Chapter Text
It started right after they left Drum Island. The weather was still frigid from their proximity to the winter island – or at least, it should be. Sanji woke up uncomfortably, something too hot against his back, which he pushed at irritably. He froze when the thing let out a distinctly marimo-like groan.
“What are you doing in my hammock?” he hissed, elbowing the swordsman.
Zoro grunted, abs tightening to block the blow. “S’cold.”
His arms were wrapped around Sanji’s waist and Sanji shoved them off himself, clambering out of the hammock. “You have your own hammock, shitty moss. Don't cling to me.”
Sanji had always run hot. It had been useful in the days when he'd lived in North Blue, tottering around in only a t-shirt despite the chilly weather. Germa was well-insulated. Within the castle and the castle grounds, the climate was carefully regulated not to rise above or drop below a certain temperature. Nonetheless, the temperature would fluctuate along with weather outside, dipping into fifties or forties during the winter, chilly, but not frigid, and climbing up to seventies during the summer, warm, but hardly boiling. Still, when others had dressed up into cozy jackets and thick pants, he and his siblings remained in short sleeves and thin leggings. It should’ve been more practical to stay at the singular optimal climate, not cold or hot, no wind or rain or snow, but it hadn’t been like that. Thinking back on it, Sanji wondered if it was the sentimentality that Judge had hoped to eradicate in his children, yet couldn’t let go of in himself.
The dungeon had been cold. The blanket was too thin and an icy breeze seemed to constantly drift into the cell. The iron cage on his head remained cool to the touch for as long as he wore it. He had been provided with furniture, cooking resources, and books, but Sanji supposed no one ever bothered to make sure dungeons of all things had proper temperature control.
Zoro made grabby hands at him, fingers catching on his shirt and trying to tug him back. Sanji promptly kicked him out of the hammock. “The only people I want to share a bed with are women!” Sanji fumed, but then quickly turned into a wiggly pile of human goo as his thoughts shifted towards said women. “Like Nami-swan! Nami-swan, would you share a bed with me – ?”
It was darker than usual, he realized, swallowing his voice. He tended to wake closer to dawn, when the sky started to lighten into grey. Their room was almost pitch black. He walked quietly outside, keeping his footsteps light. The stars hung brightly in the sky and he squinted up at them. He could make out both the North Star and the Big Dipper. 4 AM. That dumb green bastard woke him up early. He looked back into the room. The swordsman was now visible, lit by silver light. He had fallen back asleep, not bothering to move from the floor where Sanji had kicked him to. Sanji sniggered at the memory as he shut the door, leaving the rest of his crew to sleep in peace.
Sanji never expected Zoro to be someone who got bothered by the cold. It wasn't something that fit the swordsman, especially given that the swordsman had apparently jumped into a freezing river on Drum Island without even a shirt on for “training.” It seemed weird that something like a little chilly weather would get Zoro to climb into Sanji's hammock, and, for all his grumbles, the swordsman had been a solid line of heat against Sanji's back – hardly cold.
Sanji sighed, leaning against the railing and gazing down at the waves gently lapping at Merry's sides. He flicked his lighter open and brought a cigarette to his lips, lighting it. He blew out his first smoke of the morning. It was a daily routine: after he woke up, he would relax for a moment on the deck, breathing in the salty taste of the sea and watching the horizon for the beginning of dawn, before going to cook breakfast.
But the marimo woke him up early. He wouldn't be able to go back to sleep. Not only was he wide awake now, but trying to sleep further would screw up his sleep schedule. He would only oversleep. He mused on how he should occupy his time. It was too early for breakfast, but...it must still be Nami-san’s turn on watch. She'd probably appreciate a warm drink. He quickly put the morning's incident out of mind as he bustled into the galley.
The desert was freezing at night, but it was nothing some movement and proximity to the campfire couldn’t overcome. He was far from hot (a marked difference from the journey under the sun during the day), but he wasn’t rattling with shivers like Nami-san and Vivi-chan were. Speaking of –
“Nami-swan! Vivi-chwan! How about we cuddle for warmth?” he exclaimed, falling down beside the two of them. Nami-san punched him over the head, rejecting his offer, which shattered his heart as was the daily occurrence, but he swooned over the strength and grace in her blow anyway.
Luffy, Zoro, and Usopp were fighting over who got to be closest to Chopper, who was the warmest due to his fur. Those lugs would probably be fine through the night. Ace sat on the side, surprisingly far from the campfire (then again, being literally made out of fire likely had its benefits – internal heating being one of them). A fond smile danced with the shifting light on his face. Luffy’s nice older brother, now that was a concept. Sanji had little experience with siblings outside of his own. Was this what family should’ve been like before Judge took the idea and corrupted it? He tried to imagine Ichiji asking Luffy to “take good care of his little brother.” He shuddered at the thought and plopped down onto the sand, arms spread out and gazing up at the night sky. Rather than looking after Sanji, his shitty brothers would probably mean “take care of” in the assassination way.
Almost as soon as Sanji laid down, Zoro rolled over next to him and threw an arm over his chest. The marimo was lying on top of Sanji’s left arm and Sanji had half the mind to pick a fight over it, but he was exhausted and the cold was creeping in now that he had little to do and everyone else was trying to sleep.
“What happened to cuddling with Chopper, Luffy, and Usopp?” he grumbled.
All Zoro offered in response was, “You’re warm.”
“Ace is made out of fire,” Sanji pointed out. He pushed lightly at Zoro’s face with his free hand, a token effort – he couldn’t just let Zoro do whatever the moss wanted without at least putting up a small fight. “Why don’t you huddle with him for warmth instead?”
Zoro’s grip tightened as he resisted Sanji’s shove. He buried his head into Sanji’s shoulder to get away from the hand on his face, mumbling, “I don’t know Luffy’s brother.”
“He’s literally right there.” Sanji lifted his head to look over at where Ace sat, just to be sure the man was still there and hadn’t poofed into thin air. “How can you not know him?”
Zoro let out a low frustrated sound (that instinctively made that competitive part of Sanji purr at successfully riling the swordsman). “You know what I meant. I don’t know know him.”
“Sure you do,” Sanji argued. Not only was Ace Luffy’s brother, but he was genuinely a well-mannered guy and a great conversationalist. It was easy to feel comfortable around him. “We’ve spent a whole day travelling with him already.”
“You offered him tea.”
Sanji wondered what that had to do with anything. “Yeah. That’s ‘cause he’s a guest.”
“He’s a guy,” Zoro pointed out.
“So what?” Sanji bit out, prickling defensively.
“Usually you’d rather bash a guy’s head in than offer him tea,” Zoro grumbled.
“I’m a gentleman,” Sanji snapped, tugging at Zoro’s hair. He ruffled his hand through it, trying to make Zoro’s hair stand up in stupid looking ways, but the marimo’s hair was already usually so messy that it didn’t look any different. “Just because I always want to bash your head in doesn’t mean everyone else is as much of an infuriating pest as you are.”
The bickering came easily to him, but truthfully, if Sanji had to admit it, Zoro had hit the nail on the head. Something about Ace drew Sanji in. It might’ve been the fire, that moment on Merry when Ace had lit his cigarette with a smirk and a flick of his fingers – Sanji was a cook, and for him, that had always meant a certain preoccupation with fire, of being enamored by fire, always getting close enough that it could burn. It might’ve been the adoration in his eyes when he looked at Luffy, a good big brother, the easy affection he offered the whole crew.
Could Sanji possibly like men? He sucked in a breath as the thought dawned on him. He was a ladies’ man – he loved all the women of the world; he couldn’t like men. There was no way.
Yet, he couldn’t deny that Ace wasn’t...ugly. In fact, the man was fairly attractive with his dark eyes and freckles and charming grin and smooth voice and shirtlessness... Sanji brought his hand to his face, covering the flush he could feel heating his face.
Zoro hit him. “What’re you overthinking now? It’s too late for this.”
“Nothing!” Sanji yelped, kicking Zoro away instinctively. He was torn between regretting the action – it really was very cold – or not – he couldn’t endure this realization with Zoro practically sprawled on top of him. In the end, he curled up, wrapping his arms around himself, and went back through every interaction he had with Ace, eventually falling into a fitful sleep.
Sanji woke up with his legs tangled together with someone else’s, his arms curled around someone else’s back, and most apparent, someone’s head in his chest, moist breath huffing onto his collar bones. He opened his eyes and was immediately greeted with green hair. Sanji reeled backwards instinctively. Zoro, still asleep, was dragged along with the motion, the marimo’s arms hooked tightly around him.
“Get off me, shitty moss,” Sanji shouted. “Your ugly head is not the first thing I want to see in the morning at all.” He wiggled a leg between them and kicked firmly at Zoro’s solar plexus, dislodging Zoro’s grip. That woke Zoro up, and the marimo wheezed as he struggled to catch his breath.
“What the fuck was that for?” the marimo demanded several seconds later, as Sanji was inspecting the fire pit and thinking about what to make for breakfast.
“You’re the one who was clinging to me!” Sanji snarled. “I couldn’t even get up!”
Zoro growled in return, getting all up in Sanji’s face. “Because it’s cold!”
Sanji didn’t know who made the first move, but in the next moment they were tusselling on the ground. Nami hit them both for waking her up and Luffy almost got poisoned by a scorpion before they sat down for breakfast.
A while later, as they were once again trudging over the sand dunes under the sweltering sun, Sanji found himself wandering to the back of the group, falling into pace with Ace. After last night’s realization, Sanji felt nervous walking beside Ace. He figured he could call the feeling “butterflies.” His hands were sweating and his throat kept closing up on him and his mind was racing laps and yet he couldn’t think of a single good thing to say.
Ace grinned at him and Sanji felt like his heart was going to burst out of his chest. “So...you and Zoro, huh?”
“Me and Zoro what?” Sanji stammered out, bewildered as to why Zoro of all people was being brought up.
“You’re cute together,” Ace continued, unaware of Sanji’s brain slamming to a stop. “I feel kind of bad for flirting with a taken man.”
“It’s not – “ Flirting, he was going to say. But it was, wasn’t it? The whole time he was freaking out about his...his crush on Ace, wasn’t the whole point to try something with Ace?
“It’s not...?”
“I’m not,” Sanji sputtered, “I’m not taken. I’m not with Zoro at all. There’s no me and Zoro. We’re not in a relationship!”
“Oh.” Ace seemed taken aback, and really why? Sanji and Zoro? In what world could Sanji and Zoro seem like...that. All they did was piss each other off and fight.
“Good!” Ace beamed. Suddenly his face was very close to Sanji’s. Out of the corner of Sanji’s eye, he saw the rest of the group move further away from them. The two of them had stopped, but Sanji couldn’t bring himself to move away.
Ace purred, “Then you won’t mind me doing this, right?”
Sanji could almost taste the other man’s breath. Ace smelled like spice and grilled meat on a hot summer’s day. “No.”
Good, Sanji thought, as Ace’s mouth slotted over his. It wasn't something meant to last, but it was good – more than good, like fireworks, beautiful and ephemeral.
The bonfire flared almost bright enough to drown out the moon, but the cheer of the party rang louder than even the crackles of flames. It was a far larger and more boisterous party than the one they had the day before, but then again, far more people had joined in, joyously celebrating the defeat of “god.” Sanji danced until his feet ached and then danced some more. He could’ve sworn he had danced with almost every lady and even some men. After waving goodbye to his last dance partner – a gorgeous woman who curtsied in greeting and giggled as he bowed and offered a hand in return – he plopped down next to Zoro, pouring himself a drink. It must’ve been – oh, he didn’t know – his sixth or seventh drink. Maybe his tenth.
“Did you finally wear yourself out?” Zoro asked as they clacked their mugs together, muttering a kanpai in return to Sanji’s.
Sanji laughed and leaned in towards Zoro’s face out of habit. Usually it involved shouting in outrage at the marimo, but currently he felt too festive and comfortable and, admittedly, tipsy to bother with as tiring an emotion as anger. “No way! Just taking a break so that I’ll be ready for the next lovely lady who asks me to dance.”
He tipped his head onto Zoro’s shoulder, looking up at the sky. The stars and the moon seemed almost closer this high up, or maybe it was just his imagination – after all, what was a mere ten kilometers compared to light years? After a moment, Zoro slung his free arm over Sanji’s shoulder, drinking from his mug with the other.
“What’s this for?” Sanji mumbled, poking at Zoro’s hand. In response, the marimo only tugged him closer so that Sanji was practically in his lap and Sanji mused that Zoro probably had to be pretty drunk too. It was really only at high levels of intoxication that they could get along so well.
Zoro put down his mug and ran his hand over the bandages wrapped around Sanji’s arm and said, in an almost worrying tone, “You got electrocuted.”
The marks of Enel’s attacks were easy to see on most everyone who was hit. Red Lichtenberg figures etched themselves into skin, branching across Robin-chan, Usopp, and Zoro’s skin. Nami-san, thankfully, had completely avoided the lightning. Luffy, on the other hand, was a rubber freak who didn’t get damaged by lightning, and Chopper’s fur blocked the sight of his injuries, though his fur was singed. Chopper had fixed them up, covering them all in ointment, gauze, and bandages.
“So did you,” Sanji pointed out.
Zoro’s hand trailed down to Sanji’s, his fingers lightly brushing over Sanji’s palm. “He got your hands.”
Sanji snorted, flexing both his hands for Zoro to see. “Still got plenty of mobility, see? Besides, some things are worth sacrificing for Nami-swan.” For the crew. For nakama.
“Not anything,” Zoro refuted.
Sanji wasn’t sure how to take that and he was too inebriated to wrangle some sense of meaning from it (not that he would be any more willing to address it sober). He fell back onto easy habits: teasing the marimo. Sanji cooed, “Aww, are you worried?”
Zoro suddenly grabbed Sanji with both arms and pulled Sanji towards him so that Sanji was sitting between his legs and leaning against his chest. He buried his face in Sanji’s hair.
“Not at all,” he muttered. “Wish he got you a couple more times. It would've made you more warm and toasty.”
Ordinarily, Sanji would have kicked Zoro in the gut for that. However, he was feeling indulgent tonight. He was sleepy and drunk and yesterday the swordsman had let Sanji use his precious swords to hold up the cooking pot, so Sanji was in the mood to let the marimo do what he wanted. Sanji slumped against Zoro, relaxing into the cozy embrace and drifting off into sleep.
Nothing happened. Nothing fucking happened. Like shit nothing happened. All of Luffy's pain – every single hit that Moria landed on Luffy, every single tear of his muscles from the stretching of rubber limbs, every single fucking shitty shadow that nearly ripped Luffy apart. All of Luffy's pain on top of the damage he already sustained.
What a fucking idiot. And you're the idiot who can't sleep. Sanji stared at the dark sky, the omnipresent fog of the Florian triangle covering the stars. He didn't know what time it was. Late, probably. Or early morning. He was lying on the stone floor next to Zoro. The rest of the crew had already passed out over the course of the raucous party, either strewn over rubble (Luffy, Usopp, Chopper, Franky, and Brook) or in a chair (Nami-san, slumped at one of the long dining tables, head resting on her arms and several emptied mugs surrounding her) or in the case of Robin-chan, propped up against the wall half leaning onto Franky's prone form.
Sanji looked over at Zoro's face, slack and almost smiling.
“Are you having a good dream, mosshead?” he whispered, under his breath so as not to risk waking anyone up. He felt annoyed by the lack of response. Zoro was usually quick to answer any provocations. It was weird for him to be so still, intrinsically wrong somehow. Sanji could only liken it to the steadfast sun failing to rise in the morning. “But...what about your dream, that ambition you're always charging forwards to? You're gonna become the world's greatest swordsman; you can't die before that.”
In the gloomy, low light of Thriller Bark's night, Zoro looked almost dead.
Sanji wasn't sure what came over him. Maybe it was the creeping dread that seemed to fill his stomach and chest and limbs with seastone (or maybe that was just the fading adrenaline, the exhaustion, the injuries talking). He reached forward to brush his hand against Zoro's cheek and then over his lips, feeling the wet huffs of breaths seep out. Something settled in his heart, as if reassured by the physicality and the tangible proof of life. He's alive, dumbass, stop worrying.
(Zoro wasn't a ghost. He wasn't dead. He wouldn't disappear when Sanji woke up the next day, buried deep into the earth with only a photograph, etched stone, and cheap flowers as his monument.)
“Why...?” Sanji stared at Zoro's closed eyelids and relaxed brows. Why didn't you let me take your place?
The words caught in his throat. Zoro seemed serene in a way that only being well and truly unconscious could make him. He looked made of marble like ancient heroes, unlike the gargoyle he usually was. Sanji didn't want to disturb it. (He almost wanted to smash it into the ground just to mar it.)
“Anyone can find All Blue,” he said instead, “but you’re the only one who can achieve your dream.”
Zoro almost seemed to react to his words, a furrow setting into his brows and a soft grumble slipping out of his mouth. Sanji snatched his hand away, holding his breath. He stared at Zoro with wide open eyes, waiting to see if the swordsman would continue to stir. He didn't.
Sanji cursed in his head, abruptly unwilling to speak out loud any further. He turned over so he couldn’t look at Zoro anymore and closed his eyes firmly, telling himself to sleep.
He couldn't sleep.
He almost groaned loudly in frustration, but caught himself just before it escaped his throat. Everyone else was sleeping or trying to sleep and he refused to be the one who woke everyone up in the middle of the night. However, that didn’t change the fact that he couldn’t sleep. He wasn't sure what this restless feeling was. The last time he felt this bewildered was...
On the rock.
Why did you save my life? Why would you eat your own leg for someone like me?
Why would you give up your dream for me?
His heartbeat sped up. He could hear it pounding in his ears. He dragged a hand down his face, clutching his chest with the other one. Despite how irritating the marimo could be on a daily basis, despite how much the swordsman infuriated Sanji, despite how much Sanji could've sworn Zoro disliked him, somehow his stupid fucking heart latched onto this asshole who never evolved past the algae state.
Sanji pushed himself off the ground, needing to just move. He was tense and jittery – antsy, like a million ants were crawling under his skin. He couldn’t just stay here, lying on the ground and struggling to sleep. Useless. He wished he could kick something, but there was no enemy and no Zoro. He stood up and started pacing, tapping his hands against his pants. The best he could do was smash some rocks, or maybe wreck up that ugly castle some more.
Sanji hesitated as he took the first step away from Zoro. He’s not going to disappear the moment you take your eyes off him. He squeezed his eyes shut. He’s alive. Chopper said he would be fine. He sat back down.
He didn’t leave that spot for the rest of the night.
Two days later, Sanji was sitting on a pile of rocks near Sunny, watching the sea. Zoro had woken up that afternoon and Sanji had stayed just long enough to see his eyes flutter open before fleeing. Even with the constant overcast darkening the waters, the motion of waves had always served to calm him. He blamed his relaxed senses for startling and almost dropping the cigarette in his mouth when Zoro snuck up behind him and stuck his hands into the pocket of Sanji’s hoodie.
“What the fuck do you think you're doing, shitty moss?” Sanji demanded, trying to turn around, but getting caught halfway through when Zoro locked his hands together. He didn't want to kick Zoro when he was this injured, but by the gods, was the swordsman giving him ample reason to.
“I'm cold,” Zoro muttered. The warm breath that ghosted against Sanji's neck begged to differ. “I'm recovering. Dr. Chopper said I have to devote more energy to healing than staying warm. Can't train either. I'm not allowed.”
Sanji wrapped his hands around Zoro's bare arms, trying to tug Zoro's hands out of his hoodie pocket. He rolled his eyes. “Wear more clothes if you're cold. Stop bugging me.”
Zoro sniggered. “But it's funny.”
Okay, that was it. Sanji was going to kick the shit out of Zoro regardless of Chopper's advice –
“I won’t take it back,” Zoro declared, quiet and firm. Sanji froze, turning the words over in his head.
“Take what?” he asked, even though he had a pretty good idea what it was.
“My choice.”
Sanji could not have this conversation in this position. He pivoted on his heel, spinning around with enough power to dislodge Zoro's grip...except Zoro let go willingly. His hands fell to his sides – Sanji noticed that Zoro had found his swords where Sanji had left them – and Sanji almost stumbled into Zoro with the excess force, catching his balance just barely in time.
“You could've died,” Sanji said. Zoro's eyes were grey, he noted abruptly, close enough for the first time to really see. It was as if Thriller Bark's stone had leached into the swordsman’s eyes and stolen all the color (but they must have always been grey, like the steel of his swords).
“Then I would've died,” Zoro answered simply.
His nonchalance set off Sanji. He grabbed Zoro's collar, needing the aggression – desperately clinging to it to hide the extent of his worry. Not concern, not fear, not I fucking care for you shithead, but anger. “What do you think we would've done without you?”
Zoro met Sanji’s eyes evenly and Sanji hated the way the swordsman for once didn't react to meet his hostility.
“What would we have done without you? Without our cook?” Zoro shot back. “You make the food. You take care of us. You make sure we all have the right nutrition because gods know, no one else on this ship knows shit all about nutrition. You would have moved on without me – you could move on without me. I’m not the keel in a ship. Sure, I have a dream; everyone else on this fucking ship does. You don't sail with a captain like Luffy without having something worth sacrificing everything for.” He brushed a hand over the scar on his chest. “You should know. On the day we first met, I was willing to die against Mihawk. My dream is worthless if I can't even protect my captain. My dream is worthless if I can't even protect yours. This isn't different.”
It wasn't the first time Sanji had known of Zoro's devotion to their crew. He supposed he didn't realize that devotion extended to him too. Somehow, somewhere, that genuine antagonism must've changed into care. On both sides.
He gripped at Zoro's shirt, a million thoughts flying through his mind, and not a single one he could put sensical words to. They both knew that Luffy's dream was something they would always put their lives on the line for. The Grand Line itself promised near certain guarantee of an early death. Still, they were young and had barely lived at all, and Sanji was seized with desperation for a vision of them as old as Zeff was, alive, squabbling, and orbiting each other just the same. Always, forever, eternally.
Sanji loosened his hands and hooked his arms around Zoro's neck. He breathed in the smell of rubble and sweat and steel and blood and sea salt as Zoro wrapped his own arms around Sanji in return, grasping at the back of his hoodie.
Alive, alive, alive, forevermore.