Chapter Text
The air several thousand meters under the sea was warmer than Sanji expected. It was probably yet another advantage of the resin bubbles: insulation. Nonetheless, he considered, as he drifted in the small bubble that he shared with Luffy and Zoro beside the massive kraken that Luffy had tamed, it was impressive how well the bubbles conserved heat. He barely felt a chill at all under the usual layers he wore. Or maybe he had just expected the seas to be much colder than they really were. However, it wasn't as if the sea could be too far below freezing or it would've frozen over.
Momoiro Island had been warm, for the most part. It was a spring island, perpetually in bloom. The temperatures had been mild, tending towards warm (warm enough that anyone could wear a nice sundress any day year-round without feeling a chill).
“S'cold,” Zoro told him later as he sat down next to Sanji. Sanji had wandered into one of the quieter areas in Ryugu Palace, taking a break from the rowdy feast celebrating the Straw Hats’ victory and the lovely and beautiful mermaid princess, Shirahoshi-hime, and Zoro had somehow found him.
Sanji had almost forgotten about this particular quirk of Zoro's. (He hadn't. He had thought about it often over the last two years. He'd spent more time hoping that Zoro hadn't landed on a cold island than he cared to admit.)
“It's not,” Sanji denied in disbelief. He had taken off his jacket and rolled up his shirtsleeves exactly because it was the opposite of cold. Admittedly, he'd also gotten a few drinks in, so he figured that might've contributed to his feeling of overheatedness.
Zoro's face was mulish and grumpy, and Sanji almost wanted to laugh at it. Instead, Sanji flinched away in surprise as cold fingers made contact with his neck. To Sanji's embarrassment, he had just let Zoro touch him, completely missing the fingers approaching in his preoccupation with Zoro’s expression. He snatched up Zoro's hands, holding them in his own, considerably warmer, hands.
“What the fuck?” he said, rubbing Zoro's hands in his own in an attempt to heat them up. “How’re you this cold?”
Zoro shrugged. “S'not my fault you're like a stove,” he mumbled. A flush crept over his face and neck and ears. Sanji grinned delightly when he noticed it.
“Are you drunk?” he laughed. It was rare for Zoro to be even slightly intoxicated, much less drunk enough to color his face, and Sanji found that it was a surprisingly pleasing look on the other man.
“What? No.”
Zoro freed a hand to pluck up the gourd of sake he had set aside on the ground and took a swig from it as if drinking more alcohol was somehow proof that he wasn’t drunk, throat bobbing as he swallowed. He placed his hand right back into Sanji's when he was done, clammy condensation clinging to his palm. Sanji’s eyes dropped with the line of sake trailing from his mouth to his chin, entranced until Zoro wiped his mouth on the cloth covering his shoulder without pulling his hands out of Sanji's grasp.
Sanji immediately made a face at the action. “Ew, that is disgusting. Do you even wash that thing?”
It was a bit unfair, considering that it had been barely a day and neither of them had actually changed out of the outfits that they had arrived on Sabaody in, much less had the chance to wash them, but Sanji knew Zoro didn’t wash it. Zoro didn’t do any of the washing. There was no way two years apart had fixed that. Laundry duty had fallen to Sanji since the East Blue days. With Luffy and Zoro considering a dunk into the sea or standing in the rain equivalent to properly washing, Usopp being easily distracted and often becoming so absorbed into his experiments that he almost forgot anything else, and Nami-swan being a goddess who Sanji would never consider forcing to do the laundry, Sanji had been the only one who would do it right and consistently.
“Never mind, don't answer that,” Sanji mumbled, perhaps a bit more tipsy than he had thought he’d been. To Sanji’s eternal consternation and confusion, Zoro’s gross caveman proclivities rarely put him off so much anymore, somehow becoming inextricable with the man. Thus, as Sanji grew regrettably more fond of the swordsman, those same deplorable traits became almost...endearing? Not that he wouldn’t still shove Zoro into the shower any chance he got.
Zoro rolled his eyes. “I wash it when it’s actually dirty.”
Sanji gaped at him for a moment at the audacity of the statement. “Your definition of ‘actually dirty’ is so far below the standard that I start to wonder if you were raised in a pigsty rather than a dojo.”
“You’re expecting an awful lot out of a bunch of teenage boys, curly,” Zoro replied, letting out a loud bark of laughter.
He’s just like a big puppy, Sanji mused. If he squinted his eyes, the tufts of Zoro’s spiky hair sticking up looked almost like a happy dog’s ears, and if he hadn’t still been trying to warm up Zoro’s hands, Sanji would have reached up to pet his head.
“Twenty one is well over the age of ‘teenager,’” Sanji huffed. “Please revise your definition of cleanliness in accordance with a dictionary not published by a mossy caveman.”
Zoro just shrugged at him in response, a little “what can I do” shrug that pissed Sanji off because it was the kind of shrug that said, “you're being unreasonable again” when Zoro was the one who was a crude, uncivilized brute who, despite apparently having lived the same number of years as Sanji, never learned how to properly exist as an actual human being, so much so that Sanji often suspected him of being an overgrown plant masquerading as intelligent life.
Sanji was about to kick him, but then Zoro was leaning in towards him, hooking his chin over Sanji's shoulder and letting go of Sanji’s hands to wrap his arms around Sanji’s back.
“O-oi, what are you doing?” Sanji stammered, taken off-guard by the sudden hug.
“Shitty curly cook,” Zoro grumbled instead of doing something sensible like explaining.
“Okay, what the actual shit?” Sanji said, pushing at Zoro to try to get a better look at his face.
“You're warmer when you're angry,” Zoro muttered, tightening his grip and keeping his head lowered onto Sanji’s shoulder. “Stay still.”
On principle, Sanji struggled instead. He swung his leg out from under him, working around the unfavorable position their hug put him in – the shitty swordsman planned that probably, didn't he? They were always looking out for each other's weaknesses and challenging them – and kicked Zoro in the side.
Zoro grunted and let go to defend himself. Sanji put his now freed hands on the ground to spin himself up into another kick at Zoro, who ducked as expected. But he had learned new skills since they’d last sparred over two years ago. Sanji pushed off the air beside where Zoro’s head had just been to change direction midair, slamming his leg down at Zoro. The swords came out to block and the two of them fell into an easy rhythm. Over the two years apart, they had both grown and changed, but this? This was the same.
There was a ridiculous delight that burst into every cell of Sanji’s body, a delight that Zoro was there in front of him, that Sanji could kick him. He had missed this more than he could ever say.
Punk Hazard was cold, and had been colder still in Nami's body. Sanji liked the snow: smooth, soft, pristine beauty. Still, he fancied that he was much more suited to warmer temperatures – closer to fire, as a cook tended to be.
Sanji poured Zoro a bowl of soup and was surprised when Zoro sat down beside him instead of wandering away to eat it in some corner. It was oddly distracting – Sanji kept expecting Zoro to do something, even though he knew the swordsman respected him enough to at least not pick a fight while Sanji was serving food. Every once in a while, when Zoro reached the bottom of his bowl, he'd thrust it in Sanji's direction and Sanji would indulgently refill it before moving on to the next person in line.
“Eat, cook,” Zoro said out of the blue as Sanji was serving seconds to the last of the waiting marines (and wasn't that something? Pirates and marines, coexisting, even for just one small pocket of time).
“I'm busy,” Sanji growled irritably, flapping a hand at the, admittedly dwindled, line. In fact, the line was nonexistent now, but Sanji was a professional. He could tell a few people were raring for thirds.
“That can wait,” Zoro insisted. “Focus on yourself for once. Everyone already got more than enough. Eat.”
Zoro plucked up a bowl and snatched the ladle from Sanji’s hand, using it to pour soup into the bowl before offering it to Sanji expectantly. The scoops hardly had a chef’s finesse of practice, but it was hard to fuck up pouring soup. Sanji was a little charmed despite himself. It had been a long time since he'd been served out of nothing, but, well, care.
Zoro leaned against him as Sanji ate.
“Am I really a heater?” Sanji asked. He tried to put a grumble in it, a hint of a complaint, but it came out just sounding curious.
“Mhm,” Zoro hummed. “S'warm.”
“Are you sure it's not just the soup?” Sanji suggested, ears burning.
Zoro considered it. “Both,” he muttered, tucking his face into Sanji's neck. His nose was cold and Sanji shivered slightly, but didn't flinch or move away. “You're like a kettle.”
“A...kettle.”
“Mm, or a kotatsu.”
“A kotatsu?”
“A warm thing.” Zoro brought an arm up to hang loosely around Sanji's waist. “Shut up, curly, wanna sleep.”
Sanji flushed, suddenly overly conscious of their proximity, and shoved Zoro away. “Sleep somewhere else!”
Zoro turned a disgruntled look at him. “You're the warmest. It’s cold.”
Sanji raised his visible eyebrow, hoping it conveyed his skepticism suitably. “Go cuddle with Chopper.”
“Can't. He's geeking with Torao. Don't wanna interrupt.”
Sanji sighed. He couldn't argue against that. Most of the medical jargon Chopper tried to discuss went over the heads of the rest of the crew – even, sometimes, that of the brilliant, knowledgeable Robin-chan. It wasn't often their dear doctor got to meet other doctors, much less have the time to hold a conversation with them.
“What about Luffy?” Sanji suggested half-heartedly.
Zoro gave him a “seriously?” look. “You think I can catch him for long enough? With a party going?”
“Fair,” Sanji muttered. He sighed, tapping out a cigarette from the pack and lighting it. In a sudden burst of impulsivity, emboldened by the smoke rushing into his lungs, he grabbed Zoro's wrist and dragged him along. “Fine, but let's get out of everyone's way.”
Zoro followed him compliantly, a sharp difference from his usual obstinate self, letting Sanji pull him along to the side of the facility. Sanji felt giddy at it, the unresisting way Zoro came along. He leaned against the wall, exhaling a cloud of smoke.
“So how do you want to do this?”
Zoro rolled his eyes. “You're so fucking dramatic.”
He sat down with his back against the wall, tugging at Sanji's arm until the cook sat down as well. Then he arranged Sanji's arm around his shoulders, hooking his own around Sanji's waist, and promptly passed out.
It wasn't uncomfortable. Sanji had almost expected it to be. In fact, it was...nice. Sanji played with the fingers of the hand that Zoro left loosely in his lap. The mosshead’s extremities were freezing cold. It made sense given what the swordsman was wearing. He'd put on an extra layer, but left his chest exposed like an idiot, and he'd lost his gloves somehow since they were chased by a giant slime axolotl. After a bit of thought, Sanji laced his fingers with Zoro's. He could afford to pass a little bit of heat over to the dumbass.
Two years was a long time. For all Sanji had spent most of it frantically running or cooking, inevitably, there had been a lot of time to think and ruminate and remember. It was the glimpses of sweetness, the comfort that Sanji enjoyed from Zoro. It was knowing when to be gentle and when to push, when to listen and when to challenge. It was waking up in the morning overheated and sweaty and with a weight heavy on his chest so that he almost felt like he couldn’t breathe –
– that made him dream of something more.
And when Zoro was this close to him, Sanji could almost pretend that they had that something more. He didn’t know what it meant. Did it belie a desire for deeper intimacy, or was Sanji supposed to take it at face value? Was Zoro even someone who would develop feelings for anyone? For all Sanji knew, the moss could be aromantic or asexual. Or just plain uninterested. Sanji figured would suit himself to be uselessly pining one-sidedly. He was used to it after all.
Besides, if Zoro were to fall for anyone, it'd probably be Luffy. Or a sword enthusiast, like Tashigi-chan. There was no way he'd choose someone like Sanji and...Sanji preferred it that way. He would only tie Zoro down.
Zoro’s ambition was something to be strived for. It was a constant movement towards something greater. All Blue wasn’t like that. All Blue was just somewhere out there – either he’d find it or not. It was stationary. Stagnant. And if he found it... Well, first, he’d see Luffy to becoming the King of Pirates, if Luffy wasn’t already. After that, he’d go back to East Blue to tell Zeff. And then...he would stay in All Blue, settle down, catch fish, experiment with cooking, open a restaurant probably, if he didn’t die first.
He couldn’t see Zoro settling, far less for Sanji.
(Worse still was the possibility that Zoro would settle. Because for all he pretended to be grumpy and distant, his heart was just as soft as Sanji’s. And Sanji would rather cut his legs off than hold Zoro back.)
(Here was the thing. Now that Sanji knew he was in love with Zoro, he didn’t know how to stop.)
Sanji climbed up into the crow’s nest, warm from drink and feeling generous. He placed two bottles on the ground in greeting to the mosshead before walking over to a window and propping it open. He leaned out of it, resting his elbows on the sill and pulling his tie loose. The night air was crisp and cool, sobering him slightly.
“Couldn’t sleep?” Zoro asked.
Sanji turned around and sat down on the bench encircling the inside of the crow’s nest, looking at Zoro shrouded in darkness. The chilly wind blew pleasantly over the back of his neck. Ignoring the question, he said, “Y’know, a lookout usually looks out these windows here.”
Zoro snorted. “Do you?”
Sanji closed his eyes. The waves were gentle for now, allowing the rest of the crew to sleep peacefully. The world around Sunny was silent except for the soft hums of fish and various sea creatures. No, he never kept watch out the windows nowadays when it was his turn to be the lookout. Perception haki worked so much better, after all. He pushed himself off the bench and walked back over next to Zoro. Only one bottle remained on the floor. The other was in Zoro’s hand, the liquid inside disappearing rapidly.
“I only brought one for you, so don’t drink it too quickly,” Sanji warned, despite being well aware that Zoro would ignore it. He picked up his bottle and drank from it, sitting down beside Zoro. The bottle was half empty from what he drank in the kitchen before he got lonely and figured it was pretty pathetic to be drinking alone in the middle of the night when he could be bothering Zoro instead. (It was pretty pathetic that he had been drinking to distract from the want to be around Zoro until he became intoxicated enough to forget that.)
“Already one more than you usually do,” Zoro said, grinning.
Sanji pressed his fingers against the corners of Zoro’s mouth, lifting them in an attempt to keep them in that smiling state. He wanted to kiss the joy from it –
But he couldn’t and shouldn’t because Zoro wasn’t in love with him and, he reminded himself sternly, he didn’t want Zoro to be in love with him.
“You don’t laugh as much anymore,” he complained.
“I don’t?” Zoro said with confusion, expression hilarious from the way Sanji was squishing his face.
“Two years made you more grumpy.” Sanji dropped his hands from Zoro’s face. “If you feel something, you should just show it on your face.”
“Maybe I do,” Zoro muttered, “and you’re just never looking.”
“I’m looking all the time,” Sanji objected loudly. “Ugh, I changed my mind. It would be weird if you stopped being a grumpy stumpy marimo ball and started being all emotional all the time.”
“Isn’t emotion what drives everyone though?” Zoro mused, oddly serious all of a sudden, staring at Sanji with a strange look in his eyes. He’d better not become a maudlin drunk all of a sudden. “I’m plenty emotional already – ’ve got enough. Don’t really need more.”
Sanji broke eye contact, looking back out the window. “Some people think with their heads rather than their guts, you know?” he joked. He didn’t want to be in a pensive mood tonight. One of his hands found its way into Zoro’s hair, ruffling it. “Oh! You wouldn’t know, since all the moss on your head has eaten through your brain.”
Zoro scoffed and shoved him. It was playful and far from a serious challenge to fight, so Sanji let him have the shove in exchange for Sanji’s insult. They stilled and were quiet again except for the occasional shuffle. Zoro finished the last of his drink, setting the bottle down with a heavy thunk.
“When you think, you’re rationalizing your actions,” he spoke abruptly. It took Sanji a moment to realize he was continuing their previous conversation. “It’s not driving you; it’s just something you decided to do. Dreams, like what Luffy is chasing, like what you and I are chasing, they’re all emotion. Because you have to be stupid and insane to have goals like ours.” He grinned, crooked and boyish and adorable, like nothing could be better in the world than being stupid and insane. “People who think too much would never just go for it.”
“Roundabout way of calling me an idiot, marimo,” Sanji drawled.
“Not what I meant, but thanks for admitting it yourself, idiot cook.”
“Shitty moss.”
“Pervert curlicue.”
“Prickly cactus head.”
“Nosebleeding target brows.”
Sanji burst out laughing. The exchange of nicknames seemed unusually hilarious suddenly and he only chortled harder, almost choking on the uncontrollable giggles, at the perplexed expression that spread across Zoro’s face.
“I’m just happy, you know,” he said, catching his breath. “You don’t have to look at me weird like that. I just actually show what I’m feeling on my face.”
“Fine.” Zoro scowled before holding out his arms. “I’m cold,” he said. “I don’t know how to show that on my face, so you’ll just have to take my word for it.”
“What, you want me to hold you or something?” Sanji said coolly, trying to hide the way his heart started hippity hoppitying nervously.
“Can you?”
Cute. Sanji wanted to kick the past version of him that somehow thought being alone around Zoro was a good way to not be in love with Zoro. Right, he just had to turn Zoro down firmly, go back downstairs, and finally turn in for the night.
Sanji’s eyes dropped traitorously down to Zoro’s chest, which admittedly did look very cold and lonely and in need of cuddles –
Before he realized it, he had moved into Zoro’s arms. Zoro fell onto his back, pulling Sanji down with him.
“What am I? A blanket?” Sanji huffed, wiggling into a more comfortable position.
“Yes,” Zoro said without hesitation.
Sanji tugged an arm free and hit the swordsman lightly in the face. “Shut up. Be like that and I’m gonna leave.” He didn’t make any move to get up despite the threat, even as Zoro’s arms tightened around him. It was cozy and warm and maybe he could indulge for just one night.
Yeah...just one...
They had been sailing towards Dressrosa for a while, preparing to fight another Warlord, all because of the weird alliance, or friendship, if you asked Luffy, made with Trafalgar Law (yet another Warlord) of all people.
With the usual lack of excitement that accompanied the long stretches between islands, Sanji couldn't stop agonizing over what to do about his...feelings for Zoro. He twisted the same thought over and over again in his head, like a little kid plucking petals off of a flower: he loves me, he loves me not. Despite repeatedly telling himself to resign himself to unrequited love, Sanji couldn’t leave the feeling alone. Was it possible that Zoro liked him? Or was Sanji just, you know, a good friend, a crew mate, a rival ?
He stepped out of the galley to pass out snacks (carefully sliced tea sandwiches for the ladies and breadsticks made from the cut-off crusts for everyone else), twirling up to the top level where Nami-swan and Robin-chwan were waiting. As he was walking back down the stairs, he glanced out at the deck, spotting Zoro taking a nap in the grass. He chuckled to himself, thinking, camouflaged marimo, and then, remembering what he’d just been thinking of, felt his face heat up and quickly looked away.
Enough was enough. Sanji needed to get a second opinion on this – someone to tell him, yes Sanji, you're being stupid, and metaphorically slap the crush out of him. Instead of returning to the galley to get the breadsticks, he made his way down to Usopp’s workshop. Usopp was a good confidant, despite his loose lips. It was because he was the most reasonable of the guys (and the only one Sanji could actually intimidate) aside from Chopper – but Sanji wasn’t going to bother Chopper with this of all issues. Besides, Chopper was a reindeer, so Sanji doubted he’d have much advice about a dumb human crush. Meanwhile Usopp had wooed a girl all by himself on his home island, if he was to be trusted (and on this, Sanji did believe him. It helped that Nami and Luffy both backed up his claims. Zoro had just grunted, “Who? Was it one of those cats?” which made no sense and only caused Usopp to burst out in outrage.)
Entering the room, Sanji mentally reworded the question he was going to ask for the sixth time, but at the sight of Luffy’s unexpected presence, his mind went blank. He had only meant to consult one person, not the two people worst at keeping secrets on the ship. (Luffy could only keep a secret if he didn’t know it was a secret and wasn’t asked about it, and Sanji was pretty sure Usopp could keep secrets perfectly well, but just actively didn’t choose to with the vast majority of topics.)
Instead of the careful sentence he’d planned to say, Sanji blurted out, “Usopp, has Zoro always been a clingy sort of person?”
Usopp stared at Sanji. He was more muscular and confident now, far from the lanky seventeen year old Sanji had first met on the Baratie, but the nervous energy he exuded when caught off guard hadn’t changed. “I didn't think he ever was...a, um...” His eyes darted towards the door. “...a clingy person...”
Luffy spun around on the spinning chair Usopp had made earlier that day. “Eh? You're talking about Zoro, right? He loves hugs!” He cackled to himself, trying to spin himself faster.
Usopp stroked an imaginary beard, hmming. “I guess he does like to cuddle Chopper, but Chopper is Chopper, y'know?”
Yeah, but, if he has Chopper, why is he coming to me? Sanji didn't say.
“Oh, and he stays every time we all pass out over each other!” Usopp continued. “Like the crew cuddle puddles.”
“That's 'cause he loves them!” Luffy exclaimed, almost careening into a wall. “He likes being warm!”
“Yeah,” Sanji agreed without thinking about it. He hastened to correct himself. “I mean – yeah, I know. About Chopper, and the...yeah. Not what. What Luffy said.”
His face heated at how terrible the lie sounded, even to himself. Though Sanji could see how much Usopp wanted to point it out despite how hypocritical that would’ve been, the sharpshooter did not. Good, because if he had, Sanji would’ve kicked his face in.
Luckily, the next moment, Luffy launched himself out of the chair and crashed into Sanji.
“Sanji! Is it snack time?!” he hollered, despite being right next to Sanji.
“Don’t shout in my ear, you shitty rubber,” Sanji growled, relaxing at the change in topic. “There are breadsticks in the galley.”
“Go! Go! Go!” Luffy shouted, pointing ahead while looping the other arm and his legs around Sanji’s body.
Despite his grousing, Sanji resigned to being Luffy’s transportation, assuming the conversation was good as over. He’d try to catch Usopp another time, or better yet, give up the venture altogether. Luffy, however, had different ideas. As Sanji walked towards the kitchen with his captain still hanging off of him, Luffy laughed and said, “Sanji’s an idiot. Isn’t it easy? Sanji should just take what he wants that makes him happy. Zoro makes you happy.”
“Do I make him happy?” The question slipped out automatically.
“Wow, Sanji is even dumber than I thought. Of course, you make Zoro happy.” Luffy spoke with the same casualness as he would pick a booger.
Sanji still tossed Luffy off of him and kicked him over the head for the first comment, even as something warm and happy fizzled throughout his chest.
Hours later, Sanji jerked awake as Zoro dumped himself down into Sanji’s bunk, already snoring before Sanji could say anything. He still grumbled and threatened to kick Zoro out of the bunk even though Zoro wouldn’t hear him. Then he quieted and listened to Zoro’s breathing, in, out, and heartbeat, thump thump. As his own heartbeat slowed to match Zoro’s, Sanji thought he should give it a chance. Not tomorrow – Sunny was arriving at Dressrosa then, and they couldn’t afford any drama right before challenging Doflamingo in his homebase – but afterwards.
(After fighting off the Big Mom Pirates. After going to Zou to help the minks out. After leaving with Capone Bege to keep his shitty biological family far away from his crew. After gently turning down a marriage proposal to a no doubt lovely lady. After – )
Whole Cake Island was lonely.
Germa was the same hellhole it had always been. Sanji could’ve sworn he got stronger in the thirteen years since he had escaped, but here he was: powerless, because Judge had always known how best to ruin him.
(Judge was smaller than Sanji remembered, far from than the looming figure in his memories. How could a mere man compare to giants after all? Nevertheless, the hollow feeling in his chest persisted. It screamed you are feeble and useless and you’d never have escaped from Germa if Judge didn’t let you.)
He missed his nakama. He missed the warmth, the easy affection, the joy that suffused Sunny. (He missed the heat of Zoro’s side pressed against his.)
Maybe he would never be forgiven. After all, leaving the crew wasn’t such a simple thing. There was no place for those who fought and disrespected their captain – no, not just fought, who brutally assaulted their un-retaliating captain. Even if he went back with a bowed head, apologies spilling from his lips, it wouldn’t be enough. It shouldn’t be enough.
Even so, he found himself making a pirate lunchbox. Even so, he found himself running to where Luffy promised he’d stay. Even so, he couldn’t help but hope, listening to Nami’s voice through a tiny shard of a mirror, that he could come back.
(Zoro’s voice floated unbidden to the forefront of Sanji’s mind. If you let him come back and pretend nothing had even happened, I’ll leave this crew myself.)
Being back on Sunny – being a cook again instead of a fucked up failure of science experiment – was a relief. It was quieter with only half the crew, and even with Luffy’s black hole of a stomach, Sanji had less to occupy his hands and mind with when there were less mouths to feed. He waited with a mix of nervousness and excitement and shame to see the rest of his nakama again – to learn if he would be forgiven. Truly forgiven.
Chopper laid asleep on his lap. In the absence of Zoro, the little doctor had chosen Sanji to nap on, leading Sanji to wonder what it was that made him seem like such a good hugging target. Admittedly, it had been a balm on his nerves to see Chopper wriggling with joy to see him. Brook, too, had expressed his happiness to resume having daily morning tea. Nami was still somewhat frosty, which Sanji felt was honestly the more expected reaction, but even she had warmed up again after several serious conversations. Nami, who had seen him kicking Luffy and had every reason to hate him for it. Despite all this, he was still nervous. Half the crew hadn’t come to Whole Cake Island, and even though he knew why, the part of his brain that really hated himself kept telling him that maybe it was really because they didn’t want him back.
“Don’t worry, Sanji,” Luffy said cheerfully, peeking down at Sanji where the cook was sitting, right outside the galley door. “Everyone was really worried – even Zoro. It was only a few days, but he really missed you a lot.”
“I’m not worried,” Sanji objected. Then, “Are you sure it wasn’t actually barely repressed annoyance?”
Luffy tumbled off the ledge, crashing onto the ground in front of Sanji, before jumping back to his feet and making a kicking motion. “He even said he’d kick me even though he’s a swordsman! Shishishi, you’ll see, Sanji. I missed you the most, of course, but Zoro missed you the second most.”
“You only missed me for my cooking,” Sanji joked, but the way Luffy fixed an uncharacteristically serious stare on him made him feel like maybe he hadn’t been completely joking.
“I missed you, Sanji. We all love you more than you think.” He poked Sanji’s temple hard. “You can’t think love through; you have to feel it. I missed Sanji and Sanji’s food like an ache in my whole body.” With that, all at once, the pressure that Sanji hadn’t even realized was there lifted and Luffy pushed his way into the kitchen, rubber arms firmly wrapped around Sanji to drag him inside despite the protests to let go. “Sanji, make me meat! No one else makes meat as tasty!”
Sanji never got to figure out whether Zoro had actually been worried or not because Zoro had gotten lost from the rest of the group, which Sanji should’ve predicted but didn’t. He was welcomed back in the ruins of Oden’s old castle by the remaining half of the crew, and, surrounded by the bright smiles and “we knew you’d come back”s, something finally loosened in his chest, but not completely, because of one damning missing presence.
When Sanji finally saw Zoro again, it was in the aftermath of an execution and the start of a fight. The few words he got out had nothing to do with the wealth of things he wanted to address before Zoro shoved a child at him and ran off.
(Is it trust to be given something precious to protect? Or is it a task of atonement? Forgiveness must be earned, after all.)
At first, Sanji figured it was fine if they didn’t get the chance to talk. They didn’t have enough time. Then, once they did have time...Sanji didn’t know. It didn’t help that every time he managed to catch Zoro alone, his throat closed up and he spat out an insult like things were normal and fine instead of addressing the elephant in the room. For another, the brute had somehow managed to get an incredibly beautiful woman to hang off him, which made Sanji’s stomach curl on itself in increasingly unpleasant and unfamiliar ways.
Zoro had never been interested in women before, no matter how many times Sanji kicked him for it, but Sanji’s heart beat a little faster whenever he was near her, like it always did around women (like it did sometimes (a lot) around Zoro), and he couldn’t help but feel like Zoro could only feel the same.
(So maybe, Sanji is a little jealous. But that was his spot wrapped in Zoro’s arms, not Hiyori-chan’s. Though...perhaps by leaving, he had given up that place. He’d told himself he’d confess – how long had it been since Dressrosa? – but now, maybe he was too late.)
Nonetheless, the time seemed to blur by quickly with plans and recruitment and actually attacking Onigashima, and the next time Sanji saw Zoro again was when Law unceremoniously dropped both himself and the swordsman onto Sanji’s shoulders. Being left by the doctor to fix up the mosshead by himself brought him back to the unfortunate days before Chopper joined the crew and when Sanji had the steadiest hands to stitch up any injuries.
Zoro’s skin was hot, almost burning, wherever Sanji’s bare wrist brushed against it before he covered it up with bandages. Bruises and cuts covered every inch of skin. Sanji would be lying if he said it didn’t feel like his stomach was twisting on itself to see the swordsman so injured.
Having Zoro in his arms again as he did his best to patch Zoro up was like a macabre version of embrace. When Zoro held a normal, almost fond conversation with him, it almost felt like forgiveness. And when Zoro fell asleep as he carried him, it felt a lot like trust.
So later, when his body felt weird and off-center, too light and too heavy at the same time, and he worried about the durability of his morality and values as his skin hardened into metal, his first instinct was to call Zoro. (And it was unfair, Sanji knew it was so terribly unfair, but for a moment he thought, Zoro will get a kick out of killing me, and then, shit, there really is something wrong with me.) There was no one he trusted more to cover his back than Zoro, and no one more he trusted to kill him if it became necessary.
After Luffy beat up Kaidou, after Chopper worked his magic on everyone, after Luffy and Zoro finally woke up, after the feast and festivities began, Sanji ran into Zoro again in some cloistered spot and froze, tensing for some kind of attack. It was a bad move on his part because instead of executing any attack, Zoro pulled Sanji into a hug.
Sanji sputtered, flustered. He had expected to be met with steel again, not a warm body clinging to him. Regaining control of himself, he smirked, trying not to show exactly how caught off guard he was.
“Are you seriously cold on a temperate island?” he teased.
“Missed you,” Zoro mumbled into the juncture of Sanji's neck and shoulder and Sanji froze.
"Oh." Sanji noted in a distant sort of way that Zoro's ears were turning red. "What ?" The sound came out strangled and Sanji winced at it.
"I missed you," Zoro repeated.
It was the straightforwardness that got Sanji – that gripped his heart and squeezed it into pumping faster.
"Oh," Sanji uttered again. He gently returned the hug, placing one hand on the back of Zoro's neck and hooking his other arm across Zoro’s shoulders.
Zoro practically melted into him, leaning most of his weight onto Sanji.
"You're so stupid, curly," he mumbled.
Sanji scoffed. "Me? I'm the stupid one? What about you, Mr. Is King A Fishman?"
Zoro flushed, letting out a warm huff of breath against Sanji's neck. "Shut up. It was a legitimate thought."
They stayed there for a while, a pocket of silence amidst the background of shouts and cheers and drunken singing.
"I thought you'd be mad at me," Sanji admitted quietly.
"I am."
"So what's with this?"
"I'm furious that you left. You shouldn't have left."
Sanji started to pull back, but Zoro squeezed him tighter and Sanji froze in place.
“Yeah...” Sanji muttered. He didn’t have excuses to give. “I’m sorry.”
“I wanted to stay mad. But you came back. You slid right into place, like Wado from her sheath.”
Sanji’s breath caught at being compared to that sword.
“Stay. Don’t leave again. We need our cook.”
Sanji’s face heated up and he wished he could cover it with his hands without removing himself from the hug that Zoro initiated.
“I won’t,” Sanji mumbled. “If there’s one thing Luffy beat into my head on that shitty cake island, it’s that.”
“Good.”
The hug had already gone on much longer than normal, but Sanji was unwilling to be the first one to pull away. Not only were the arms around him a constant reminder that apparently, despite everything, he still belonged with the crew, the part of him that turned everything into a competition with Zoro told him that to leave the hug first would be forfeiting The Challenge. He rearranged his arms more comfortably, letting his chin rest on Zoro’s shoulder. He could feel the slight chill of Zoro’s earrings against his cheek.
“So what’s with this cold thing?” Sanji couldn’t help teasing. “Poor East Blue marimo gets cold easily?”
Even though Sanji couldn’t see Zoro’s face, he could feel Zoro scowling. “I’m not cold. You’re just constantly overheated.”
“What’s with this then?” Sanji gestured at their hug as best he could with both arms currently occupied in said hug.
“I missed you,” Zoro said, but it was ruined by the smugness coloring his voice.
“Dumbass, it’s not gonna work on me three times.”
Zoro frowned, clearly grumpy at his taunt being foiled. He leaned back and Sanji reluctantly loosened his own grip. Completely against any expectation Sanji could’ve conjured up, Zoro brought his hand up to cup Sanji’s cheek. Against his will, Sanji’s eyes widened and his heart squeezed again, so tight he thought it might actually burst this time.
Oh shit, Sanji thought, all previous thoughts flying out of his head.
Zoro leaned in and rested his forehead on Sanji’s, keeping eye contact. Inanely, Sanji thought about how he smelled like salmon and rice and sake – the meal Sanji had just offered him. His favorites. “I mean it every time I say it, you know. I love you, curly.”
Sanji pressed his lips tightly together to keep trapped the sound that threatened to escape. It felt too close to a whine or a sob for comfort. This is not fair, he thought furiously.
Zoro stepped away, looking sheepish now. “You don’t have to love me back,” he muttered, a sharp contrast from his usually cocky bearing. “I just wanted to tell you.”
“You shitty – no – I – ” Sanji spluttered, trying to gather up all his thoughts into something more coherent than a litany of shitty marimo and he said lovelovelovelovelove. He tugged Zoro back, wrapping his arms around the swordsman’s shoulders. “You – ” Oh shit, he was going to start crying, wasn’t he? He swallowed, mentally telling his eyes to stop fucking watering. “I...”
Zoro didn’t say anything, no tease or taunt on his tongue. Sanji wasn’t sure if that made it better or worse.
“Come back here,” Sanji demanded. “Hug me back, damn it.”
Zoro’s arms came up hesitantly to wrap around him again.
“Me too,” Sanji said through a lump in his throat.
Zoro was quiet for a moment. Then, out of nowhere, “What about Ace?”
“What...about Ace?” Sanji repeated. With all the emotional whiplash Zoro was inflicting on him, from apprehension to joy to confusion, Sanji really might just devolve into hysterics.
“...Didn’t you love him?” Zoro said, with a grumble in his voice hinting that he regretted bringing up the topic altogether.
How was Sanji even supposed to respond to that? Yes, he loved Ace because he was Luffy’s brother, because that familial kindness was something Sanji craved. No, he hardly loved Ace the way he loved the crew, the way he was in love with Zoro, because he had known the man barely a day, and when he died, the pain in his heart was for Luffy, not Ace.
“We met him once,” Sanji settled on, loosening the hug just so he could see Zoro’s face for any more hints about what the fuck the mosshead was thinking.
“We spent a whole day travelling with him,” Zoro responded, like it was a counterargument.
“Sure?” Sanji acquiesced. He was too bewildered to argue.
“And you kissed him,” Zoro groused.
“Are you jealous of someone who’s dead ?” Sanji asked incredulously. “Yeah, I kissed him. He was nice and gentlemanly and the draw of it was that he’d be gone the next day and that it didn’t mean anything. Even if I were in love with him, I can’t be in love with a dead man forever.”
Zoro grunted. Ridiculously, Sanji could tell from that one monosyllabic sound that Zoro was satisfied with the answer.
“Seriously ?” Sanji grumbled. “Why would I be in love with someone I met once two years ago who’s dead?”
“You liked him once,” Zoro defended petulantly.
“People can like more than one person! For example, I love all the ladies of the world.”
“Yeah, well, you’re it for me,” Zoro said seriously. “I've never loved anyone else like this, and I’ll never love someone again like this.”
A frown automatically came onto Sanji’s face. He probably should’ve felt happy about a declaration like that. Such devotion from the one man Sanji would believe able to uphold it.
“Don’t say that,” Sanji said.
“It’s true.”
“Don’t say it like it’s a promise.”
“Why not?”
“I want you to be happy even if I die.”
“I don’t need to be in love to be happy,” Zoro retorted. “But,” His face visibly softened as he spoke the word. “I am happy to be in love.”
That face was for him, for Sanji. Sanji grabbed Zoro’s forearms, sliding his hands down to Zoro’s hands and holding them tightly. He had to at least try to return some of that blind dedication – no, not blind. Zoro didn’t do things blindly. He just looked at Sanji and somehow found something worth falling in love with.
“I-I-I lo– I like you. More than I ever thought I would. Or usually act like I do.” Sanji said, instead of what he should’ve said.
“You say it so easily to women, pervert cook. Why’s it so hard now?” Zoro groused.
“I don’t know!” Sanji squeezed Zoro’s hands frustratedly. “It just doesn’t feel like the right word. I love ladies – ”
Zoro scoffed. Sanji ignored him.
“ – and I love the crew. And I lo-” Sanji cut himself off, falling silent. He closed his eyes so he could almost pretend he was just talking to himself. “Love is this big thing, but what I want with you are the little things, everyday things.”
“Say something you love about me, then. Just one thing.”
Your nobility. Your determination. Your grin when you eat my food. Your back to lean on. Your secret softness for cute things. Your hands in mine. Your ridiculous green hair.
Sanji hesitated. It was a bit too honest, a bit too raw. But maybe that was a little bit of what it meant to be in love. It wasn’t the white knight he imagined himself becoming as a child, sweeping a gentle woman off her feet – allowing proclamations of adulation, protection, but never vulnerability. But Zoro was reliable, trustworthy. He was the foundation of a castle rather than the princess. Sanji could entrust the most vulnerable part of him, to present a battered and bruised heart, and know it would only be cherished, if only he let himself.
“If you’re too much of a chicken, I’ll go first.” Zoro smirked. “I love your stupid looking swirly brows.”
“Shut the fuck up,” Sanji snarled instinctively. “I love your dumbass fucking moss hair.”
“See, that wasn’t so hard,” Zoro said, ducking under the leg that swept over his head.
“Good morning, sleepy marimo.”
“Mm, warm,” Zoro muttered, burying his face into the pillow.
Sanji laughed. “You say that every day.”
“I’ll keep saying it until it stops being true.” Zoro clung closer. “And it won’t.”
Sanji ran a hand through Zoro’s hair, breath catching when Zoro caught his hand halfway through, and brought it to his lips, kissing the ring gleaming on it before intertwining their fingers. He always expected the rings to chime, or clack together like gold coins in a pouch, but they barely made a sound at all when colliding.
“Ugh, morning breath,” Sanji groaned, putting his hand over Zoro’s face and pushing at it.
Zoro pressed forward, peppering Sanji’s skin with kisses. Gentle flutters against his cheeks, eyelids, eyebrows, forehead, jaw, neck.
“Stay,” Zoro murmured.
Sanji leaned over to press a kiss in return onto Zoro’s brow before standing up from their bed. “I have to get ready. The restaurant won’t run itself.”
Zoro’s arm snaked around his waist, tugging Sanji back down. “It can take care of itself.”
“As much as I’d love to believe that, I don't.”
“Then say something you love about me.” Zoro’s tone was almost whiny.
Sanji sighed. He struggled one time and then the moss bastard pulled this shit for the next twenty years just because he confessed first. Nevertheless, Sanji would oblige, as he always did.
“I spoil you too much.” Even Sanji could hear the fondness that flooded his voice.
“Not nearly enough.” Zoro groaned. “You won’t even stay in bed with me.”
“If I stayed in bed with you everyday, nothing would get done.”
“Not everyday. Just today.”
Sanji rolled his eyes. “You say that, but you ask everyday.”
“I love your eyes,” Zoro said, giving up the argument. “They’re the most beautiful blue I’ve ever seen. Say something you love about me.” His voice was drowsy, like the answer Sanji gave would be the last thing he heard, the lullaby that lulled him to sleep.
“I love how cuddly you are all the time." He brushed a hand fondly over Zoro's forehead, pushing mossy hair out of Zoro's face. "I love you, moss.”
“Love you, too.”