#trans!zosan

And he knows it wasn’t personal, or intentional, or even really meant as an insult at all.

In fact, it was one of those rare moments that Sanji loves, when they catch each other in just the right mood, both just drunk enough, both alone.

Their crewmates were all laughing and yelling and drinking in the room over, oblivious to what was happening to Sanji just a stone’s throw away.

Sanji was returning with a few favorite picks from the wine cellar. A red blend for Robin, a sweet orange for Nami, whole milk for Luffy he grabbed from the kitchen, and whatever table wine for the rest, except for a small bottle of the finest sake he could get his hands on at that last island.

And the Sunny hit a swell. And Sanji, normally used to these unexpected changes in his center of gravity from being on a ship his whole stinking life, was too distracted polishing a smudge off the sake bottle to react in time, and lost his balance.

Sanji was ready to go down, unable to break his fall with his arms so full of precious cargo. He held on tight and braced for impact, but that impact never came.

Because the next thing he knew, strong arms were wrapped around him, and his nose was buried in someone’s musky shoulder. He caught his breath, inhaling sharply.

It didn’t take him but a second to place that warm scent, and Sanji’s heart pounded hard. He could feel the sweat on Zoro’s neck from the warm, muggy night, and still smell the sweet rum of that cocktail Usopp spilled on him.

“Hey shit cook, watch where you’re going” Zoro barked, pushing Sanji away from his chest, “You can hold your liquor better than that. How drunk are you?”

Sanji gripped his liquor bottles tighter, realizing that, while he was no longer buried in Zoro’s chest, Zoro still hadn’t let go of his shoulders, his grip fierce.

“Not drunk enough to be getting manhandled by you.” Sanji retorted, enjoying that spark a suggestive comment always put into Zoro’s eye.

But that spark was a little different tonight.

Zoro took a step in. Instead of muttering something insulting back, like the swordsman usually would, he pulled Sanji in closer. “It’s a good thing I don’t like women anyway,” he said.

Sanji’s heart fell.

“Lucky me,” Sanji muttered back. He pushed by Zoro, suddenly resenting all touch.

He took a few pounding steps, but stopped.

Sanji turned around. Zoro was frozen where he left him.

“This is for you,” Sanji said, holding out the bottle of sake. Zoro turned and stared at it, for a moment. Then he took it.

Sanji left before Zoro said anything else.

I don’t like women anyway.

The words replay in his head for the thousandth time that morning, like a knife twisting. He takes a small sip of coffee, a new habit he picked up since his brief stay on Whole Cake Island, and opens the oven door to put the croissants in. A gust of hot air blows his hair back, taking him aback.

He cut it short recently, too short to tie back, and he still isn’t used to having it loose rather than up when cooking.

Nami said she loved short hair like that on girls, while she was cutting it, but that it would make him look like a boy. Sanji didn’t tell her that was kind of the whole point.

It’s hard to tell everyone that he is finally coming to terms with the fact that he isn’t a woman, like they all think. That he’s never been, and it wasn’t until his time with Iva-sama that he finally realized it. That he learned what all those feelings he had meant, and that there were other people like him who also felt those things.

At the time he rejected it so horribly, terrified that he was also like that. He saw how difficult life was for those people, and he didn’t want his life to be any harder than it had been. He worked so hard to press those negative memories back. His childhood. He never wanted anything to be so hard again.

But then he trained alongside them. He talked to them. He cooked for them. And laughed with them. And he learned more about what being queer really was. It was hard, he was right about that, but it was also free. And all he ever wanted was to be free. Free like them.

It would just be hard first.

And he is just finally accepting that. Ever since he nearly lost everything that ever meant anything to him on Whole Cake Island, he is craving that freedom even more now. He thinks it’s finally time to go get it.

It will just be hard first.

Sanji inhales on his cigarette, allowing the nicotine and caffeine to gently wash over him, as he repeats it to himself, still in awe of how good it feels to not only know, but to accept. I am a transgender man.

Sanji exhales out the porthole, and closes the oven gently, letting that good feeling go.

He thinks of Zoro.

And wonders how on earth he’ll tell his friends.

Sanji also has changed things. Luffy didn’t really notice at first, but ever since Robin pointed them out to him, Luffy can’t stop noticing.

Sanji’s hair is short now, and Sanji’s suit fits different in some places. Sanji doesn’t talk as much anymore, either, when Sanji used to never stop talking. And it’s even more when things like clothes or showers or certain preferences come up. Things Luffy doesn’t even think about.

They’re small things, but Luffy knows. They’re not trivial things. Not to Sanji.

Sanji must think about those things a lot. That must be why Sanji seems so sad.

Luffy wonders why that is.

He misses Sanji’s smile. Sanji’s laugh. Sanji’s temper.

He would do anything to make Sanji not sad.

Luffy looks down across the lawn from his spot in the bird’s nest, watching Sanji water Robin’s flowers.

A gust of wind forcefully blows his hair back, as Luffy thinks, and thinks, and thinks.

………………

Sanji thought he knew who he was going to tell first. It was the obvious choice. There was no one safer. It was the one person Sanji could truly say he wasn’t worried about at all.

Until he started acting all weird.

Sanji can feel Luffy’s stare on him wherever he goes. Not that Luffy is trying to even hide the fact that he’s been looking at Sanji. A lot. So much so that even Chopper is starting to pick up on it. Sanji can see his furry head whipping back and forth between them at lunch, meaning it’s only a matter of time before someone says something. And that cannot happen.

Sanji isn’t ready.

The sun sets lower in the sky, casting long and looming shadows from the West. They stretch out endlessly before him.

Sanji adjusts the wheel a little, keeping the Sunny on her steady course, deep in his thoughts of how to make sure this doesn’t blow up. And his thoughts of that dumb marimo.

Sanji breathes in deeply, trying to recall before the memory fades to time.

The scent of warm spice, the feeling of arms around him, safe and capable.

Sanji shudders.

Suddenly, Luffy appears in front of him, and Sanji lets out a yell. This makes Luffy laugh.

“There you are!” he shouts, “I said your name five times, Sanji.”

“Oh.” Sanji’s shoulders fall. The wheel creaks.

He reaches into his pocket for his smokes. It’s not until he opens the pack that he remembers he’s out. He wonders how he forgot to throw the box away.

“Here!” Luffy says, he pats himself down until he stops at the final pocket possible, and pulls out a fresh pack. It’s not one of the brands Sanji currently has on the ship. “You used your last one.”

Sanji takes the pack, a little off guard. If it was anyone else he’d tell them not to fucking stalk him. But it’s not just anyone. “How could you tell?”

“You always look sort of happy when you take one out," says Luffy, "but not last time.”

Luffy leans forward and rests his arms on the wheel, rocking back and forth with it as Sanji makes slight adjustments.

Luffy’s eyes are limitlessly bright. It’s almost too much to look at.

So Sanji doesn’t. He looks down to the pack instead. He pulls one out, and finds his lighter.

Luffy rests his head now, too.

And Sanji realizes.

They’re alone. It could be the perfect time.

Sanji’s heart beats faster.

He sparks the lighter, and swallows, surprised to find a lump in his throat.

Sanji tries to swallow again, but it’s persistent.

He wonders where in the world that came from.

Sanji sparks his lighter again, guarding his cigarette with his hand. He has no good reason to be feeling like this right now. It’s almost embarrassing.

It could be the perfect time.

But then Sanji thinks of Luffy’s gaze, relentlessly lingering on the back of his neck.

When he thinks of that, the timing doesn’t feel so perfect anymore.

Sanji sparks his lighter. Really, it’s putting him on edge. Why has Luffy been looking at him so much? Damn near through him.

It’s making him nervous. It's making him...

He sparks his lighter once more, his shoulders relaxing when it finally catches. Sanji inhales generously. The cigarette flares in front of him, warm on his face.

“Hey, Sanji,” Luffy says, but Sanji barely hears it.

It’s not like he doesn’t want to tell Luffy. Holding onto this any longer isn’t something he wants to do. He is dying to let it out. In fact, it’s killing him not to. Finally being free is just on the other side of a few words.

It should be so simple.

“Sanji,” Luffy’s voice is low, just in his ear now. Now, Sanji hears him. “You haven’t been looking happy lately. Ever. Even when you don’t run out of those things.”

A shiver shoots down Sanji’s spine.

Is that why Luffy’s been looking?

Sanji exhales. The smoke is smooth on his throat, so painfully tight now. His breath shakes.

“Sanji.”

Sanji blinks again, annoyed at his eyes for being wet.

“Damn it,” Sanji says, and he can hear it in his voice right before it happens. But it's too late to stop it.

He lets out a sob. Then another. He muffles it with his sleeve, but he can’t stop.

And still he feels Luffy’s eyes on him.

“Sanji, can you tell me what’s . . .” Luffy pauses, then urgently leans closer. “Tell me how I can help you.”

Sanji covers his face, so frustrated that he can’t stop. That he can’t look Luffy in the eyes. That he can’t even bring himself to tell him, when it should be so easy.

Why can’t it just be easy?

“Sanji.”

“Luffy, I—” Sanji cries. The words are right there, but, “I can’t,” Sanji breaks down. “I can’t,” He shakes his head. His whole body shakes. “I can’t, Luffy.”

And he hates the tone in his voice, the way it’s so out of control. He hates how he’s shaking. He hates that he can’t even tell Luffy, and how it feels like even that’s out of his control too.

“That’s okay,” Luffy says, like it really is. Sanji wonders how Luffy does that.

“I can’t,” Sanji repeats. "I can't."

“I know," says Luffy, “I know something is on your mind.” Sanji nods, overwhelmed, unable to do anything else. “I know something is wrong. But," Luffy's voice is so gentle, "I’m here. When you can tell me.”

Sanji cries, surprised to feel a warmth inside now, too. It’s a feeling he places immediately.

"I'm here, Sanji."