of blocking, he tips the dull sides of the blades towards Sanij’s leg. He steps back and swings upwards just as Sanji kicks, tipping the Cook backwards, and he rushes — pushing the Cook’s calf against his chest and using his own body weight to pin him down.

His whole body aches; warmth leeches out through his sodden boots. He can feel the effects of Chopper’s medicine fading, swallowed by the pain.

“He asked me, ” he repeats, mostly to himself. He bends down, placing Wadou’s blade against Sanji’s neck. “Because he believed I could do it. Because he believed in me.”

He earns no response; Sanji doesn’t seem to care that he could die at any moment.

Zoro has held Wadou ever since he was twelve, but the sword has never been heavier between his teeth.

Zoro lets go.

-

“Don’t move, dummy,” Perona scolds him. Zoro glares at her, but tries his best to stay still — she is being nice enough to help him with the bandages, and her company is not entirely bad, once in a while. She always wraps them a little too tightly, but is perceptive enough to loosen them up when Zoro grunts at it.

The comfortable silence they fell into was broken with Perona’s inquisitive, “Hey, what’s up with that thing you and Mihawk always do?”

Zoro tilts his head. “What thing?”

“The questions,” she says. She then lowers her voice, in what seems to be an impressively accurate impersonation of Mihawk, “What would you do if he were to die? What a grim way to start every sparring session with.”

Zoro remembers Thriller Bark. Death clung to the place like carrion birds and carcasses; half-dead humans and fully-dead zombies and Perona’s own ghostly apparitions roaming its grounds. Perona doesn’t get to complain about something being too grim.

Perona tuts as she finishes wrapping Zoro’s right arm, and gratitude fills Zoro enough to stop him from starting an argument. “It’s… at first I thought he was trying to rile me up,” he tries instead. “But I understand now. It is only a thought experiment; a way to be prepared, and draw one’s strength from it.”

“Whaaaaaaat,” Perona says, elongating the word on purpose. Her ghosts pop up from behind her, as if to join in on the mocking. “You guys are so weird.”

“What’s not to understand?” Zoro asks, indignant. “It is unpleasant to think of, but swordsmen and martial artists alike have trained through mental simulations for a long time.”

“Not that part, silly. You have to make yourself think about it first, right?” Perona points out. “It is not something that comes naturally to you. ‘What would you do if he was going to die?’”

Her ghosts dance around him, and Perona laughs. Death clung to Thriller Bark and its residents, but Perona wears it like a royal garb. “Zoro, how did you ever convince yourself he wasn’t?”

-

“Why did you do that?” Sanji demands. He looks unlike the way Zoro has ever known him — face twisted, eyes haggard, like he hasn’t slept for days. He’s wearing an oversized blue sweater, and he looks like he’s drowning in it.

Zoro’s body aches all over, the pain deep and close to the bones. A few hours ago, Sanji stood before him with shaking shoulders, Bartholomew Kuma towering over them both. “Why did you?”

Sanji jerks back, as if struck. “I can’t —” he slumps into the chair by Zoro’s bedside, nails digging into the cushion. “Between the two of us, I received less injury. You could even barely stand.”

“And what do you think I should’ve done? Just sit down and let you walk into slaughter?”

“You offered your own life!”

“I survived,” Zoro crosses his arms, ignoring the pain shooting up his joints at the movement. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It matters,” Sanji stands up again, face leaning close toward Zoro’s. “To me.”

Zoro opens his mouth to retort, but Sanji places his palm on Zoro’s forearm, the touch soothing and warm. “Next time, you need to let me go, Zoro.”

Zoro jerks away from the touch. “There will be no next time —”

“We’re pirates, Zoro! There is always a next time,” Sanji says, voice turning desperate. He grabs Zoro by the shoulders. “I’m not invincible, and neither are you. Of course I don’t want to die. But maybe, in some distant future, you’ll have to make this choice again. And if it ever comes to this, I need you to let me go.”

-

Kuina stands before him. She always looks so big, like this — head held high, her sword steady in her hands. She has cuts and bruises all over her body, but she smiles like she’s invincible.

That night, he will lose to her for the two-hundredth time. That night, she will stay undefeated. That night, they will share a promise.

Tomorrow, she will never smile again. Undefeated, but not invincible. Koshiro will hand him her white sword with shaking hands and barely-concealed tears, and Zoro will never let it go.

-

“What would you do if he were to die?” Mihawk asks, under the rain. It is not the only question he asks. “Would you let him go? Or would you let yourself be taken down with him?”

-

There is gravel digging against his back. Sanji is leaning on top of him, pinning him down.

“Why didn’t you do it?” Sanji asks, and it’s the first time Zoro hears a hint of emotions in his voice — something akin to distress. “Why did you let go of your swords?”

That one is a much easier question than Mihawk’s. “Because I love you, Cook.”

Sanji’s hands tighten around his neck, but it’s nowhere near his real strength. Zoro isn’t using any armament haki; Sanji could break his neck if he wanted to. He doesn’t. “I’m not — you know I’m different, now. I’m a monster now.”

“You are loud, and annoying, and such an asshole,” he says. “But you’re not a monster. You’re our Cook, and there is no world where I could imagine ever seeing you die. Not while I’m alive.”

Perona was right. It is not about being prepared — either he can, or he can’t. And Zoro can’t. Not when the Cook stood in front of Bartholomew Kuma on that graveyard of an island all those years ago, and not now, with Sanji’s fingers around his neck.

Mihawk thinks he needs to be prepared, or he’ll die. Perona thinks he should simply accept death — his own, and Sanji’s.

But there’s something Mihawk and Perona will never understand. 

“You believed in me,” he says. “So I’ll believe in you. You’re not a monster, Cook.”

He reaches out then, resting his palm on Sanji’s cheek. The skin is cold to the touch, like steel; but the wet tears that fall on his fingers are warm.

“Come back to me, Sanji.”

Zoro closes his eye. He doesn’t let go.

In his defense, he can’t put a name on a lot of things he feels for Sanji; Zoro has met a lot of people that drew his ire, and a select few that deserved his respect and admiration, but he has never met anyone that makes him feel both at the same time.

It is not unlike what he used to have with Kuina — someone who can look you in the eye and say, I am better than you ; but also, you can be better than this . A sword on the neck and a pat in the back all at once. This is rivalry , he thinks, sometimes, but the word doesn’t quite fit either; Sanji lit a different heat inside of him, forest fire and brimstone and something much more all-consuming at the pit of his stomach —

(He never quite learned affection, he would learn later on; what he had with Kuina was good, but they were things that were built on sharp steel and gritted teeth.)

“— my equal.”

“What?”

Sanji is looking up from below, legs still pinned down by Zoro’s torso. It is one of their weekly sparrings — an actual, regular training they agreed upon instead of one of their usual petty fights — and this is Zoro’s win. This tallies up to 30 to 29, Zoro’s lead, but neither of them has ever maintained more than a one-win lead ever since the Shit Cook boarded the deck of Merry, much to Zoro’s chagrin.

Zoro’s mind is already revising today’s spar — he had some atrocious footwork from the wounds he received in Little Garden, but the Cook wasn’t at the top of his game either, his spine probably not fully healed yet since that avalanche at Chopper’s place — and it takes him a moment to realize Sanji is still looking at him funny. “What?”

“That’s my line,” Sanji says, pushing Zoro away with his legs as his hand searches around his suit pocket. “You said something about — equal? Your equal? Doesn’t surprise me at all that your moss brain can only retain memories for less than five seconds, though.”

“Shut up,” Zoro growls at the insult, but tries not to rise to the bait; they’ve had their fair share of fighting today, and this thing he’s about to say is. He’s not quite sure what it is, but he knows it’s — important. That it carries weight. “Listen, I was trying to say — you are.”

Sanji seems to have found his packet of cigarette, and is now lighting up a stick. “I’m what?”

“My equal,” Zoro says, and trying to ignore the heat rising up his cheeks for no reason. “You are my equal, and I want you to be — I need you to be that. Forever.”

He looks away, unsure of what he’s even saying — what he even wants . He just knows that to be true, and he never makes a habit of lying.

He can see Sanji frowning from the corner of his eyes, the end of his cigarette glowing bright red as the Cook takes a deep breath. There’s a moment of awkward silence as Sanji seems to try to figure out what’s going on, before settling with, “is this your way of telling me I wasn’t on par with your expectation? That I’m, what — dragging you down?”

That’s — not what Zoro means at all, but anger is easy. Anger is familiar. So Zoro says, “I’m leading the score, aren’t I?”

“Today was a fluke , shithead, don’t get cocky with just that ,” Sanji says, scrambling to his feet; Zoro watches Sanji’s muscles ripple under his too-small dress shirt, clearly gearing up for another spar. “I’ll show you what a true victory looks like.”

“Bring it on, Cook,” he says, putting Wadou between his teeth; something fluttering underneath his bird-cage bone ribs, and he ignores it.

+

2.

It takes sailing through a few islands and overthrowing a dictator together before it dawns on Zoro that this thing with Sanji extends beyond roughness

They still have their rivalry, the bickering and the fighting and the (admittedly) childish name-calling, but there is also room for something more — a touch of something soft , perhaps. Something in the way their hands would brush when Sanji hands Zoro a bottle of sake after dinner.

(He still can’t put a name on it, though.)

Zoro thinks he’s going insane, like he’s imagining it all on his own, but he swears there is some kind of tension between him and the cook, building up to something . Like an itch, spreading wildfire-like under his skin.

So it is, technically, not entirely his fault when he bites into one of the best onigiri he’s ever tasted in his life and finds himself blurting out, “I want you to cook for me every day.”

During dinner.

In front of the rest of the crew.

Luffy continues eating, because Luffy is Luffy and nothing less than a near-death experience could stop the boy from eating; but the rest of the crew goes quiet in a matter of seconds, clearly trying to listen in on his and Sanji’s conversation and failing miserably to hide it.

Sanji gives him a flat, unimpressed stare. “I’m this ship’s cook,” he says, slowly, like Zoro is a particularly stupid kid. “Who the hell do you think has been cooking for you all this time? That Sea King we ate for breakfast?”

“You know what I mean,” he snarls, but of course Sanji doesn’t, because Zoro himself doesn’t know what the fuck his brain was thinking.

He was just eating an onigiri; a simple meal he grew up with. It is one he associates with — not Koshiro’s dojo or Shimotsuki or a specific, geographical location, but the idea of home . Something safe, something to come home to. And the Cook put his own spin to it, making it all Sanji , and Zoro was caught up in images of coming home to Sanji —

“I want you to cook for me — after,” Zoro says, before he can think twice. “Even after Luffy becomes the pirate king. After you find your sea, and I become the greatest — I still want you to cook for me.”

He thinks he can feel a couple pairs of eyes boring holes into the back of his head — Nami and Robin, most definitely, and probably Usopp — but he can’t bring himself to care when all that matters right now is Sanji’s reaction. Zoro doesn’t know what he wants, but he wants , the desire carving him up from the inside like a need.

But Sanji simply narrows his eyes at that. “...do you think so low of me?”

Zoro balks. “What?”

“Is that what you think I will amount to?” Sanji says, waving his spatula in anger, “a mere cook to the Greatest Swordsman? How dare you, I will open up a successful restaurant in All Blue, just you wait —”

Zoro bites into his onigiri, tuning Sanji out. He tells himself he is not disappointed. He isn’t .

+

3.

“What the fuck were you thinking,” is the first thing Zoro hears when he comes to.

Zoro blinks his eyes open, and immediately shuts them close again — the harsh white light of the infirmary lamp sends a sharp pang to his head. Everything hurts like a bitch , and he groans, already regretting waking up.

“Oi, oi —” the voice scrambles, and Zoro feels a hand rest on his shoulder. “Just stay put, Marimo, let me go and get Chopper —”

It’s Sanji. 

His hand moves by itself against the haze of pain — Zoro doesn’t remember doing it, but the next thing he knows he’s coughing up blood, Sanji’s hand rubbing soothing circles on his back, his own hand clinging onto the Cook’s shirt. It is only after another round of coughing that Sanji is still with him, has been with him by his bedside for god knows how long. There are dark circles under his eyes, and the expression on his face is something Zoro has never seen before — ghastly and sickly pale, like he’s seeing a ghost.

And isn’t that ironic, because Zoro is the one who feels like he’s seeing a ghost. He was this close to losing Sanji, and fear grips his heart like a vice once again at the thought of Sanji, standing tall in front of him, shoulders shaking as he said, tell everyone to find a new cook —

“Cook —” he blurts out just as Sanji says, “Zoro —”

They both pause.

It is Sanji who breaks the silence. “You were going to die for me.”

“It was a fight , Curly,” Zoro disagrees. “I did not stand in line awaiting slaughter. It was a bargain, an offer for a fair fight.”

“You were going to die ,” Sanji insists. “For just a cook .”

The words make something in Zoro’s stomach churn. “Where is this even coming from? You’re not just a cook. You are my equal — I would never fight for your life without risking anything less than my own.”

Some of his words seem to finally get to Sanji, because the Cook looks flustered. “How could you just say those things —” Sanji sputters, hand fumbling for a cigarette before realizing he’s still in the infirmary and he ends up chewing an unlit one. “I just — why did you do that?”

“Because I can’t imagine a life without you,” Zoro says before he can even think about it.

Sanji flushes an even deeper shade of red at that, and only then it dawns on Zoro that it is… embarrassing to admit. It is true, and he finds no need to correct himself, but it’s not like he and Sanji have a habit of sharing their feelings —

“Chopper must have put in something strong in that,” Sanji suddenly says, scrambling to his feet as he refuses to meet Zoro’s eyes, “I’m gonna — he actually asked me to call him after you wake up for — check ups and shit —”

Zoro has seen Usopp tell a better lie, but he can feel his own face flush. “You do that,” he mumbles, and for once, Sanji complies.

He watches Sanji close the infirmary door. Something clings on the tip of Zoro’s tongue, constricting his throat, but he chalks it up as part of the wound he receives from Bartholomeow Kuma.

+

4.

Sanji’s eyebrow twitches in annoyance.

Zoro responds in kind with a scowl, but there’s something warm threatening to bloom in his chest at the sight of Sanji. It is kind of hard to smother, not when Sanji is there , in the flesh, after two long years of separation — not just something from Zoro’s imagination, but someone he could see, and touch, and hold .

Zoro has considered how Sanji would look like when they’d reunite — a pastime activity he sometimes indulged himself in between Mihawk’s gruelling training. But no part of his imagination could measure up to the real Sanji, all blue eyes and sharp tongue. His golden sun hair is longer than Zoro remembers, and he wonders what it’d feel to run his fingers through it.

He also learns, in those two long years of separation, that he is not a selfless man.

He always knew he couldn’t live without Sanji — the Cook’s attempt at sacrifice in front of Bartholomew Kuma was more than enough of a wake up call. But he always thought he could live with simply knowing that Sanji is alive, even though he is away from Zoro. Happy and content without Zoro by his side.

Two years were two years too long of a trial. Zoro already knows the answer to that.

They bicker all the way through Sabaody and even through a fight with a Pacifista. The heat is back, simmer-shine under his skin, and he lets it burn.

He waits for the crew settle into their routine around the Sunny before calling out to Sanji across the deck with a quick, “Oi.”

“What,” Sanji immediately snaps back, but it isn’t as harsh as it usually is. He is hanging his laundry on a clothesline, and seems to be more preoccupied by it than by whatever it is Zoro wants to say.

Well, better get this over with. “Feels good,” he says, making his way to Sanji’s end of the deck. “Fighting side by side like that again.”

Sanji’s hands pause, halfway into the laundry basket. He looks up and stares at Zoro. “Um, yeah,” he replies, fumbling with his words, “it’s not — bad. Us. Together. In a fight , I mean.”

Zoro watches a blush bloom on Sanji’s face, dusting his cheeks all the way to the tips of his ears. It’s not a bad look. “I always thought it was enough, to be strong on my own. But having you by my side is not something I would trade for anything in this world.” He looks Sanji in the eye, facing him head-on, like he always does. “I want that for the rest of my life.”

It is the nicest thing he’s ever said to Sanji — it is the nicest thing he has ever said to anyone .  He expected Sanji to smile; maybe they’d share a laugh or a handshake. If he’s lucky, he might even get an offer for some drinks later.

Instead, there’s suddenly a laundry basket in his field of vision, catching him off guard; he instinctively grabs it by the handle, but it tips over, and fuck, there are wet clothes all over his arms and legs now, and he isn’t quick enough to catch some items that have fallen onto the deck —

“You can’t just say things like that!” Sanji yells, red-faced. “Do you even know what you’re doing — argh, ” he groans, and before Zoro could explain himself, the Cook stomps off, slamming the galley door close behind him with a bang .

Zoro watches the door in confusion. What the hell just happened?

“You know,” a familiar voice behind him suddenly said, “people usually go on dates first before proposing, right.”

“Witch,” Zoro grumbles, and definitely doesn’t jump in surprise. “How long have you been listening to us.”

Nami crosses her arms and gives him an unimpressed look. “Right, because you two weren’t practically yelling at each other just now.”

“Shut up,” Zoro says, and tries to backtrack. “What do you even mean — proposing?”

“‘I want you to be by my side for the rest of my life’,” Nami says, hands making air quotes gesture, “come on, Zoro, even you can’t be this dense. I’ve heard actual marriage proposals that are less romantic than that.”

And it suddenly clicks.

The constant need to see Sanji, to talk to him, to be with him. The desire to stand as his equal, to be the man the Cook challenges him to be. The heat, thrumming under his skin, crackling under his ribcage — Zoro can finally put a name on it, and the weight of his own feelings startle him, in all its simplicity.

Holy shit. He’s in love with Sanji, and he’s been proposing to him.

“No fucking way,” Nami says beside him, “you really didn’t notice?”

+

5.

He has heard this story, time and again, in the various folklores Robin sometimes share, or in those fairytales Sanji wouldn’t shut up about: a warrior, strong as a thousand men, brought to his knees in the face of love. He thought it would be a disgraceful thing — to fall in love is to be weakened, distracted.

He was wrong.

It is an honor , to fall in love with Sanji — to know this kind, fierce man, and to be able to see that he is worthy of love. And to love Sanji is to want to become a man deserving of being by his side, and Zoro has never been more focused on his dream than today, as Sanji would expect him to be nothing but the Greatest.

Things, however, fall into place too easily in the stories. The warrior confessed, his love was accepted, and they both lived happily ever after. The reality is much more complicated. The Straw Hats don’t seem to have a moment of rest in the New World as Sunny travels through a flurry of islands. Fishman Island, Punk Hazard, Dressrosa; before Zoro knows it, they get separated again, and by the time they reunite, it is with the threat of Kaido looming over them.

And now Queen and King are standing before them, poised for a fight. Sanji is once again by his side, and Zoro has never felt so in tune with another person, his heart beats in sync with Sanji’s as they break into Queen and King’s defense together.

The heat is back — smoldering in his chest, ready to explode; and the words fall out of his mouth before he can stop it. 

“Oi, Curly, once we conquer this battle—”

“Yeah,” Sanji cuts in, a smirk plastered on his face. “We’re going to catch a glimpse of Luffy as the King of the Pirates.”

That… is not what Zoro wanted to say.

But Sanji is right — this fight is bigger than just him, bigger than just them ; it is a reminder how perfect they are for one another, but it is just one of many such instances, and it doesn’t mean Zoro should just blurt out unnecessary things.

He will propose properly next time.

+

(1.)

King raises his sword, and Zoro has already moved towards him when he suddenly hears Sanji shout, “Oi, Mosshead, will you marry me?”

Zoro trips on his feet.

“Shit,” Sanji curses as he blocks King’s incoming attack as Zoro tries to regain his bearings and quite possibly his sanity. “That sounded insane. I’m going insane, I think, just, forget what I said.”

Queen joins in on the assault, and Zoro uses Enma and Kitetsu to block his attack. He must’ve been hit pretty hard in the head, because he thinks he just hallucinated Sanji saying —

“But you know, if you actually have an answer, I’m not opposed to that,” Sanji continues rambling, “I just, after the whole thing with Pudding and Big Mom, I keep thinking about marriages, and us, and I might be imagining things but —”

“Holy shit, Cook,” Zoro blurts out, “No.”

Sanji looks a bit hurt at that, and Zoro feels like stabbing himself. Sanji tilts his head to evade a gunshot from one of Queen’s underlings as he mumbles, “Geez, all right, no need to be so rude about it —”

“No, Sanji , fuck —” he spins Wadou to slice a group of King’s men and knocks his head against Sanji’s just to erase the stupid expression on Sanji’s face. “Stop thinking too much; I didn’t mean it like that . Of course I want to marry you! I’ve proposed to you! Multiple times!”

“What the fuck are you talking about,” Sanji headbutts him back, “are you mistaking me for someone else?”

“Who else on this earth has those stupid eyebrows and annoying voice?”

He anticipates the kick before he sees it, and there’s a loud CLANK that reverberates throughout the battlefield as Sanji’s shoe meets Enma. He hears some murmurs of, is there infighting among the Strawhats? and Nami’s shrill voice, cutting through them as she screams, “YOU TWO! NOT NOW!”

“Sorry, Nami-swan!” Sanji sweetly replies, and then uses one of his spinning attacks to kick a group of them against the wall. “Look, Zoro, nevermind —”

“Sabaody,” Zoro says before Sanji can find an out and pretend all of this never happened. “I saw you for the first time ever since our crew got separated, and I asked you to be by my side for the rest of my life.”

Sanji whips his head to face him, wide-eyed. “What —”

“Thriller Bark,” he plows on, “I realized I couldn’t live without you, and I said as much. Months before that, during dinner, on our way to the Sky Islands, I told you I wanted to eat your food forever. And even before that, I had told you I wanted you to be my equal.

“I wanted you, Sanji,” he says, warmth flooding his entire being, “I’ve wanted you for so long, I can’t remember a moment when I did not want to be by your side —”

Zoro feels Sanji’s lips on his.

The battlefield is in chaos around them, but Zoro feels like the world narrows into the two of them — the curve of Sanji’s smile against his, Sanji’s arms around his shoulders, their chests pressed together. Zoro has wanted this for years , across so many accidental marriage proposals and declarations of love, that he’s mostly forgotten about it, the desire just a constant hum in the back of his head; now all of it is dawning, that he gets to taste Sanji, to put his hands on Sanji’s hips and pull him into a deeper kiss —

“I SWEAR TO GOD,” Nami booms, “OUT OF ALL THE TIME IN THE WORLD .”

They instantly break apart, and Zoro wants to be embarrassed, but he mostly just laughs . Fuck, he’s so fucking happy . He hears Sanji laugh beside him, and he chances a quick glance to see the largest grin on Sanji’s flushed face. I did that , he thinks, and feels his own smile deepen around Wadou’s hilt.

King and Queen are still standing tall before them, but Zoro does not fear a single thing.

“Hey, Cook?” He asks, raising Enma against the enemies. They are hellfire, ready to raze everything in their path. “Lend me a hand for ten seconds.”

#02 - Cool

Zoro stands his ground as his enemy — finally, finally — falls unceremoniously on his back, unconscious, and Sanji thinks for a moment that the sight of Zoro — wild and victorious and ready to take on the world — looks kind of, maybe, slightly cool.

  #03 - Young

Brook sees the two — dying to die for each other, the weight of their friends’ lives pulling down their shoulders — and he thinks too many people forget how young they still are.

  #04 - Last

The Cook is the last person Zoro would consider lending a hand in a fight — “who would want to work together with that dumbass anyway,” he lies whenever anyone asks, and doesn’t admit that it’s because he trusts Sanji’s ability to stand his ground, wholly and fully.

  #05 - Wrong

Sanji knows Zoro, like him, understands better than most — that this nakama thing isn’t just something you’d die for, but something you’d kill for, too.

  #06 - Gentle

Sanji manages to catch Kitetsu before it rolls off from the deck during a storm, and in that moment, Zoro knows, from the reverent way he regards the swords in his hands, that this isn’t the first time the Cook has wielded one.

  #07 - One

“Calm down, Marimo,” Sanji says with a dismissive wave of his hand when Zoro asks about the sword a few days later, “I’m not about to take your place as the ship’s swordsman; a cook doesn’t use his hands to fight, and I had a terrible teacher anyways.”

  #08 - Thousand

“I’m worth two thousand men,” Zoro grumpily says, almost sulking, and Nami can’t resist patting his head like she would to a little boy pulling the pigtail of a girl he has a crush on.

  #09 - King

You’re like the prince of Dumbass Kingdom, Zoro says, and it takes Sanji everything in him not to blurt out, Dumbass Kingdom sounds about right; wait ‘till you see the fucking king.

  #10 - Learn

Watching Sanji converse fluently with a couple of tourists in a Northern language, Zoro wonders when he will ever stop learning something new about Sanji — or if he ever will, at all.

  #11 - Blur

When Zoro finally comes to, the wounds from Bartholomeow Kuma is muted by Chopper’s medicine, a dull throb at the back of his consciousness; but the sharp pain against his heart feels raw still, visceral and razor-sharp, tucked alongside the ache of Sanji’s sacrifice.

#12 - Wait

“Wait,” he manages to croak out before Sanji flees the room, the word spilling out unbidden; he isn’t quite sure why, but he knows that he wants the Cook to stay.

  #13 - Change

“Have some fucking decency ,” Sanji yells, throwing a shirt at Zoro’s direction; the brute has been walking around the ship bare-chested like an eyesore ever since they entered the summer island, and Sanji is just trying to do everyone a favor — and definitely not because there’s a different kind of heat pooling at the pit of his stomach.

#14 - Command

Robin watches the two in amusement — Zoro could have easily refused to be Sanji’s pack mule, and she can hear him grumbling about it still; and yet, here they are, once again, together at the island’s marketplace.

#15 - Hold

Sanji is rough around the edges, bristling at the slightest touch; Zoro knows he needs to be gentle, but he doesn’t quite remember the last time he held something that isn’t a hilt of a sword, without meaning to hurt . It’s a learning curve. 

  #16 - Need

Sanji knows Zoro is a dumbass, but it takes a special kind of stupid to think he would never be good enough for Sanji, when he’s all that Sanji has ever needed.

#17 - Vision

Zoro never regrets losing his eye, but he wishes, sometimes, he could still take in the sight of Sanji with an unimpaired vision, just to see more of him.

  #18 - Attention

“You’re starting a fight, Marimo?” Sanji growls, voice low and dangerous, and Zoro thinks, yes, yes, anything to get you to look at me.

  #19 - Soul

He loves the kid like a brother, but sometimes Zoro hates how Luffy can easily see past his gruff words and feigned ignorance; the way Luffy only needs to take one look at him to guess, “you’re worried about Sanji, aren’t you?”

  #20 - Picture

He carries around everyone’s bounty posters, Sanji tells himself, and tries not to think too hard about how the only one he kept in his breast pocket is Zoro’s, folded neatly against his heart.

  #21 - Fool

“This is the dumbest thing you’ve ever done so far,” Sanji says when they part, lips still tingling from their earlier kiss, because Zoro’s love is fierce and consuming and Sanji knows, ever since he was just a kid with the iron mask, that he doesn’t deserve any of this.

  #22 - Mad

“Don’t you ever say that kind of shit again,” Zoro snarls, slamming the wall beside Sanji’s head, his voice trembling with a kind of anger Sanji has never seen him with before — frustrated, desperate. “You’re important to me, Cook.” 

  #23 - Child

Grow up and cast your dreams away, Sanji tells himself every day, the voice ringing in his ears; you stopped being a child deserving of a dream the moment you chained Zeff down to the ground.

  #24 - Now

Grow up and cast your dreams away, Sanji wants to tell himself, but the voice stutters, drowned out by the sight of the kid bleeding on the deck of Baratie — he’s a swordsman, too, acknowledged by none other than Dracule Mihawk himself — but a kid still, throwing himself headfirst towards the case of his dreams, steps unweighted by regrets.

  #25 - Shadow

Zoro doesn’t know which is worse — Sanji, forever running away from the shadow his brothers cast; or Zoro, chasing after someone who is no longer around to leave behind a shadow anymore.

  #26 - Goodbye

After Whole Cake Island, there’s a period of time where Zoro would follow Sanji around the ship like a lost puppy, unwilling to let the Cook out of his sight; Usopp definitely didn’t expect Zoro to have such a cute side, and crouches over his new invention to hide his smile.

  #27 - Hide

“We’re not doing that here,” Sanji hisses, and forces himself not to laugh at the pout on Zoro’s face; the galley might be secluded enough, but they’re still on the enemy ship’s galley.

  #28 - Fortune

It is annoying, the way Sanji keeps reminding Zoro that he could have collected Mihawk’s bounty and lived the rest of his life in wealth; especially when Zoro would trade any riches in the world just to stay by the Cook’s side.

  #29 - Safe

It catches Zoro off guard when Sanji starts talking about his mother; it’s a short anecdote, a single happy memory, but Zoro can tell by the way Sanji tells it — guarded and hesitant, like he wants to keep the words close and safe — that he has never shared it with anyone else before.

  #30 - Ghost

Usopp starts shaking like a leaf as soon as they enter the abandoned, dilapidated house, and Sanji gently tells him, sometimes the worst ghost is the one you create yourself; Zoro feels the weight of Wado on his hip, and agrees.

  #31 - Book

“I don’t need this,” Zoro grumbles with a blush, pushing the book back into Nami’s hands, trying hard to ignore Nami’s laughter and the words ROMANCE FOR DUMMIES emblazoned on the book’s jacket.

  #32 - Eye

Shusui sinks into the man’s stomach, all the way to the hilt, and Zoro thinks of the way Sanji curled into himself as the man landed a lucky hit on the cook’s hand. An eye for an eye.

  #33 - Never

“This is my first time,” Zoro whispers, head ducking away as he feels his face flush at the admission; but Sanji’s hand rests on his cheek, encouraging, and he can feel the curve of Sanji’s smile as their lips meet and Sanji replies, “it’s mine, too.”

  #34 - Sing

Luffy cheers when Zoro and Sanji comes into view, and he lets them take on the next batch of enemies; a good fight is always fun, but watching Zoro and Sanji fight is even more so — like watching a dance that only those two know the melody to.

  #35 - Sudden

“What, are we supposed to be surprised?” Nami says, barely looking up from the map she’s working on; Sanji sputters, face redder than the tomatoes he served during breakfast, and Nami feels almost bad for him.

  #36 - Stop

“But we — Zoro and I — how did you know?” Sanji asks, and promptly stops asking questions when he realizes the rest of the crew aren’t surprised either; who could blame them, when his and Zoro’s sexual tension can be seen from a mile away.

  #37 - Time

Sanji knows they have to break apart soon, just to breathe, but right now all he cares about is to taste as much of Zoro as possible — he has waited two years for this, and it has been two years too long.

  #38 - Wash

They have their fair share of fighting — and how, considering the amount of repairs Usopp has to do for Merry just from their petty fights alone — but what the crew doesn’t know is that they also have this thing, this quiet thing, just him and the Cook and a stack of dirty plates between them.

  #39 - Torn

“In retrospect,” Robin observes, “dressing up our dear cook in a maid uniform would not only lower the enemy’s firepower, but also ours, considering how distracted our swordsman has clearly become.”

  #40 - History

“Why do you keep him around, mister?” The kid asks, pointing at the old swordsman with three swords and an eye scar by the peer; Sanji laughs, pats the kid on the head, and says, almost wistfully — “you can say we have some history.”

  #41 - Power

Sanji tugs at Zoro’s sleeve, and Zoro follows suit despite his complaints — Sanji thinks, distantly, how much of an honor it is, to have so much control over such a powerful man.

  #42 - Bother

“I didn’t have enough time to make this three-tier ice cream cake for our lovely Nami-san and Robin-chan because you distracted me!” Sanji says with a hard jab of a finger against Zoro’s chest, and Zoro thinks, good .

  #43 - God

Zoro does not believe in gods, but there’s a hymn of a noise when Zoro presses his lips against the crook of Sanji’s neck, the hallelujah of the world breaking apart as their bodies move together, and he thinks, close enough .

  #44 - Wall

 Zoro slams his fist into the wall of Polar Tang, and is taken aback by the depth of his own frustration; he knows Luffy and the others will get Sanji back from Big Mom’s place, but it unsettles him still, the way Sanji hides himself under layers of pretenses when Zoro has bared so much of himself to the Cook in return.

  #45 - Naked

“What the fuck was that for , Mosshead?!” Sanji shrieks, justifiably furious, leg raised and on fire after Zoro sliced his tray into two without preamble; Zoro can’t exactly tell the Cook he did it because he was too surprised at the sight of Sanji in a swimming trunk and nothing else.

  #46 - Drive

Why Zoro , people sometimes ask, but the answer is easy to Sanji — nobody drives him crazy the way Zoro does, and is that not what true love feels like?

  #47 - Harm

Zoro knows Sanji will be furious ; but as he faces Kuma, knowing at least the Cook is out of harm’s way, he knows he would do this a hundred times over, a thousand times over, a million times over.

  #48 - Precious

Sanji is sitting by the corner of the infirmary, face pale with red-rimmed eyes, and Zoro thinks he’s never had that, before — people who would weep for him, knowing that he is more than dried scars and calloused skin.

  #49 - Hunger

This thing we have is dangerous, Sanji tells him, but Zoro doesn’t care — he already has a craving, the same way he needs a booze when it’s been too long, except he thinks that this vice will surely kill him.

  #50 - Believe

Zoro snaps his head up at that, startled by her honesty, and she’s a little insulted by that. She’s a liar by necessity, not nature.

“What? Try having a tall attractive guy who cooks good food for you for years and not fall a little bit in love with him,” she says, aiming for a more light-hearted turn on the conversation. She takes the empty seat at Sanji’s bedside, and Zoro is eyeing her from the corner of the room before looking away.

“Yeah,” Zoro grunts, but doesn’t elaborate. Eloquent in his brevity, as always.

There’s a comfortable silence in the space between them, and Nami watches the slow rise and fall of Sanji’s chest. His breathing is still shallow, but there, and breathing is good. Breathing means alive. Breathing means Sanji will get better, and Nami is going to find herself getting annoyed—and secretly fond—by his persistent attention sooner rather than later.

They stay like that for a moment, just watching Sanji, before Zoro breaks the silence and says, “he’d love you back,” and Nami thinks she’s choking on something.

Because Zoro says it like a death sentence, like Sanji reciprocating Nami’s love is a grim inevitability he has long accepted. Zoro’s voice is broken, resigned, and when she looks up to see his face it’s blank, too carefully crafted.

Nami thinks of the way Zoro looks at Sanji when he thinks no one’s looking, the way he would hum to himself after a nasty sparring session with the cook, the way he always stays, here, not too far from Sanji, never too far.

“But what about you?” She can’t help asking, because sometimes she notices that Sanji has a smirk reserved for Zoro, that they read each other’s mind like reading an open book. Sanji treats her like he would any other girl, but treats Zoro like no other. “There’s you and him.”

Zoro laughs at that, and it sounds painful. Maybe it is. “If it’s pity, you better drop it soon.”

“Would I lie,” she presses, leaning forward, “about something like this?”

“The cook’s crazy about you,” Zoro replies, not unkind, “believe me, it’s hard to miss.”

“Sanji’s crazy about anyone with boobs,” she points out.

Zoro hums noncommittally. “Not me.”

“You love him,” she says, because it’s true, pressed in between the syllables of Zoro’s every word, suffocating her. “You love him,” she repeats, and it takes her a moment to realize she’s echoing Zoro’s own words, earlier.

Zoro shrugs, and doesn’t deny it. There’s nothing to deny.

Nami turns back to Sanji. She finds him still the same as he was before the conversation, and she doesn’t know why she expected otherwise—wishful thinking, maybe, just like in fairy tales, where the sleeping princess wakes up from the kiss of a prince on a white horse. The power of love, and all.