Work Text:
Zoro’s struggling with two revelations about himself that he’s had over the past couple of weeks.
The first one is that, despite what he used to believe and what he shows to the rest of the world, it is possible for him to fall in love, or something approximating it. His commitment to his dream of becoming the world’s greatest swordsman, along with helping Luffy realise his own dream, have been at the forefront of his mind for the longest time, taking up all the space and effort he could spare. But as the crew grew, it seemed, so did his capacity to care. He cares about each and each and every member, about their well-being and their dreams, and he’d do anything to protect them.
The second one is that there might be one member of the crew he cares about in a different way, a way that goes beyond the base level of concern and fondness he has towards all the others. The problem is that it’s the one that he’s had the most… hostile relationship with. On the surface, at least.
It’s hard to pin-point when exactly he started feeling this way. The irritation, and even genuine dislike at the beginning was definitely real. Zoro remembers being honestly irritated at this practical stranger - at that point all he knew about him was that he’s a womanising waiter with a mean kick - who purported to know more about Nami and her motivations than the rest of them just because she’s a woman. It’s entirely a coincidence that all of Sanji’s intuitions happened to be proven correct.
It was sometime later that Zoro was able to see the cook in a different, more honest light. The more he saw who Sanji truly was, the more the unflattering picture of him Zoro had created in his head eroded away, until all that remained was reality.
The thing is, Sanji has every quality Zoro has always admired in a man, and many more that he wasn’t aware he’d admire until he saw them in the cook.
The first quality Zoro noticed is that he’s tough as nails. That was evident at Arlong Park, when Sanji was able to withstand the beating their fishmen enemies doled out. In fact, not only was he able to withstand it, he quite literally kicked ass, completely unarmed. That’s probably why he had no response later when the cook boasted that he didn’t need three swords to “prove he’s a man.” Interesting choice of words, but he made a good point. Zoro did come to respect him for being able to hold his own in combat completely unarmed, although he still thinks limiting one’s moveset to only kicks is foolish, even if he does understand why he chooses to do so.
The second quality is how kind he is. He was only told after the Arlong Park ordeal that Sanji had been the one who insisted on helping save his life after his duel against Mihawk, but by then, he’d seen enough not to be too surprised. He’d seen it in the way he talked to Nami’s sister, and later in the way he cooked for and personally served everyone in the village after the battle, smiling at everyone, including Zoro, clearly delighted by the idea of anyone enjoying his cooking, regardless of whether he knew the person or not.
Sanji smiles whenever he serves their meals. He describes the simplests of breakfasts with the same tone and reverence as he does the most complicated, gourmet meals he makes for special occasions, or when he just wants to challenge himself. The care he puts into preparing every meal is so evident that it’s impossible to take neither the food nor Sanji himself for granted.
Then there is his hair. It’s too long, impractical, even, especially with the way it falls over his left eye, no doubt obscuring much of his vision. On top of all that, it makes Sanji’s grooming routine annoyingly long. But it’s also always so shiny, soft, just the right amount of wavy, and it always frames his face just right. It even looks great after a fight, when it’s damp with sweat, messy, and curls ever so slightly more than usual. Sanji smiles even then, a more dangerous kind of smile. Sometimes, that smile is directed at Zoro, just as he’s brushing his hair back with his hand, and it makes Zoro wonder if there’s anything else that can make that messy blond hair as perfectly tousled as a long, tough fight. The moment Zoro realised he wanted to run his own fingers through those soft, blond locks was the beginning of the end for him.
The eyes, too, are a big problem. If he were the poetic, sappy type, he’d say he’s already found his All Blue, and it’s Sanji’s eyes. During breakfast, when the sun shines through the windows just right, Zoro spends much of his time looking for that moment when its light catches Sanji’s irises and makes them look brilliant, a colour Zoro doesn’t even know the name of. Golden, but unmistakably blue.
The other thing Sanji puts a ridiculous amount of time and effort into is the way he dresses. Zoro used to think he’s simply a vain person, but now he knows there’s nothing simple about the man. Sanji is only vain as much as anyone who cares about presentation is vain. Just as he makes sure each meal he prepares is as appetising, as appealing as possible, he makes sure he looks well-kempt and pleasant, and the results speak for themselves: people feel at ease around him. The way takes care of himself reflects the way he takes care of others, and, subconsciously, people can sense that. Zoro might have started taking baths a bit more frequently purely because of that realisation.
Sometimes, when Sanji wears one of his shorter shirts, the ones that he doesn’t tuck into his slacks, Zoro provokes a fight out of him just to catch a sight of his belly as the fabric rides up his torso. Of course, he’s seen Sanji shirtless plenty of times, just as much as the other guys in the crew, but there’s something uniquely entrancing about having only a taste of something, of the promise of more just beyond reach, even when he’s seen what that “more” is, probably especially because he’s seen it and knows it’s gorgeous.
When it comes to upper-body strength, Zoro’s well ahead of the cook. He lifts more than the cook’s body weight as a warm-up, and it shows in the musculature of his entire body, yet there’s something about Sanji’s more understated physique that he finds so appealing. Maybe he likes that, as strong as he is, he’s still delicate, or at least appears to be. Maybe he likes the juxtaposition of toughness and sensitivity within Sanji, both outside and inside. Maybe he likes the idea of protecting him when he can’t protect himself, which is hardly ever, but that just makes those rare moments even more special and meaningful. And maybe, just maybe, he wants to know what it feels like to have him in his arms, to hold someone as gentle as he is powerful.
He’s like Zoro and he isn’t. Like Zoro, he’s dauntless, able to follow him into battle and hold his own; but he’s also whip-smart, able to think outside the box in the midst of battle and turn the tides in their favour with a subtle, yet crucial move. Most unlike Zoro is how he’s sensitive, cognizant of the feelings of those around him, able to put them at ease with his charm and kindness. All in all, Sanji is everything Zoro could possibly want or need.
Yet there is just one, huge problem: Sanji is a lovesick fool.
Zoro might have had to concede that he is, after all, capable of developing feelings for someone, even if that someone is the “lovecook,” as he lamely calls him sometimes, but romance? That’s wholly outside his comfort zone. No one, absolutely no one would ever accuse Zoro of being romantic. That’s never been a problem, and for the most part, continues to remain not a problem, except when it comes to Sanji.
Zoro doesn’t know why, but Sanji is a romantic through and through. He’s all about gestures of adoration, especially towards women, and he wears it on his sleeve. He does everything shy of shouting it from the rooftops. He’s unabashed in his efforts, even when he knows he won’t get anything in return, which at first struck Zoro as foolish. Then he realised that Sanji simply enjoys those little acts of service, giving gifts, or simply complimenting the ladies in his life. He does them for their own sake, not expecting the same kind of love and affection in return.
Except he clearly, desperately needs to be loved, too. Robin and Nami clearly understand that Sanji doesn’t do what he does as a transaction, and appreciate the gestures for what they are. Sanji gets to do what he loves, which is pamper ladies, and they get to have fantastic treats every day - it’s a fair deal. At first, Zoro found it annoying, then it became normal, but now, it’s something else. It’s not that Zoro is jealous of the pampering the ladies get from Sanji, nor of the attention. Zoro needs no pampering, and he gets plenty of his personalised brand attention from the cook. No, he’s not jealous of the ladies, and he’s not upset at the cook, he’s upset for him, because he puts all that love out there, and even though the rest of the crew loves him back, he doesn’t get the kind of love he seems to want the most.
So it’s a problem that Zoro isn’t a romantic, because he can’t give Sanji what he needs. He doesn’t do grand gestures, he just does what needs to be done. He doesn’t make things, especially not food that’s nearly as delicious as what Sanji could make, he only knows how to cut and slash. He doesn’t say kind, honeyed words, he’s blunt, gruff and vulgar.
He especially lacks the qualities that Sanji seems to be drawn to in women. He’s broad-shouldered, all firm musculature, with no soft edges. His hands are calloused from the lifetime he’s spent handling swords. He’s riddled with battlescars. He’s a brute, and Sanji has only ever expressed distaste for brutes.
Yet it’s not any of those things that give Zoro pause. Despite all that, despite Sanji’s usually one-sided adoration of the opposite sex, the only thing Zoro thinks sours his chances with the cook is that he’s so unromantic, it’s painful.
It just doesn’t come naturally to him. He doesn’t even know how to start. He can’t possibly do any of the things Sanji has already does for the ladies, because, well, those are Sanji’s things. If Zoro ever tried to pull any of that, the whole crew would start to worry that he’d suffered some kind of severe brain damage, or that he’d been replaced by an impostor, or a faulty clone. It just wouldn’t be right.
The thing is, Zoro isn’t exactly the dishonest, secretive type. Sure, he doesn’t tell his entire life story to anyone who’ll listen, but that’s not because it’s a secret, it’s because he prefers to keep his most cherished memories private. That’s different. Ultimately, Zoro is a straightforward person to a fault. He’s brutally honest, never sugarcoats a thing, tells people what he really thinks, not what they want to hear.
How does one square that? How does a man like Roronoa Zoro love, actively, reciprocally love a man like Blackleg Sanji?
‘You start small,’ Robin says.
Zoro frowns. He must look confused, because Robin elaborates.
‘Think of it this way,’ she says. ‘When you see a stray cat across the road and you want to pet it, what do you do?’
Zoro has never been the kind to want to pet stray cats, and Robin knows this and yet posed this question anyway, so Zoro humours her.
‘I go over and I pet it.’
Robin smiles.
‘As soon as you take a step towards it, the cat gets spooked and runs away. So instead, what you do is you make yourself as unimposing as possible, and you start making your way slowly towards the cat. You let it get used to your presence, and you show it that you don’t mean it any harm. If you’ve done it right, and the cat isn’t the overly anxious type, you’ll be able to reach it and pet it. And even when you’re petting it, at first it might be confused, but if you’re doing it right, it’ll start purring, and next time it sees you, it might go up to you instead.’
Zoro thinks on it for a bit. Sanji’s supposedly the cat in this analogy, and he suspects Robin might have already figured that out, despite his efforts to be as vague as possible when he came to her for advice. Obviously, he doesn’t want to “pet” Sanji, although he has fantasised about running his hands over his hair -
‘It’s not a perfect analogy,’ Robin says, abruptly ending that train of thought before it could completely derail. ‘But then, you didn’t give me much to work with.’
Her knowing smile says otherwise. It says she sees right through him. Zoro suppresses a shudder.
‘The point is that you don’t have to change anything about yourself in order to pet the cat,’ Robin says. ‘You only have to change your approach.’
Zoro is floored by how much sense that makes. How does Robin always do this? No wonder Sanji’s so taken by her, she’s a treasure.
‘How do I do that?’ Zoro asks, despite sensing that he already knows what Robin would say.
‘That’s for you to figure out,’ she says, exactly as he expected. ‘As I’m sure you will.’
Zoro sighs, thanks Robin for her help, and leaves. Why must matters of the heart be so complicated?
It takes Zoro a while, but he’s able to formulate somewhat of a plan. He’s thought about what Robin had said, and then remembered the more generally applicable lessons he’s learned when he was training back in his village. To defeat your opponent, you have to know your opponent, his master would say. Sanji isn’t an opponent, and he’s not trying to defeat him, but the logic still applies: to please Sanji, he has to know what Sanji wants. Asking is the most direct way to figure out what Sanji likes and wants, but “most direct” isn’t the goal here. The goal is subtlety. Small steps.
He starts carrying matches with him. It’s rare for Sanji to forget his lighter, but if he does, Zoro will be there, serendipitously, with a match. And since he’d already be holding the match, well, he might as well be the one to light the cigarette.
It happens once, and then twice, and then it starts happening more and more often. The cook doesn’t always let him light the cigarette, but he’s more open to a conversation afterwards, a normal one, where they can both talk honestly and clearly, not that they talk about anything particularly deep or meaningful. They live on the same ship, there’s hardly a thing one knows about that the other doesn’t, and they’re not the kind to philosophise, at least not to each other.
Another thing Zoro starts to do is letting Sanji know when he really likes a meal he makes. It always earns him one of those smiles of his that light up a room, a good enough reason in itself for him to keep going, but then he notices that Sanji starts making the meals he’s complimented more often.
There’s a twinkle in his eyes when he sees Zoro fish out a match, or look up to him from a meal he knows he likes. He looks eager, almost, as if he’s getting something out of it beyond a light or a compliment of his cooking. Zoro wants the cook to look at him like that more.
It doesn’t mean they’re no longer fighting. Zoro still wants to see him move, he still welcomes the practice, and Sanji still needs an outlet for his frustration. It’s the same, but there’s a new, different quality to it. Zoro often catches himself grinning like a madman, and he sees Sanji smiling, too. Each time, Zoro thinks I did that, I made him smile , and he grins even wider.
There’s one time, after another successful adventure saving a town from a group of villains, when they sit together during the celebration. Sanji has just finished serving the villagers food, and Zoro is several drinks in, enough to feel a proper buzz. When Sanji takes a seat next to him and downs a glass of liquor, they exchange a few words, playful banter, nothing more, but then Zoro leans in close, real close, but Sanji doesn’t seem to notice. His lips, glossy with liquor, are pulled into a pleasant smile, a sure sign that he’s enjoying this moment - a moment he’s sharing with Zoro, and no one else. For a moment, Zoro considers licking the booze off of those lips, but he sobers up and pulls away before he does something he’ll regret. Something that might spook the cat away.
There’s a big fight sometime later. It’s against a large group of pirates, a fleet’s worth of the lowest of the low, led by a cruel, cunning and charismatic man, exactly the kind who’d be able to muster such a wide assortment of pirates. They terrorise the islands of the archipelago they settled in, raiding coastal towns and merchant vessels alike. The local Marine force is not enough against them, and so the locals appealed to Luffy to free them from their reign, and Luffy, of course, agreed to it with very little convincing necessary.
That’s how they got themselves into an all-out war against the Crimson Flag Pirates. Now the Straw Hats are scattered across a small, city island deep within the archipelago. The entire island is occupied by a single town built on an incline that ends in a cliff by the sea, on top of which there’s a fortress that serves as the base of operations for the pirate fleet, and where their admiral is holed up.
It’s been a while since Zoro has seen any of the crew, and he only knows where Luffy is for sure: taking on the leader like he always does. Zoro doesn’t worry about him, he believes in his captain, but there’s someone else he’s lost track of that leaves him with a feeling of relentless unease. Logically, like always, he knows Sanji is a perfectly capable fighter, that he always makes it through these just fine, if a bit worse for wear, even when they get separated, but this time, the logic doesn’t help. Anxiety grips his stomach tighter with each minute he can’t see the cook, each minute he can’t be certain if he’s alright.
Having defeated the group he had to hold up in order to get Luffy to the fortress faster, he takes off running in the direction he thinks he might have seen the cook last. Annoyingly enough, he keeps running into hostile pirates, many of which use the locals as human shields, an offence which would have Zoro’s blood boil in and of itself, but coupled with the fact that they’re keeping him from finding his cook, well, he’s livid. Avoiding civilian casualties slows him down more than he’d like, but he knows that he can’t let himself get carried away, that there’s no one in the crew who’d want him to save them at the cost of innocent lives, especially since there’s been no indication any of them needs saving, only the uneasy feeling in his stomach, and the longing to see a flash of familiar, blond hair.
He asks each civilian he comes across if they’d seen the cook. Some of them are able to point him in a general direction, others have no idea who he’s talking about, but he doesn’t feel like he’s getting any closer, even as the sun sinks slowly towards the horizon.
Then he hears it: a familiar cry, followed by the sounds of a scuffle, coming from inside a building to his right. The door is already open, all Zoro has to do is dash through, and deeper inside, he finally sees Sanji. He’s flat on his back, arms shakily holding onto a pair of wrists. The woman above him is beautiful, in a crazy sort of way, dark brown curls falling to obscure most of her face from Zoro’s view. She’s leaning with her whole weight against Sanji’s hold, hands clasped together around a knife, the tip of which is red with blood. She pulls up and slams down over and over, attempting to break the block Sanji has above his chest, although, judging by the small spots of blood on Sanji’s deep-blue sweater, she’s already managed to get a few nicks in.
The moment Zoro sees this, he’s hauling the woman off of Sanji, and throwing her unceremoniously out a window and onto the street. He doesn’t expect her to return from that.
‘Cook, you should really…’ the words die in his throat when he sees what he couldn’t when the woman was still above Sanji. ‘Cook…’
Sanji pulls himself to sit up. His hair is tousled, just like how Zoro likes it, but he doesn’t care, because his right leg is stuck in a bear trap, and there’s a lot of blood. Way too much.
‘I know, I know,’ Sanji breathes, his voice raspier than normal. ‘I’m a fool. I just… I couldn’t…’
Zoro rushes to kneel down beside him, pushing against his shoulder to get him to lie back again.
‘You’re not a fool,’ he says. Sanji doesn’t reply, just screws his eyes shut, biting down on his lip as he fights the pain that’s no doubt searing through his leg. ‘I’m going to start wrapping this up before I free your leg. It’ll start bleeding worse once I do.’
Sanji just nods, gasping as Zoro starts wrapping a rag he pulled off a nearby table around the wound. Then, with a couple of precise cuts, he destroys the hinges of the bear trap, and removes the jagged blades still stuck in Sanji’s leg. As soon as he does so, he tightens the makeshift bandage and hurries to find something else to tie on top of it, trying his best to ignore Sanji’s pained cries and heaving breaths. He pulls the case off a pillow, cuts it into a continuous ribbon, and wraps it over the existing bandage that’s already soaked through. He does his best to be the very image of calm and confidence as he works, because he has to believe that Sanji will be alright, and he needs Sanji to believe that, too.
‘Zuh… Zoro,’ Sanji breathes, but he’s unable to say anything else as Zoro lifts him up, bridal style, and starts carrying him out of the house, taking off running as soon as he’s outside. This isn’t how he’d imagined holding the cook in his arms. Sure, he’d fantasised about protecting him, but he never actually wanted him to get hurt, and now he feels like a proper fool.
‘Save your breath, cook,’ Zoro says. ‘I can see the Sunny from here. Chopper will be there and he’ll patch you up, alright?’
‘Yeah,’ Sanji drawls. Zoro can tell he’s barely hanging on to consciousness, but he can’t let that worry him. He can’t worry at all.
‘Hey cook,’ he says. ‘I lied earlier. You are a bit of a fool.’
Sanji manages to squeeze out a chuckle, a good sign in Zoro’s book.
‘She… She tricked me,’ he says. ‘Thought she was… a civilian.’
‘You just wanted to help someone you thought needed help,’ Zoro says. He’s starting to get a bit breathless, too, running around with Sanji’s weight in his arms. He regularly lifts more than what the cook weighs, but not while running. Still, he sees the docks clear as day, and no shifting streets and identical roads will cause him to stray from the correct path, not this time. ‘Maybe it is foolish, but it makes you a good man.’
‘You… think so?’
‘I know so. Cook?’
‘Hmm?’
‘How about some seafood paella for dinner next time, yeah?’
‘I… make that… all the time.’
‘And it’s amazing each time, so you’ll have to keep making it, you hear me?’
‘I… hear you…’
‘And that creamy salmon pasta, too. You really like that one, right?’
‘Yeah.’
‘I like it, too. It takes you so long to make enough fresh pasta for all of us.’
‘You noticed?’
‘Of course. You like baking, too. You keep making those colourful little cookies for the girls. What are they called again?’
‘Macarons.’
‘Yeah, those things. You make them look like works of art. Chopper and the girls love them.’
‘You don’t, though. You only ever… you only ever liked… that mochi…’
‘That’s right, the black sesame mochi! Why did you stop making those?’
‘Luffy kept choking on them.’
Zoro chuckles, looks down, and sees Sanji has closed his eyes, but the corners of his lips are curled to a smile. How can he look so beautiful even now? There’s no time to think about that, so Zoro tightens his hold on him and pulls him closer so that his cheek is pressed against his shoulder, where he can feel his breaths even through the fabric of his shirt. The ship is still a bit away, and he can’t be sure Chopper is even anywhere near it, so he starts screaming, calling out his name.
Eventually, he finds the doctor, or rather, the doctor finds them. He leads them to a nearby building, a clinic of sorts, already full of injured, but treated civilians. Inside Chopper quickly introduces him to a local doctor he’s been working with to help the people caught up in the crossfire. The man is eager to help Chopper’s crew, and quickly determines an operation is required to repair the worst of the damage, but with Chopper’s help, they make quick work of Sanji’s injury. Chopper assures Zoro that Sanji is stable and in good hands, so he should go back to help the others, and as much as it hurts to leave Sanji right then, Zoro knows the town and the other members of the crew need him more than and unconscious Sanji, so he takes off to rejoin the fray.
The battle is won not too long after that. Luffy’s in good shape, all things considered, and the rest of the crew also got away with only minor injuries. Satisfied that he knows everyone is safe and sound, Zoro is about to start heading back towards where he left Sanji, but he realises he has no idea which way to go. Once again, it’s Chopper who ends up finding him instead, and leads him back to the clinic.
There, Sanji is awake, but high as a kite.
‘Zoro!’ He calls when he sees the swordsman enter, the goofiest smile on his face. Zoro wants to kiss him silly. His expression turns as serious as he can muster once Zoro gets close. ‘You mustn’t… don’t let Luffy eat all the mochi.’
Zoro sits down on a chair next to Sanji’s bed. His bad leg is raised atop a large pillow, and he’s been changed out of his normal clothes and into clean pyjamas, clearly from the clinic itself. Once again, Zoro is left wondering how on earth Sanji can always look so good, even while high on painkillers and clad in generic hospital pyjamas.
‘Chopper and I ate all the mochi, cook,’ he lies, brazenly. ‘There’s none left for Luffy to eat.’
‘Good, good,’ Sanji says, sinking back into his pillow. ‘You have to let me know if he… if he gets hungry again.’
‘I will.’
Sanji keeps talking, barely making sense, but Zoro does his best to respond each time, until he falls asleep again. Zoro stays for a while after that, staring at Sanji’s peaceful form. He looks angelic, and all Zoro wants to do is touch him, brush his fingers through his hair, cup his face and feel the smoothness of his skin under his thumbs as he runs them over his cheeks, but it wouldn’t be right. As long as there is a chance Sanji wouldn’t like that, he can’t.
Instead, he looks at the cook’s hands, and takes one into his own, examines it. Aside from a few plasters, it’s unharmed, and so is the other one. He gently lays the hand back down, even as his own fingers itch to join with Sanji’s, and leaves the room.
The next day, Chopper tells Sanji it’ll likely take the better part of a month for his leg to recover, possibly longer. Naturally, the cook is upset. He can’t be held back from cooking for longer than a couple of days, of course, but given that his legs are his only weapons, he’s completely barred from combat, not that the Straw Hats are eager to pick a fight. They stay at the city island for just over a week, helping them rebuild and driving out any stragglers that remain. The locals are happy to cook regional delicacies for the crew, taking that weight off of Sanji’s shoulders, who takes it in stride, and even uses this as a chance to learn some new recipes.
There are ladies fawning over him, too, but Zoro tries not to pay them any heed. Sanji basks in their attention like the lovesick idiot he is, and although Zoro does feel a pang of jealousy, he’s glad that at least they keep the cook’s mind off of his injury. It’s little comfort, however, and by the time they set sail, Zoro is happy to leave.
For his first night back on the Sunny, Sanji cooks seafood paella for dinner. The next day, for lunch, he makes creamy salmon pasta, and the day after that, he prepares a batch of black sesame mochi, but is careful to pass it out to the crew only when Luffy isn’t looking, for his own safety and continued wellbeing, of course.
It’s gotten harder for Zoro to look at him, to be near him, and resist touching him. The brief taste he got of touching him when he held him in his arms back at the island was closer and more intimate than what he ever got out of their fights, and now he wants more. Sometimes, when they talk, he can barely hear what Sanji is saying, because all he’s thinking about is how soft his hair looks and how smooth his skin is. Luckily, it seems Sanji is completely oblivious to this, and Zoro gets away with way too much staring and fantasising.
It does make Zoro wonder if Sanji genuinely hasn’t picked up on Zoro’s poorly concealed pining. Surely, anyone would have noticed something was up by now. If Zoro was the overthinking type, this train of thought would surely drive him crazy, but unlike Sanji, he isn’t, and so he’s just glad he gets to indulge in what is definitely not a childish crush for that much longer.
One afternoon, Zoro just so happens to be sharpening his swords in the galley while Sanji is experimenting with some desserts. Outside, it’s raining, the sky so dark grey, you’d be forgiven for thinking it’s nighttime. Sanji seems almost lethargic, and rather than the little smile he has when he’s making something light and simple, or the look of concentration he has when preparing his more challenging meals, he looks sombre.
‘Something wrong, cook?’ Zoro asks.
‘No, everything’s fine,’ Sanji says, his voice distant. He doesn’t even call Zoro out for showing concern more directly and sincerely than what their dynamic usually allows for.
‘You sure? You don’t seem ok.’
‘It’s just the rain,’ Sanji says. ‘It’s…’
He trails off, not even attempting to finish the sentence. He’s arranging thinly cut apple slices to look like roses atop a baking tray, but his heart is clearly not in it. Zoro sets his swords aside as quietly as he can and stands up. Slowly, just like how Robin taught him, he approaches the cook. He knows Sanji can hear him, see him from the corner of his eyes, but even as he steps next to him, he doesn’t react, just keeps folding those apple slice roses.
‘Cook,’ Zoro says, gently. Sanji sniffles and rubs at his face with his forearm.
‘Could you… go away?’ He asks, his voice shaky.
‘Is that what you want? To be alone?’
Sanji bites his lip. His eyes shimmer with unshed tears.
‘No,’ he says.
‘Then I think I should stay,’ Zoro says, leaning against the kitchen island. He can tell Sanji’s really struggling to keep his cool. He’s taking long, shaky breaths, and his hands are trembling. Despite all of that, the apple roses are immaculate. ‘You don’t have to tell me anything, if you don’t want to.’
Sanji turns away from him, and Zoro can tell he’s wiping his eyes with the hem of his shirtsleeves.
‘Suit yourself,’ Sanji says, voice a bit raw. He’s looking at the apple slices before him with renewed determination. Zoro’s hand twitches by his side, but instead of reaching for Sanji, he retakes his seat at the couch, picking up where he left off with his swords.
Minutes pass silently, except for the sound of the whetstone rubbing against the blade and the rain outside. It’s peaceful, almost meditative.
‘It’s my mother,’ Sanji says, out of the blue, breaking the silence. Zoro looks up. Sanji looks less upset than before, but still sombre. ‘The rain reminded me of her. She passed away when I was very young.’
‘Ah. She must have been a lovely lady.’
Zoro is delighted when his words bring a quiet, breathy chuckle out of the cook, and finally he’s smiling again.
‘What makes you think that, mosshead?’
‘You seem fond of her.’
‘She was very lovely. I miss her.’
The admission rings out in the otherwise silent galley. Outside, it sounds as if the rain has stopped. The light that seeps through the window is brighter, too. Zoro hears some of the crew gathering outside on the deck, which draws his attention towards the door for a moment. When he looks back at Sanji, the cook’s no longer busy with the roses. Instead, he stands before the island with his arms wrapped around himself, head hanging low, hair obstructing his face from the swordsman’s view.
Zoro’s back by his side in an instant. Sanji turns towards him, and Zoro wraps his arms around his shoulders, drawing him in close.
‘I miss her so much, Zoro,’ Sanji says, his voice muffled by the way his face is pressed against the top of Zoro’s shoulder. Zoro tightens his hold on him, and rocks ever so slightly back and forth with him.
‘I know, cook.’
‘Would it kill you to use my name just once?’
‘Sanji.’
The cook stills in his arms. Perhaps he didn’t expect Zoro to say it so quickly.
‘Sanji,’ Zoro repeats, and the tension eases out of the cook’s shoulders. He’s still letting Zoro hold him. This side of Sanji he rarely gets to see, but it’s precious to him, because it’s proof of his kind heart, softer than Zoro’s, and brighter.
Zoro moves a hand to Sanji’s hair and runs it up and down the back of his head soothingly. The cook unwraps his arms from around himself, and soon Zoro feels his fingers grabbing onto the back of his shirt. Sanji sighs, then, a few moments later, raises his head and slowly steps away, clearing his throat and bashfully looking away.
‘These apple slices won’t arrange themselves,’ he says as he turns back to the tray on the kitchen island. Zoro, who is just now registering that he actually got to hold and comfort the cook like he’d wanted to for so long, doesn’t move right away, but then catches himself just before things could get awkward. He’s almost by the door when he hears Sanji’s voice, barely loud enough for him to hear.
‘Thank you, Zoro,’ he says. Zoro smiles, but doesn’t even turn around, just raises his hand in a dismissive wave, as if to say “don’t mention it,” and leaves the kitchen.
That night, he dreams of Sanji. He dreams of exploring his body, lips brushing over collar bones and hands roving over smooth skin to the sound of soft sighs and sensual moans. He smells exactly like he had back in the kitchen: of apples and cinnamon, with a hint of cigarette smoke and high-end shampoo. He keeps gasping Zoro’s name, his arms wrapped around him, hands clawing at his back.
Zoro is disappointed to wake up alone in his hammock. It’s torturous, how real that dream felt, and how quickly the sensation of it dissipated when he was thrust back into reality. Just a few months ago, he would have been annoyed at Sanji for making him feel this way, but he feels more mature now than he did back then. Funny, how quickly a man can change.
They haven’t been fighting lately, at least not physically, because of Sanji’s bad leg. By Sanji’s account, it’s much better than it had been weeks ago, and he’s finally able to walk around without crutches, although Zoro still catches him limping when he’s on his feet for too long. No wonder Zoro’s dreams as of late have gone in this direction: he’s more pent up than ever without his usual outlet for frustration.
With each day, the thoughts of touching him get more and more intrusive and distracting, to the point where Zoro starts to worry about it affecting his ability to perform his duties.
He has to reach the proverbial cat and pet it soon, he decides. But how does one even go about such a thing?
‘Beats me.’
Zoro grunts out a sigh, shoulders slumping as he leans further over Nami’s work desk.
‘Lots of help you are,’ he complains. ‘Forget I asked.’
‘Actually,’ Nami says, before Zoro could fully get up from the stool next to her seat, ‘there might be something.’
Zoro sits back down and crosses his arms.
‘Well? What are you waiting for? Get to it.’
Nami rolls her eyes, but her lips are curled up in a smile, telling Zoro that she’s already over his behaviour.
‘Well, they say everyone has their own love language,’ she says. ‘Sanji’s seems to have all of them combined.’
Zoro sputters.
‘Who said anything about the cook?’
Nami gives him a coy, knowing look.
‘Please, who else could it be? I’m pretty sure he’s the only one who hasn’t noticed your- well, actually, Luffy probably hasn’t noticed, either, but that’s because he’s just that dense.’
Zoro grunts, but cannot find a single, believable way to protest what she’s saying. Nami has a look on her face like she knows she has won.
‘Now, back to Sanji and love languages. He gives lots of gifts in the form of food and beverages, that’s one of them. Acts of service is another, and need I even explain how that applies to him? Words of affirmation, too. He lays those on thick. Then there is quality time, which happens pretty much by default, with how much time we spend together on this ship. That only leaves physical touch, and he… Huh. I guess I haven’t seen him all that touchy-feely. Weird.’
Zoro thinks back to how Sanji reacted to his hug. At first, he was tense, but after a while, he’d practically melted into his arms, clearly enjoying the contact. Zoro had noticed even before he’d gone to Robin for help that the cook wasn’t getting the kind of love he’s been putting out into the world, but maybe, the kind he needs the most is the kind he’s been holding back on himself. Which is fortuitous for Zoro, because all he’s been able to think about for the past few months is physical touch.
‘So, what? Will any kind of touch do?’ He asks Nami.
‘What? No no no no, you have to be smart about it!’ She says. ‘Maybe start with casual touches, like on the shoulder, or the upper back, and if he’s receptive, you can start going for the lower back or hip, and then hands… Look, I’m not gonna list all the possibilities, you figure that part out! I’m just saying, don’t go for the ass or something equally inappropriate right away.’
Zoro huffs.
‘What, you take me for some kind of pervert?’
Nami shrugs.
‘Sanji’s a bit of a pervert.’
Zoro manages to prevent his brain from short-circuiting, because he’s been feeling a bit perverted lately, too.
‘I don’t- what do you- What’s that got to do with this?’
Nami gives him another smile, this one bordering on evil.
‘I’m just messing with you,’ she says. ‘It’s so easy! Anyway, was that all?’
Zoro tries to remember if there’s anything else he wanted to ask, but he’s not exactly on top of things at the moment. On top of things. There’s one guy he’s like to be on-
He shakes his head before that train of thought could take him anywhere. Now is not the time! Focus, Roronoa!
‘Yes, that’s all,’ he croaks. He stands up completely, this time, and all but rushes out of the library.
The next time he joins Sanji as he talks with the rest of the crew, he takes the opportunity to ever so casually put his hand on his back, sufficiently far up for it not to be intimate at all, and Sanji doesn’t flinch at all, and maybe Zoro’s just imagining it, but he’s fairly certain he’s leaning into his touch. That’s encouraging.
From then on, he takes every opportunity to put his hand on his back or his shoulder. Every once in a while, he places his hand lower on his back, or further across, until his arm is over both his shoulder, or wrapped around his waist, and that surprises Sanji the first couple of times, but other than that, he doesn’t seem to mind.
But it’s not like they’re all amicable and lovey-dovey all of a sudden. The bickering and the getting on each other’s nerves is still there, except sometimes they do it while Zoro has his arm over Sanji’s shoulders, or while Sanji’s smoking a cigarette Zoro has lit for him. That and the (friendly) violence has always been a part of their relationship, and there’s no reason it can’t coexist with whatever it is Zoro’s trying to do now.
It gets a bit confusing after a while, and a bit frustrating, because while Sanji does seem to like Zoro’s affectionate touches and half-hugs, he rarely ever reciprocates, or touches Zoro first. This is something that has to be cleared up, else Zoro will feel like a proper creep for all the time he just assumed Sanji was fine with all the physical contact from him.
‘I can stop if you don’t like it,’ Zoro blurts out. Sanji looks up from the tea he’s pouring for himself and the members of the crew that also like the beverage. He seems confused by Zoro’s words, so he rushes to clarify. ‘The touching. I realise I might have been a bit… presumptuous.’
Sanji seems to be frozen in place.
‘No it’s… I, uh,’ he stammers, looking anywhere but at Zoro. ‘You didn’t do anything wrong. I don’t mind it.’
Is it just the light in the galley, or is Sanji blushing? While it’s a relief that the cook isn’t actually bothered by his touching, the question at the heart of the matter remains unanswered.
‘Cook… Sanji,’ Zoro says, stepping closer to him. Sanji’s left eye is completely covered by his hair when he looks at him, his right one glittering in the low light of the galley. Zoro places a hand on his shoulder, slowly lowering it to his upper arm, eyes half-lidded as he watches the wrinkles in the shirt’s material that form in his hand’s wake and takes in how his arm, not as trained as his own, but still firm with musculature, feels beneath his palm. ‘Do you want me to stop?’
‘I… I don’t…’
‘Or do you want more?’
Zoro’s eyes meet Sanji’s visible one once more. The cook’s staring back at him, his previous blush returning with a vengeance, and his lips part, but for a while, no words leave them.
‘How… what would that entail?’ He finally asks, his voice shaky.
Zoro steps closer to him and wraps an arm around his waist, the other reaching towards his face, the very tips of his index and middle finger brushing against the underside of his chin before reaching to tuck his hair behind his ear. Those wide, blue eyes are staring right back at Zoro’s. Then his eyelids flutter and his gaze drops further down, and he takes a deep, shaky breath.
‘What are you doing?’ He whispers, but stays how he is.
‘What does it feel like I’m doing?’ Zoro asks. He trails Sanji’s jaw with the back of his fingers, and the cook trembles for just a moment.
‘It feels like… you’re caressing me,’ Sanji says, his gaze lowering so that Zoro can barely see his irises through his eyelashes. Zoro raises both hands to Sanji’s head, gently settling them on each side of his face, which gets him to look up at him again.
‘What else?’
‘You’re confusing me,’ Sanji breathes.
‘What’s confusing you?’
Sanji bites his lip, sucks in a deep breath.
‘It feels like… like maybe you…’
The words die in his throat, and abruptly, he steps away from Zoro, hugging his arms to his torso and turning around, hip pressed against the kitchen island. Zoro feels a searing pang of disappointment in his chest. He fights through it, placing his hand on Sanji’s shoulder once again, gently nudging him to turn around. Sanji only turns halfway, his hair once again falling into his face to hide his eyes.
‘Please just tell me,’ he says. ‘What do you want from me?’
‘I just want… you.’
‘Me?’
Sanji’s voice breaks. He sounds so surprised and confused, as if it’s so unbelievable that Zoro would want him.
‘You, Sanji.’
Zoro steps closer once again, and once again, Sanji lets him. Zoro grabs Sanji’s hands, pries them off his arms, places them on his own shoulders, then wraps his own arms around his waist. They’re close enough to feel each other’s breaths.
‘Why?’ The cook asks. It’s such an absurd question to Zoro, for a moment, he doesn’t even know how to respond. He just wants to kiss the stupid bastard.
‘Because that’s how I feel,’ he says.
‘But…’
‘Do you need me to spell it out for you, cook?’ Zoro asks. He doesn’t give Sanji a chance to respond before he leans forward so that his mouth is by Sanji’s ear.
‘I haven’t been able to take my eyes off you for months,’ he whispers. ‘It’s been driving me crazy, how much I wanted to hold you, just like this. I’ve been dreaming of your scent, your hair, your eyes, your skin, your voice, your smile. I wake up disappointed every day, because you’re not in my arms.’
Sanji trembles once more. He pulls his head back so he can look Zoro in the eyes. Zoro holds his wide-eyed gaze with a stern, honest look of his own. He puts all the adoration and longing he feels into that look.
‘Zoro,’ Sanji breathes. He looks overwhelmed. Tears gather in the corners of his eyes. His lip quivers. ‘That’s… No one’s ever… No one’s ever said anything like that to me.’
‘It’s true,’ Zoro says. ‘Every word. I meant all of it, I mean all of it, Sanji. I want you, but if you don’t want me, I’ll step away and-’
‘No!’ Sanji says. ‘No, I… I think I want… to try. Whatever it is you mean, I want to try.’
Relief floods Zoro so hard, he feels a bit light headed. He leans forward, resting his forehead against Sanji’s, and sighs, grinning like a fool.
‘You want to try, huh?’ He says, barely above a whisper. ‘How’s this for a start: can I kiss you?’
Sanji swallows. Their lips are already so close to each other.
‘Yes,’ he breathes, and he’s barely done saying the word when Zoro’s lips brush against his. It’s gentle at first, but then Zoro tightens his hold around him, bringing him closer, into a deeper kiss. Sanji’s arms loop around Zoro’s neck as he kisses back, sighing as one of Zoro’s hands finds its way to the back of his head, fingers tangling with his soft, golden locks. They pull away slowly, ending the kiss just as gently as it started, once again resting their foreheads against each other.
Zoro feels like he’s soaring. That kiss was everything he wanted and more. Sanji let him kiss him, and he’s still there, in his arms, not pulling away!
‘Will you let me do that again?’ He asks.
Sanji buries his face in the fabric of Zoro’s shirt between his neck and his shoulder.
‘I’d like that,’ he says, voice muffled. Somewhere along the way, he wrapped his arms around Zoro’s torso, while Zoro’s still got one hand on the back of his head, the other arm around his waist. They hold each other like that until Sanji remembers the tea, which is slowly going cold and still needs serving, and that’s where the moment ends, but Zoro can rest easy, knowing he’ll get another chance to do this again, and maybe another one after that. He’ll keep going as long as Sanji lets him, that much is certain.
‘I didn’t know you had it in you to be so romantic.’
Zoro cracks an eye open, and catches sight of Sanji lying next to him. He’s somehow more gorgeous than ever, his bare skin bathed in warm, morning light. Zoro’s arm is wrapped around his back, while his own is draped across Zoro’s chest, and he feels so good pressed against him. Zoro takes it all in with a deep breath, pulling Sanji closer as he does so, getting a good whiff of the scent of his shampoo.
‘I wake up disappointed because you’re not in my arms,’ Sanji quotes, putting on a voice that barely resembles Zoro’s, although the accent is fairly spot on. He grins as he sets his chin between Zoro’s shoulder and his peck. ‘Where do you get that from?’
Zoro chuckles.
‘Nowhere. I said it because it’s true,’ he says. ‘This is my first good morning in a while.’
Sanji’s face turns red once more, and he buries his face in Zoro’s chest.
‘You’re doing it again,’ he whines. Zoro kisses the top of his head.
‘I’m sorry, cook,’ he says. ‘I’ll never say a sappy thing to you again.’
Sanji picks his head up comically fast, his expression somewhere between pouty and alarmed.
‘Don’t you dare!’
Zoro grins like an idiot. Sanji can tell he’s kidding, so he rests his chin on Zoro’s chest again, a peaceful look on his face. Zoro’s grin relaxes into a soft smile, as he stares back at Sanji. The ship rocks lightly upon the wavy ocean. A ray of sunlight catches Sanji’s eyes just right, and Zoro watches in awe as it turns them into his favourite colour: his very own Golden Blue.