Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Shoveling the last piece of food into his mouth, Zoro let out a loud burp of satisfaction before putting aside his tenth empty plate. All around him people were eating and drinking, dancing and singing, celebrating their newfound freedom after Arlong’s defeat. He managed to make it in time for the second night of celebrations, ignoring the doctor’s strict orders of uninterrupted bedrest. He wasn’t going to miss free booze and food, the thankful villagers pushing both into his hands whenever they could.

Set on getting more beer, Zoro started lifting himself up only to fall right back on his ass. The painful throbbing in his wounds became burning agony as soon as he tried to move, the scar across his stomach protesting the most as it bulged with the food he ate. Apparently, he was grounded where he sat for at least a couple more hours.

Zoro was about to give up on more booze and just go to sleep where he was when a full tankard of beer was pushed into his face.

“How’re your wounds?”

It was the new cook with the weird eyebrows that just joined their crew, a lit cigarette in his mouth and his own tankard of beer in his other hand. Zoro took the mug with a thankful grunt and downed half of it in one quick gulp. There was a disgusted sound before a soft thump as the cook sat in front of him, sipping his beer at a more leisurely pace.

They drank in silence while the party went on around them. Zoro didn’t bother to answer the question - the pain was still agonizing, the beer not enough to really dull it, but there was no point in the crew knowing. Zoro refused to let the pain slow him down anymore.

Looking for a distraction, he looked at the cook again. The guy was a complete idiot, falling head over heels in love with every random woman he saw. Nami already had him whipped, which only bode more trouble for Zoro in the future. The guy was probably more pain than he was worth.

…Or was he? His mind started bringing up memories from Arlong Park the day before last, visions of quick kicks being delivered without pause. The hits landed one after the other, each more powerful than the last, aim always precise. The guy was agile but still strong, and not half bad at reading the flow of battle to understand what he had to do. Zoro’s wounded pride wasn’t going to quickly forget how, at one of the times Zoro collapsed from his open wounds, the cook appeared just in time to block a hit meant for Zoro.

No one could deny the cook fought well, whether alone or by Zoro’s side. A useful idiot, but still an idiot.

Wasn’t that a perfect way to describe their entire crew.

Sighing, Zoro finished his beer before complying. “They’re fine.”

“Huh?” was the confused response from across him. He either forgot his own question, or believed Zoro wasn’t going to offer any answer.

Zoro cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable with actually holding a pleasant conversation. “Doctor said they got infected to hell, making them a lot worse. But I’m fine.”

The cook stared at him in silence, one curly brow raised high. “Sure you are,” he replied, voice thick with sarcasm that made Zoro scowl.

Another awkward silence. Zoro shouldn’t have bothered, should’ve just gone to sleep right then and there in the cook’s face without giving a crap what the other thought. But if they were going to be in the same crew, if they were going to face even more powerful enemies and keep fighting side by side, if they were going to be nakama, he should at least try to talk to the guy.

“It was impressive, you know.” Zoro snapped out of his thoughts to see the cook lighting up another cigarette as he watched the stars twinkle above them. “Your torso was basically cut in half, and you kept bleeding and almost fainting—”

“That wasn’t going to stop—“

“Shut up,” the cook growled, now looking at Zoro. He looked annoyed at the interruption, but there was a glint similar to glee in his uncovered eye. “You were basically dying, yet you still beat that shitty octopus and fought Arlong until Luffy was free.” He leaned back, the glint now a wide grin. “That’s impressive.”

Zoro looked away, a grunt his only response. Shit like that was always embarrassing, even more so coming from the cook. He wasn’t sure how to react, if he should even say anything. In times like these he wished for more beer, or some other cup of booze to hide his face in.

“Of course, only a suicidal idiot would fight in that state in the first place,” the cook smirked at him, blowing a cloud of smoke right into his face.

Useful, idiotic jackass.

Whatever embarrassed flush stained his face before was now a burning red as indignant anger filled Zoro. “Says the curly moron who tried to fight a fishman underwater,” he mocked through clenched teeth.

“Tried to?! I beat the bastard to a pulp, could’ve served him as dinner if I wanted to!”

“And having your organs explode from the water pressure was also a part of your brilliant plan?”

“It’s better than bleeding to death thanks to your own stupidity!”

Infuriating, useful, idiotic jackass.

They were both growling at that point, hell-bent on one upping the other. Zoro’s hand itched to grab and unsheathe Wado, noticing the other’s legs flexing in anticipation. Wounded or not, they were on the edge of escalating into a physical fight when their raised voices got unwanted attention.

Two rubber arms stretched and wrapped around each of their necks, giving them mere seconds to process what would come next, before Luffy crashed into them. Giggling maniacally as they lied in a heap on the ground, he used his grip to pull both men into a tight hug. “I could hear you having fun! I want in!”

The cook pulled away from the hug and stood up, only to glare down at the menace they called their captain. “What the hell do you consider fun? And don’t use us as a landing mat!” He punctuated every other word with a painful kick to Luffy’s ribs, though it did nothing to stop his bubbling laughter. Zoro pushed up but remained sitting on the ground, trying to feign disinterest in the conversation.

That plan failed him spectacularly the moment Luffy opened his big mouth. “I was happy ‘cause Zoro and Sanji are already good friends!”

Both of their jaws dropped, Zoro letting out an obnoxious “huh?!” right when the cook screamed “what the fuck?!”. Their synchronized responses had them glaring at each other, Luffy only laughing louder.

“Yup! Zoro and Sanji are gonna be best friends! I just know it!” What Zoro would’ve given to slice that self-satisfied smile right off Luffy’s face. He made a swipe at Luffy’s neck, ready to strangle him to death then find a new captain, but the movement tugged hard at his stitches. The sudden flare of pain coupled with Luffy’s earlier impact was agonizing, his chest constricting so much he barely managed to get a breath in.

He probably looked pathetic, sitting frozen in place with his arm half-way towards Luffy. Great, another reason for the cook to mock him.

“Hey Luffy, there was some melon and prosciutto on that last table. It was really good…” the sentence wasn’t finished and Luffy was already sprinting away to search for whatever meat the cook mentioned.

They were left in silence once again. Zoro clenched his teeth; he refused to be thankful towards the cook for distracting Luffy. Besides, he probably only did it to mock Zoro without their captain around. Whatever insulting remark or pitying look the cook had for Zoro’s weakness, he was going to face them head on. Lifting his head, he saw an understanding look on the cook’s face before another cigarette was lit, the thick smoke obstructing Zoro’s line of sight.

Soft, infuriating, useful, idiotic jackass.

Somehow, it was more embarrassing than the pity he expected.

When he spoke, the cook’s voice was quieter than before. “How did you know?”

Confused, Zoro just stared at the other until he huffed and continued on.

“You had your chest cut in half, got it infected and bleeding, but you still acted as if there was no chance you were going to die here,” he stated matter-of-factly, stare boring into Zoro’s and causing his chest to clench even harder, “How did you know that?”

Zoro pretended to consider the question, watching the cook’s patience run out at the same fast pace his cigarette burned. “’Cause I can’t die yet,” he finally answered, tone serious while his mind drifted far away, to a hill under that same moonlight, “not before I reach my goal.”

The cook rolled his eyes but deflated a little. “Conviction isn’t enough to defy death.”

“Your conviction just isn’t strong enough.”

The cook looked pissed, his hands clenching into fists. He seemed to consider whether Zoro’s wounded body could take a few more kicks, his thigh flexing and unflexing. The fire in his eyes – the one that matched Zoro’s and promised a good fight – had a desperation in it, and suddenly Zoro really understood the question.

Soft, infuriating, useful, insecure, idiotic jackass.

“Yet,” Zoro added before the cook could decide how hard to kick him. “It’s like a muscle; train your conviction until it’s as strong as your body.” Staring right into that one blue eye, Zoro let the ferocious grin he saves for exciting fights grow on his lips. “Train your conviction to defy death.”

That message remained in the air between them for a moment, their gazes connected as understanding seemed to seep through the cook. Zoro got to watch as the glint from the beginning of their conversation returned to that blue eye, how it sparkled with new ideas.

It only lasted a second before the cook looked away from him. “What a waste of time. It was my fault, thinking moss could be a decent conversation partner.” His taunting words lacked any real bite, barely hiding the true appreciation underneath them. Zoro didn’t challenge him on it.

“I’m gonna find me a cute girl,” the cook said as farewell.

Before he managed to walk away, Zoro quickly grabbed at his coat and tugged. “Hey, love-cook.”

“Yeah, shitty swordsman?” he looked back, that ridiculous curled eyebrow raised once more. Foregoing a verbal reply, Zoro just raised his empty tankard. “If I get you four beers, will you leave me alone for the rest of the night?” the cook sighed, and Zoro was more than happy to comply with a shit-eating grin.

A few minutes later, Zoro was surrounded by mugs of beer and the cook was free to chase any skirt he noticed. Drinking merrily, Zoro watched as the first woman declined a dance before running away with her friends, leaving behind a heartbroken cook. At least until he noticed another one, hearts in his eyes as he ran to another area of the party.

Yup, their cook was a perverted, soft, infuriating, useful, insecure, idiotic jackass.

Chapter Text

-o-

“I’m not wearing that.”

Sanji glanced up from the clothing rack he was flitting through, fixing Zoro with a look . 

The swordsman had his arms crossed over his chest, ever-present scowl plastered to his face as he glared at the shirt the cook had set aside for him. Sanji surveyed the shirt he had chosen once more, an innocent enough piece of clothing at a size large enough to accommodate the musclehead. 

“Yes, you are.” Sanji said, turning back to the rack. 

“No, I’m not .” Zoro replied hotly. 

Sighing, Sanji turned back to the other man, giving him a critical once over. In the small amount of time they had been sailing together, Sanji had come to the conclusion that despite owning all of one shirt, Zoro did not take care of said shirt. It was permanently sweat stained, always smelled as such, had been stretched mercilessly, and had the beginnings of various small holes. 

Sanji had taken on the job of getting the boys a few new items as an act of charity more for that poor shirt than anything else. 

“Fine, then pick something else out.” The cook muttered, more focused now on what to get Luffy. Probably something sleeveless. 

There was silence for a few moments before the heavy footfalls of Zoro moved to another clothing rack, hangers clanking as he rummaged around. Sanji occupied himself with his own option, feeling the stitches along a soft yellow button up. 

“All of these have collars .” Zoro grunted, once more stomping over to glare at Sanji like the collars were somehow his fault. 

The cook ignored him for a minute, grabbing a soft purple shirt for Usopp. His eye caught on a plain gray button up, similar to the first one he had gotten the mosshead, and he picked it up, turning to press it to Zoro’s chest. 

“Just try one on. If you actually hate it then fine, you can leave and stop bothering me.” 

Frankly Sanji was surprised Zoro had even stuck around long enough to complain. Usually the guy disappeared to get lost somewhere on the island at the first opportunity, so Sanji wasn't about to push his luck past the current state. If he could get the idiot into one new shirt, he’d count it as a win. 

Zoro took the shirt, still glaring in a way that he probably thought was intimidating. Sanji rolled his eyes at the show, ushering him to the changing room. The shop attendant eyed them warily, the mosshead’s swords probably not looking very friendly. 

Barely a minute passed before Zoro shoved aside the curtain again, shirt noticeably unbuttoned and inside out. 

“It doesn't fit.” He grunted, shoving at the sleeves. 

“Are you being like this just to annoy me?” Sanji said, grabbing Zoro’s arm before he could rip the fabric. “Or do you just naturally have the disposition of a toddler?” 

“ You’re the one-”

Sanji silenced him by expertly tugging the shirt down over his arms, spinning the swordsman around to finish removing the rest of the shirt. He shook the fabric once, carefully drawing the sleeve back out so it was no longer inside out, before grabbing Zoro's arms and sliding them back through. 

It was surprisingly easy to manhandle the swordsman, his body stiffening only at the initial touch before relaxing. He allowed Sanji to slip the other arm in and then be turned around, standing still as he was dressed, not unlike a pouting child. 

Sanji didn't think much of it as he buttoned up the rest of the shirt. His fingers grazed the skin of a collarbone, resulting in a small intake of breath that the cook ignored, finishing the job before the complaints could begin. 

The result was a somewhat demure Zoro. Somewhere between the first and last button he seemed to have calmed down a little, the scowl softening to a slightly annoyed but not entirely hostile expression. 

“See? It's soft, right?” Sanji pressed, grimacing as Zoro sniffed at his sleeve. Such a god damn animal. 

“…it's alright.” He grunted. 

The cook rolled his eyes at the response, stepping back to take in the whole picture of a one Roronoa Zoro, for once not ungodly filthy. Certainly better, but the button up hardly matched his loose pants and tired boots. 

He glanced behind him at the pile of clothes for the rest of the boys, then the sales clerk. She perked up as she caught Sanjis eye, trotting over expectantly. 

“So sorry to trouble you mellorine, but if you could bring me a selection of trousers, preferably a cotton polyester blend, warm darks?” He asked politely, giving her a smile as he gestured to the mosshead. 

“Oi!” Zoro grabbed at Sanji's shoulder, turning his back to face him. “I didn’t say I’d try on anything else!” 

Sanji mouthed the words one moment to the shop assistant, rounding on Zoro. 

“We’ve been sailing together for weeks now, and I’ve seen you change clothes exactly zero times.” He hissed, honestly ashamed to even be in the same room as someone so unhygienic. “I don’t know who told you it was ok to wear the same clothes until mold grew on them, but it’s disgusting as well as unhealthy.” 

“Just because I’m not a priss -,”

“ And I know you don’t own underwear.” Sanji cut in, ignoring his own twitch of embarrassment over actually knowing such a travesty. Alas, the ship was small. 

Zoro turned a startling shade of red for a moment before crushing whatever emotion was on his face with a renewed scowl. 

“Didn’t realize my wardrobe was so important to you, cook.” He gritted out between clenched teeth, the remains of a blush still high on his cheeks. 

Sanji rolled his eyes for what felt like the tenth time that hour, crossing his arms and fixing the swordsman with his own scowl. 

“Would you fucking grow up? You’re not some kid running away from bath time, you’re a grown man who smells. Badly , by the way.”

Zoro remained in a state of embarrassed anger until the assistant returned with a pile of pants, and he turned to say something to her. 

Sanji stepped between them fluidly, taking the trousers quickly and thanking her. He spun back around in the same breath, pressing the clothing to the moss heads chest as he pushed the man back into the changing room. 

“Just try them on like a good little marimo and maybe I’ll reward you with some booze later.” Sanji added as he closed the curtain, waiting to see if Zoro would actually continue to comply without further fight. 

Silence, then a long exhale and the sound of clothes rustling. The cook grinned triumphantly, turning back to pursue a few more clothing racks as he waited. He grabbed a few more large shirts for the other man, all soft and basic, a few sleeveless just to be nice. 

The assistant sidled up next to him with a few more items, the smile on her face different than the usual customer service one. 

“My partner’s the same way. Always throws a fuss over shopping and leaves me to do all the work.” She said, holding out a few surprisingly high quality socks that would pair perfectly with the new pants. “I suppose it's for the best though, seeing as I’m the one with an eye for fashion.” 

Sanji took the socks, on the verge of clarifying that partner was a little too nice a word for whatever the hell he and Zoro were. Sparring partners he supposed, if you were generous in what you considered sparring vs outright trying to hurt each other. Friends? He’d like to think so, but it was still hard to get a read on Zoro. Yes he admired the guys conviction and he’d be an idiot to not see that Zoro was strong, but Sanji didn’t have a lot of experience with people his own age. His interactions mostly subsisted on the cooks at the Baratie who were all at least a decade older, and whoever he’d gotten into a fight with on that particular day. 

But at the end of all those days the men Sanji had tussled with left. They didn’t come back for more with a wild grin on their face saying let’s fight, curly. 

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the curtain being drawn back, and Sanji turned to survey the mosshead. Zoro, fist still clutching the curtain, looked unhappy and tired but not half bad. 

“Well look at you!” Sanji said, clapping his hands sarcastically. “A proper member of society! How does it feel to exist without causing harm to everyone with a sense of smell?”

“Do you ever shut up?” Zoro hissed, tugging at his collar. 

Sanji ignored the comment, instead stepping forward and lifting the swordsman's hem to examine the waists of the pants. Zoro let out a startled half choking noise as the cook tugged lightly at the belt loops, making sure the size was right. A little loose but probably preferable for the idiot wearing them anyways. 

“How do these feel? We might want to get you a belt.” He suggested, pulling the shirt back into place and then smoothing the material back down. He paused, mentally shrugged and began undoing the buttons, figuring Zoro needed to take the thing off and try on more things anyways. 

“Kinda handsy, aren’t you?” Zoro muttered, and Sanji paused, glancing at his face. 

The vivid flush had returned to his face, still paired with the scowl that was directed at a further wall. He was pointedly looking away from the man currently taking off the shirt on his person. 

So marimos were human after all. Who’d have thought. 

“Your earlier attempts at dressing didn’t exactly inspire confidence.” Sanji replied breezily, still taking care to step back. “But if it makes you uncomfortable I won’t touch. I should have asked first actually, sorry.” 

Zoro looked so surprised by the genuine apology Sanji almost felt insulted. Then he just looked confused, and then awkward, and really very much like a pitifully lost child. 

“No, it’s fine. Just- caught me off guard.” He grunted, scratching at the exposed area of his chest. 

Sanji eyed him critically a moment, making sure he was being honest. He’d met men before that didn’t want to admit to having sensitivity in any area, a common trait usually amount the overly muscled ones. Still, Roronoa Zoro has only ever been honest with him before, something the cook both appreciated and envied just a bit. 

“Does it-,” the swordsman began, then paused, back to looking deeply awkward. He grimaced, took a breath, tried again. “Does it look- nice?”

He flinched on the last word as if it had physically pained him to ask, and Sanji had enough tact to not laugh at the man. 

They were 19 after all. The demon of the east had been fighting with swords over half life, but shopping? Trying on clothes? Who was Sanji to judge if this was all new and strange to him. Better to encourage it more than anything. 

“Very nice.” Sanji said, cracking a half grin as he added, “for a plant.”

The hesitant flush on Zoro's face came without anger this time, making him look like a proper teenager. He surveyed himself carefully, lifting his arms, bending his knees. Still a little hopeless looking, but with promise. 

“Soooo,” the cook pressed, ushering the shop assistant back with the other pile of trousers. “Will you try on some more?”

He bit his lip as Zoro looked at him, the pile of pants, then his current outfit. His eyes settled back on Sanji for a long time, calculating some unseen sum and checking the answer. Not knowing what else to do, Sanji gave him a smile. Maybe the 5th real one he'd actually given the guy since they began sailing together. 

“Fine.” Zoro huffed, only the slightest hint of annoyance in his voice. “But don’t think I’ve forgotten about the booze you promised.” 

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Marimo.” Sanji replied easily, taking the pile of clothes from the attendant. 

Chapter Text

They were two weeks and a storm away from Chopper’s place when Usopp spotted a spring island.

Even though the bitter cold bite of Drum’s winter had been a fun challenge, Zoro had to admit that the soft, warm breeze under a clear blue sky was a welcome change. The warmth seemed to have improved everyone’s mood, the crew chatting excitedly as they made their plans to explore the island.

Zoro’s own mood couldn’t help picking up the excitement. It was the only reason he found himself going along with Nami and Vivi’s shopping trip with barely a complaint and certainly was not because they were on a shopping trip to find a birthday present for the Cook.

“Surely it’d have to be a suit,” he heard Vivi say, a frown on her face as she scanned through the storefronts of the various boutiques along the street.

“We don’t know his sizes, though,” Nami replied, looking just as concerned as Vivi did.

Vivi nodded. “And it’s going to be so hard asking him about it without getting found out—”

“We don’t need to ask,” Zoro said without thinking, their earlier shopping trip weeks ago immediately came to mind. “I know his sizes.”

The conversation screeched to a halt, and the girls turned to give him twin bewildered stares. 

“Do you even know what we’re talking about?” Nami asked as she gestured at Zoro’s… everything, and while Zoro felt like he should be insulted by that, he looked down to see his usual one-size-too-small shirt, his favorite haramaki that had seen better days, and black, oversized pants, with a stain that was probably blood. So honestly? Fair.

“Cut me some slack, Witch,” he said instead. “‘s just numbers.”

“Bushido-san,” Vivi said, clearly equally skeptical but had half the mind to be more polite about it than Nami. “Do you know what exactly those numbers are referring to?”

Zoro tried to remember Sanji’s long-winded ramblings on them, but came up with nothing—he had pretty much tuned the guy out, preferring to observe the excited way Sanji move his hands as he spoke. Out of curiosity , of course—not because he had been fascinated by the way Sanji’s smile had lit up his whole face.

“See?” Nami said, taking Zoro’s silence the wrong way, “he doesn’t know.”

“Doesn’t need to,” he corrected her, “never cared about that shit. Look, you want them or not?”

Nami crossed her arms. “You still remember them?”

Zoro rattled them off easily—all eighteen numbers Sanji wouldn’t shut up about. He couldn’t deny it was pretty satisfying to see the girls’ eyes slowly widening in surprise as they took down some notes and slowly realizing that Zoro, for once, was not talking out of his ass.

“…these do seem to be the right ones,” Nami admitted, after a moment of contemplation. She was still staring at her note, as if someone would jump out of a random bush and tell her this had all been an elaborate lie if she stared at it long enough.

“Told you so,” he said, because he could.

Vivi tilted her head, eyes shining with curiosity.

“Bushido-san,” she suddenly asked, “What about other birthday gifts?”

Zoro balked. “I thought we’re done?”

“Oh, it’s for plan B, you know,” Nami chimed in. “Just in case there’s no good tailor on this island to make the suits fast enough.”

Zoro groaned, because she did have a point. “Okay. Ugh,” he scratched the back of his head, racking his brain. “A new… mixer maybe? Is that what it’s called? But not the small kind you can carry around — this big thing, around this size,” he gestured, trying to pantomime the appliance he had seen countless times in the galley. “It’s different from the small one ‘cause you can just leave it behind to do its thing. The one the Cook had just broke, and he had to divide everyone’s share into smaller chunks so he could mix them using the small one for the past few weeks.”

“Any other ideas?” Vivi asked.

“His old apron looks pretty beaten up?” He tried. “You know, the pink one with the stupid panda on it. Curly showed me a brochure from the News Coo a few days ago, pretty sure the brand just came out with some new designs. Fuck if I know what’s good about them, though.” 

“Anything else?” Nami pressed, this time.

“This isn’t something he needs, but you know how Cook likes to write his recipes all fancy and shit? And he also annotates his encyclopedia like a nerd?” Zoro said, half-spitballing now, because somehow he felt like he was being interrogated for a crime he didn’t even know he’d committed. “He uses these different kinds of colored pens for them and I think he likes to collect them. We can try looking for a quill maker? Or an artisan who’s willing to design custom pens? Or…”

He trailed off, and was met with silence.

The girls were now openly watching him like he was a particularly interesting specimen, and he bristled under the scrutiny.

“What?” He snapped.

“You know, Sanji was so good at picking your birthday present,” Nami said conspiratorially, but Zoro couldn’t begin to decipher what she was even trying to imply.

“Not exactly rocket science,” he said, wondering where this conversation was even going. “You know I’d take any kind of booze.”

“Yeah, but he knows the exact kind,” Nami insisted. “Down to how it’s supposed to be served.”

“Cook’s the cook,” he pointed out. “He’d be a shit cook if he doesn’t know.”

Nami scoffed, and Zoro colored at the slip of the tongue—he practically just admitted that his usual insult of Shit Cook had been an empty one. Vivi caught on just as quickly, making a soft, oh , sound, and Zoro turned and stomped off the opposite way.

“Wait, come on, don’t be like that,” Nami sprinted by his side, and Vivi appeared on the other, boxing him with their identical teasing smiles. “No, but, seriously, though—do you know he was also the one who came up with the ideas to give you the cleaning kit and the weights?”

Okay, so that was a new information for Zoro.

Zoro had considered them to be really thoughtful gifts. The cleaning kit was not some low quality, off brand kits you could get for a couple of berries—it was a particular brand he liked, a little on the expensive side, and one of the few things that had gotten him in such a deep debt with Nami. The weights were not randomly chosen, either—not only they were ones he hadn’t owned, they were also ones he actually needed. It was as if someone had observed his training regime and knew exactly what he was attempting to do.

And Sanji had , perhaps, done exactly that. Paid attention to Zoro’s routine with the same attentive care he would to the rest of the crew, not just for the flimsy excuse of meal planning, but also because he cared. The thought made something in Zoro’s chest light and warm, and it must have shown, somehow, on his face, because the girls’ smiles had lost their teasing edge, making way for something softer.

“You know,” Vivi said, “this feels kind of like…”

She trailed off and whispered something in Nami’s ear that sent them both into a giggling fit. Zoro felt his face heat up even when he couldn’t hear their words, and wrenched free from their grasps.

“See if I bother to help you guys ever again,” he threatened as he walked away.

“We understand,” Vivi said cheekily, “you need some time to buy your own personal gift for Cook-san.”

“As fucking if,” he yelled back, but the girls had sauntered off, giggling away.

As if, indeed. Such thought would never even cross his mind. He was going directly back to Merry and that was that.

And if he ended up buying a couple of blue bracelets embroidered with tiny conch shells on the way home, well. Nobody needed to know that.

Chapter Text

“No. Absolutely not.” Sanji snapped, causing a shroud of cigarette smoke to attack the air.

Zoro glared at him under the dim kitchen light. Even under the weak light he still looked pale, and the dark lines of fatigue around his eyes didn't fool Sanji one bit. It didn’t help that he was practically mummified with bandages.

“Why not?”

“Why not? You just woke up just over a week ago and you want booze? You can barely hold down broth, if you drink alcohol it’ll probably fucking kill you. And it’s past the middle of the damn night.”

While unconscious, Sanji found himself unable to leave the swordsman’s side, but he also barely saw him while he was awake. He remembered the explosion of pain as the hilt of Zoro’s sword dove into his injured side, the way he spent the last drop of his strength clinging to his comrade before he succumbed to unconsciousness. His injuries won over his own desperation. Despite Sanji understanding the situation, he could hardly stomach the swordsman’s presence at the moment.

Zoro scoffed, “It’s not gonna kill me, it’s not like I’m made of glass so move out of my way shit cook. And you’re awake too.”

Sanji glared at him icily, “Take one more step, I'll prove you wrong.”

Zoro took a step forward and reached out, which at first, Sanji simply slapped his hand away with a challenging glare. Soon it escalated to a scuffle, Sanji pushing him back with his knee with more force than necessary and Zoro still trying to reach over his shoulder to the forbidden cupboard.

“Going soft on me, cook?”

“I don’t prey on the sick and injured, moss for brains.”

Zoro tried pushing him but Sanji easily twisted his arm with a swipe of his leg and shoved him back with his knee.

“Fucking hell –”

“Am I fighting the demon of the East Blue or fumbling with a feeble grandpa? Just get out of – oh. Your arm.”

The colour red began blooming on Zoro’s shoulder and then onto his outstretched arm, causing him to retract it and inspect it with a furrowed brow.

“Well, shit.”

Without thinking, Sanji gently grabbed Zoro’s other arm and led him to the infirmary, the simmering in his gut cooling. Once in the room, he glanced at the wound with a pang of unexpected guilt.

“I’ll get Chopper –”

“No.”

Sanji froze at the sternness of his voice.

“No?”

He was met with serious dark eyes, “He’s practically been glued beside me, whether I’m asleep or awake. Just let him rest for once.”

Sanji held his gaze for a moment, before his gaze fell upon the split open shoulder. He was the one that was rougher than he should have been, so he felt should take responsibility. He must have been silent longer than he realized, because Zoro scoffed and stretched his good arm past him, “Well if you’re that squeamish then I can –”

Sanji slapped his wrist away, possibly harder than necessary because a hiss of pain escaped through Zoro’s teeth. “Fuck man, what the hell?”

Sanji snatched the tools and situated himself beside Zoro and already began peeling off the wet and reddened bandages before he could finish his sentence. He grabbed a cloth to begin cleaning the wound. “I’m not squeamish. You nearly lost your legs, I stitched you up then, remember? So why would I be squeamish over a cut? Just shut up and sit still, like any good plant. Alright, mosshead?”

Zoro scoffed, “I don’t need you ordering me around.”

“Well then don’t make me.”

Sanji stole another glance at his face, before determinedly setting his gaze on the injury.

“Are you able to sleep?” he asked.

“Chopper usually gives me something. Why?”

“That’s not the same thing.”

“You know me, I can sleep through anything.”

“I know. But still.”

Zoro smirked, “Didn’t take you for a mother hen – ow.”

Sanji yanked his arm closer to him with a pull of his wrist, “If you want this mother hen to be gentle then maybe shut the fuck up.”

“You’re the one that started talking.”

Sanji rolled his eyes, continuing his careful work, concentrating in a silence that seemed to stretch on. Things between them were usually never silent. There was always fighting, a clash of swords and heels, bickering and swearing, not a hand delicately holding the wrist of an injured comrade and tending his wounds.

“You didn’t tell them.”

His hand nearly froze over the wound before resuming.

“Of course not.”

Zoro didn’t reply, filling the room with a weighted silence. Sanji wondered why he would bring up such a thing. If they weren’t bickering or fighting, things like respect or even gratitude went unsaid between them. Either one of them didn’t need to say such things in order to reach an understanding.

Sanji continued, “It’s your choice on whether you want to tell anyone or not. Not mine.”

Zoro hummed indifferently. Sanji was about to guess that that was the extent of the conversation they were going to have, until Zoro finally replied.

“You’re mad.”

Zoro smelled like medicines and creams, ones used to treat his wounds. Underneath all that, his usual scent of steel hung underneath Sanji’s nose. He was close, so close he could smell it.

“Maybe.” He replied in a low voice, not looking at him.

“You would have died –”

“Yes I know!” Raising his voice in the dead of night when everyone was asleep, he might as well have set off a canon. There was a pause, Zoro holding him with a seemingly blank gaze but it filled Sanji’s chest with something he couldn’t name.

“I know.” Sanji sighed, lowering his voice and continued, “You don’t need to tell me that.”

“That doesn’t make you weak.”

“It kind of does.”

“Offering up your own life for others isn’t weak, you dumbass. And everyone is fine, I’m fine, so stop beating yourself up for nothing.”

Sanji glared at the angry open wound that he held in his hand, the one out of many that didn’t have to be there if he was strong enough. Zoro was strong enough to take care of himself, he knew that, but that didn’t stop the feeling that persisted in his gut despite it all.

“You’re terrible at this stuff.” he wiped the last of the stray blood, tossed the rag aside and grabbed the needle, ready to stitch the wound. “I know all of that, but I still can’t help but be mad. That’s how feelings work. But I don’t expect that a moss plant would know.”

“Try me.”

Sanji determinedly held his hand and voice steady, because suddenly he felt a tremour in his chest and he was powerless against it.

Dammit.

“Well. You were most definitely not fine for a good while.”

“It’s better than you being dead.”

Sanji’s hand froze.

Zoro continued, voice low, “You told me … to find another cook. I can’t do that. None of us can.”

Sanji felt like he was met with an incredible weight.

It was not a weight inflicted by Zoro, but rather, Sanji himself. The feeling that usually sprouted in his gut whenever he was in the swordsman’s presence, it had always fallen away eventually. But this time it suddenly flowered into something that consumed him all the way to the ends of his nerves. Caught in its tide, Sanji couldn’t help himself.

“I’m glad we’re not dead then, moss head.”

It came out softer than he wanted it to. He inwardly cursed and returned his concentration back to the needle weaving in and out of Zoro’s skin with extra diligence.

“Me too.”

He looked up to find Zoro still gazing at him, without the usual weight of his scowl or scrutinizing smirk. He found his expression to be as still and peaceful as the ocean waters. Sanji swallowed, all the air seemingly leaving him.

“Don’t take it the wrong way. I’m still angry.”

Zoro merely chuckled, a soft sound. “I know.”

Zoro’s skin felt warm and alive. He could feel the pulse of his wrist under his fingers. Despite that, it seemed to remind him all too well of how cold he felt when he caught him in his arms at that time, the rush of dread and horror when he grabbed his wrist and felt nothing.

“No.” he gripped Zoro’s wrist closer to himself. “You don’t.”

Sanji finished the rest of the stitching and bandaging in silence, aware that he was still being held by Zoro’s gaze. After what felt like forever, he wrapped the new bandages in place with a final tug.

Zoro examined it and stretched his arm out, flexing his fingers as he did so. His other hand traced the bandages where Sanji’s hand had just been.

Sanji watched him, in a weighted silence and that feeling began to rise in his gut. Again. To brush it off, he quickly stood up, fumbling his pockets for a cigarette. He really needed one at the moment.

“Don’t ask for alcohol again until Chopper says it’s okay. If you do, next time I’ll leave you to bleed out.”

Zoro merely responded with a scoff. Sanji couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow at the lack of retort, but chalked it up to him being tired. He placed the cigarette in his mouth but then remembered that they were in the medical room. Chopper would kill him if he smelled cigarettes in there.

“I can’t give you alcohol but, I can make you something if you want.”

“I’m not hungry now.”

“Okay. I’ll make you some rice balls tomorrow. Until then stay out of my kitchen.”

Sanji turned to leave, his foot out the door before Zoro’s voice stopped him.

“You wrapped me up so tight, like a rice ball.”

Sanji turned his head back, to find him smiling.

“Does it hurt?”

“No.”

“Well. Don’t go down on your knees thanking me.” Sanji returned his smile before leaving.

Chapter Text

Zoro woke up in his too large bed in the too large room of Mihawk’s too large castle just as the sun was beginning to rise. He glanced around the empty room and felt the all too familiar weight of loneliness sink in his chest. Zoro had spent most of his time at sea falling asleep alone and waking up alone, and only a few months waking up with the Straw Hats, but he’d gotten used to having people around, and now missed their morning cacophony.

He pushed his disappointment down and away as he got out of bed and got ready for the day. He had eleven months, two weeks, and five days left until he could see his crew again. 

He could handle this.

He found his way to the dining room just as Perona’s ghosts finished laying out breakfast. It looked like Mihawk had made the usual: eggs, sausage, oatmeal, toast, high in protein for strength and carbs for energy, low in flavor and the delightful presentation he’d grown accustomed to.

He sighed and sat down in his usual spot as Mihawk and Perona filtered in.

“What are you sighing about?” Perona huffed as she sat down across from him.

“Nothing,” he replied moodily, shoveling a forkful of the bland eggs into his mouth.

He sighed again and glanced out the window as Perona turned to complain to Mihawk. The sun was creeping up over the horizon, the warm oranges and reds of sunrise giving way to the brilliant blue of the sky. Zoro gazed longingly at the sky, wondering where his friends were and what they were up to, thinking about a pair of eyes that were just as brilliantly blue.

He took another bite of eggs as he stared, and could almost taste the little flourishes Sanji added to his breakfasts, the tangy sauces, succulent vegetables, and the hint of spice that made getting up worth it.

Perona’s shrill voice broke the illusion, leaving him staring down at his boring breakfast, yearning for his cook.

“Oh my god,” Perona groaned, and Zoro looked up in time to catch her rolling her eyes, “You’ve got that sad uncute look on your stupid face. Don’t tell me you’re pining over that chef again.”

Zoro blushed and glanced away quickly, shoving more breakfast into his mouth as he muttered an unconvincing, “No.”

She glared at him, the heat and pressure of it palpable until he was forced to admit, “Yes.”

“For fuck’s sake,” she slammed her fist on the table, “Do you think about anything other than swords and that guy?”

“I’m not always thinking about him,” he argued.

“Well you’re always talking about him,” she snapped, “Have you tried having a conversation with someone who only talks about making people bleed and mopes about his boyfriend?”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” he seethed, face a brilliant red as he quashed the thrill of excitement that the word caused.

“Husband,” she shrugged, “Whatever. Doesn’t change the fact that you talk about him all the damn time and it’s annoying.”

“I don’t talk about him all the damn time,” he rolled his eye for emphasis.

“‘Oh, the sky is so blue today,’ ” Perona covered her left eye with her hand and dropped her voice in an attempt to imitate him that he did not appreciate, “‘Just like the cook’s eyes.’ ”

His face grew even redder and he growled to hide his embarrassment. 

“It’s not-”

“‘The sunshine peeking through the trees reminds me of his hair,’ ” she continued, “ ‘That puff of cloud reminds me of his eyebrows, the wind rustling the leaves of his laugh, the fish in the ocean his smile, the fire his temper, and the moon his beauty.’ ” 

Zoro clicked his tongue and looked away. It was hardly his fault that nature liked to imitate Sanji.

She pressed the back of her hand against her forehead with more dramatics than Zoro thought he was capable of, “‘I can’t even look at food without thinking of him, and whenever I do eat a meal someone painstakingly made for me all I do is complain and compare it to a professional fucking chef. Every night I look at the stars, wondering if he can see them too, and I fall asleep and dream of being held in his tender embrace.’ ”

“It’s not every night,” he muttered, even if it was more often than not.

“‘The only way I can cope with this loneliness is to bother Perona about it, because she’s so nice and is such a good person that she’s the only one who will listen to my woes.’ ”

“I’ve never said that,” he pointed out, but she was on a roll now.

“‘Wah wah I miss him so much. I am literally counting down the days until I can see him again,’ ” she sat back up and gave him a pointed look, “That’s what trying to have a conversation with you sounds like.”

“I don’t sound like that.”

She rolled her eyes and turned to Mihawk, “Isn’t that what he sounds like?”

“Your tone is pitchy,” he said, eyes never leaving his paper as he sipped his coffee and Perona squawked in indignation, “But that is the gist of his preferred conversation topics, yes.”

Zoro had crossed his arms in front of him and sunk down in his chair, glare as deadly as he could make it with his one remaining eye flickering between the two of him.

“I don’t talk about him that often,” he insisted, making Perona screech and slam her hands on the table.

“Yes you fucking do!” She shouted and pointed a finger at him, “And if I have to listen to you mope and pine for another goddamn year-”

“Eleven months, two weeks, and five days,” he corrected, the ever present numbers in his mind slipping out automatically.

Her face grew smug as she thrust her finger at him, her point proven, and he sunk even lower in his chair.

“It is certainly trying to be away from a loved one for so long,” Mihawk said as he set his coffee down and flicked to the next page in the paper, “Especially one you’re intimate with.”

Zoro could actually feel his face blush all the way to the roots of his hair, and he actively wished for the floor to open up and swallow him whole to escape this conversation.

Because he and Sanji weren’t intimate, as Mihawk had so delicately put it. Sanji wasn’t even into men like that, had no idea about Zoro’s feelings for him, and as far as Zoro was concerned, it could stay that way. He’d rather pine for Sanji from afar and have him in his life than risk scaring him with the depth and intensity of his feelings and losing him forever.

But being separated from him for so long was throwing a wrench in Zoro’s big plan, because while he was more than prepared to pine for him from across the galley table or the deck or separate beds in the bunk room, he was wholly unprepared for how lonely it was to be in love with Sanji on a completely different island with no idea where the damn cook even was.

His unrequited love was fine when Sanji was right there, when he could still see him and fight him and talk to him and be his friend and have that be enough. Without any of that though, the space in his heart that was reserved for and filled with and yearned for Sanji Sanji Sanji was left empty, and Zoro found himself craving more more more.

Would it really be so bad if Sanji found out, if he knew that Zoro loved him and cared for him? If he knew Zoro annoyed everyone around him with how much he talked about him? If he knew how much everything reminded him of Sanji because he was always thinking about him?

“-But it’s a distraction,” Mihawk was saying as Zoro tuned him back in, “Part of your training here should be about overcoming unnecessary distractions.” He gazed pointedly at Zoro’s now missing eye.

“Do not let your emotions control you, Roronoa,” he continued, “You must learn to control them.”

He glanced back down at his too bland food and felt the familiar ache for Sanji and home.

As much as he hated to admit it, Mihawk was right. His feelings for Sanji were distracting him. The separation had made the longing grow even more, and all he could think about was holding Sanji and kissing him and touching him and what if and could he…

Zoro had always prided himself on being decisive. He never let lingering doubts or regrets get the best of him because he did his best to never have any, until this thing with Sanji began. And he suddenly realized it would always be this big uncertain thing for him until he fessed up and told Sanji how he felt. 

Maybe Sanji would reject him outright, maybe he would never want anything to do with him ever again. But maybe he wouldn’t. Zoro would never know unless he said something.

If nothing else, Sanji would know that he was loved so thoroughly and completely by the future world’s greatest swordsman, and that could only be a good thing.

He nodded at Mihawk, whose piercing gaze was boring into him. Mihawk returned the nod, and they both went back to eating their breakfast in silence.

“Wait, that’s it?” Perona huffed as she crossed her arms in front of her, “Just like that, you’re never going to talk about him again?”

“I’m just not gonna let it distract me anymore,” he said as he finished his breakfast, “I’ll still talk about him with you, since you’re so nice and such a good person to listen to my woes.”

“Don’t you fucking dare,” she hissed as he looked out the window and sighed dramatically.

“The sky is so blue today,” he said, “Just like the cook’s eyes…”

Perona screamed, snatching up her empty plate, his empty plate, and the half full plate Mihawk was still eating off of, and stomped into the kitchen.

Mihawk gave him a look that let him know he was not amused by his antics, but left without a word.

Zoro glanced back out the window. The sky really was the same shade as Sanji’s eyes, and he felt the familiar longing build inside him, but it was tempered now. The resolve to tell Sanji his feelings the next time he saw him was already easing the ache in his heart.

He stood up and grabbed his swords as he followed Mihawk out to the training grounds.

Eleven months, two weeks, and five days left until he saw Sanji again, and he wouldn’t waste a second of them.

-o-

Sanji puttered around the kitchen as he prepared food for his guests. He’d won a hearty stew recipe off of an Okama Kenpo Master the other day and had invited Iva and Inazuma over to test it out.

He scooped the stew into bowls for them, adding his own little touches and garnishes for presentation’s sake as he placed it in front of his guests.

Iva dug into the stew immediately, moaning around a giant spoonful as they said, “Mmm, Candy-boy, you’ve outdone yourself! It’s so good I might die!” They clutched their chest dramatically and swooned, “In fact, I think your stew has killed me.”

They collapsed to the floor.

Sanji was used to their antics by now, and rolled his eyes as he kept plating onigiri.

Inazuma, who’d been eating her stew at a more leisurely pace, smiled at him when he turned around, “It’s delicious, Sanji. You’ve mastered it so quickly.”

“Thanks,” he said, a slight blush on his face from her praise as he set down two plates of onigiri for them.

At the sound of more plates on the table, Iva shot back up, declared themself to be miraculously alive, and sat back down in their seat. They glanced down at the onigiri and let out a disgruntled, “Oh.”

Sanji stepped back from the table, immediately defensive as he asked, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, nothing,” they waved him off, “Just, this is the third time you’ve made onigiri this week.”

“What?” He glanced down at his own portion of food, and then at his hands like they’d betrayed him, “Is it?”

“It’s been different every time,” Inazuma was quick to assure him, “Your onigiri is always a delightful treat.”

He appreciated that, but was still put off by the repeated meal. 

It had just made sense to make it. The stew was hardy enough to be a meal on its own, but he knew he could really tap into the full flavor of the ingredients if there was a grain on the side, and onigiri just seemed like the perfect choice.

“You make more onigiri when you’re pining after a certain swordsman, I’ve noticed,” Iva said with a knowing grin on their face.

Sanji’s nose wrinkled at the thought. He wasn’t pining, and certainly not after Zoro.

But, well, maybe he had been thinking about Zoro when making the stew. It was a hearty stew, perfect for recovering stamina after a long fight or an intense workout, and his mind had drifted to when a good time to serve it to his crew would be, and of course Zoro would need it the most with the way he ran himself ragged in fights and his insane workout regime. 

And maybe he was thinking that if he did make the stew for Zo- for the crew, perhaps he- they would also like onigiri on the side.

And maybe he had been thinking about Zoro a lot lately. It had been a year, a week, and four days since he’d last seen him (not that he was counting) and he still had no idea where he’d ended up. Thanks to Iva and their connections to the Revolutionary Army he knew where most of his friends were, but no one seemed to know where Zoro was.

He wasn’t worried, he knew he didn’t need to worry about Zoro, except he was. Zoro had been so hurt when they last saw each other, and he knew that Zoro was strong and could handle himself and would never do something so stupid like die on him, but a year, a week, and four days with no news was hard. 

But he wouldn’t call it pining.  

“I’m not pining,” he insisted.

He was just reasonably concerned about a good friend of his. That was all.

“Oh, sweetie,” Inazuma sighed and placed her hand on top of his, “Yes you are.”

He recoiled, his temper only kept in check because she was a woman today. 

He wasn’t pining after Zoro. Pining would mean that he had feelings for the marimo bastard, and that was just impossible. The man only ever thought about swords and bathed just once a week!

Except time and distance had been doing strange things to Sanji. It was getting harder and harder to remember that Zoro was a disgusting smelly brute and instead he recalled how soft his face looked when he actually smiled, the sound of his laughter booming across the deck, how his eyes looked almost silver in the moonlight and how the sunlight highlighted his hair. 

Ever since Thriller Bark, his feelings towards Zoro had been shifting and changing. It was harder for him to remember that he and Zoro were just friendly rivals, and he was starting to yearn for something more. What it was he couldn’t say exactly.

“Oh, Candy-boy,” Iva sighed and pat his shoulder, “It’s fine to admit you’re in love.”

Sanji flinched, pulling away from both of them, “What?”

“The whole island knows it,” they gestured around them, “Hell, at this point the whole Revolutionary Army knows it!”

“How the shit-?”

“Every week the updates come in,” they cut him off with a gesture, “And every week you’re there all, ‘Have you seen my idiot swordsman? Do you know where Marimo is? Any updates on Zoro?’” 

Sanji’s face felt so hot he was surprised it wasn’t exploding as they continued, “It’s cute, honestly. All the Candies are rooting for you.”

He buried his face in his hand and groaned.

He wasn’t in love with Zoro, was he? That mannerless barbarian? Impossible, his love was meant to be shared with all the lovely ladies of the world!

Except, well, he’d been on Kamabaka for a year, a week, and four days (not that he was counting). When he wasn’t running for his life, training to beat the Okama Kenpo Masters, or mastering the recipes he did have, he was learning more about himself. About who he was and what he wanted. 

And he learned that maybe he did want an actual real relationship with someone, something deeper and more meaningful than the flirting and teasing he always did. He wanted someone to stay by his side through thick and thin, someone to stand by him and be his equal, his partner.

And maybe he did want all that with Zoro, and he’d always been too scared to admit it.

But the longer they were apart, the more Sanji found himself wondering why. Why was he so scared to admit he loved Zoro? Why couldn’t he tell Zoro, tell the crew, tell everyone how he felt?

Why couldn’t he just be honest for once in his life?

“Shit,” he ran his hands down his face and glanced between his guests, “I’m in love with Zoro.”

“Congratulations,” Inazuma said as she pat his head, “Admitting it is the first step.”

He was pretty sure she was teasing him, but the touch felt nice, so he let it slide.

“And now that that’s out of the way,” Iva plopped a giant book titled How to Charm, Seduce, and Marry Your Man onto the table in front of them, “We can get to work on the fun bit.”

Sanji smacked his head on the table and groaned.

It was going to be a long eleven months, two weeks, and five days.

Not that he was counting.

But something warm was blossoming in his chest, something more than the simple desire to see his crew. Something new and exciting.

He couldn’t wait to see Zoro again.

Chapter Text

It was just after lunch when Zoro spotted his chance.

Sanji had left the door to the galley open in an attempt to get some air circulating through the kitchen. Zoro tread softly as he snuck in, trying to remember which of the floorboards creaked as he plotted his course. Sanji was completely oblivious to his presence, back turned towards the door as he scrubbed at a pot in the sink. Cautiously, Zoro crept up behind him, going so far as to hold his breath to avoid detection until the last possible moment.

The second that Sanji set the pot onto the drying rack, Zoro sprang into action, spinning Sanji around to face him and crowding him against the sink. Before Sanji even had a chance to yelp in surprise, Zoro was pressing their lips together, one hand cupping Sanji’s jaw while the other squeezed his hip. For a moment, Sanji melted under his touch, one hand grasping at the fabric of Zoro’s jacket. Then, the stakes of their little game came rushing back to him all at once and Zoro was sent flying across the galley from a sharp shove and a boot to the chest. As Zoro crash-landed in the corner, he couldn’t help but dissolve into a fit of laughter. Sanji’s face was priceless – simultaneously blushing furiously and glaring daggers at him.

“That’s two out of three, curly brow!” Zoro reminded him as he picked himself up off the floor.

“Get the hell out of my kitchen!” Sanji yelled, advancing on him menacingly.

Zoro didn’t have to be told twice. He hustled out of the galley, laughing all the way.

Oh yeah. This game is totally mine.

~+*+~

So many things had changed since they had (finally) gotten together, but their insatiable need to compete remained. Neither of them could remember how exactly the argument even began, but they both knew that it ended in a bet: first to steal three kisses in a single day would win. The prize for this achievement? Well… they hadn’t really bothered to define it. Winning was a prize in and of itself.

Sanji had made the first move of the day.

They lay sprawled out under a thin blanket on the galley floor, the first hints of dawn light filtering in through the windows. They had been spending a lot of nights like this lately - wrapped up in each other’s arms in uncomfortable nooks and crannies around the Sunny, anywhere they could find privacy from their nakama. Zoro didn’t give a rat’s ass whether they were seen, but Sanji was adamant that their relationship remained secret for the moment. With a confrontation with a Warlord looming in the near future, he didn’t want this to be a distraction for the rest of the crew.

Zoro woke to the feeling of Sanji’s fingertips skating over the expanse of his bare chest, drawing lazy patterns on his skin. He hummed, deep and content, reveling in the sensation. When the touch traveled up his neck and along his jaw, he didn’t hesitate to follow the silent suggestion to tilt his face towards Sanji’s. When their lips met, soft and tender, a thought wound its way through the mists of half-consciousness – a thought of how wonderful it would be to wake up to this little slice of heaven every morning.

Unfortunately, any romantic notions were shattered when Sanji whispered a triumphant, “One down, two to go.”

Zoro’s eyes shot open, going wide with surprise before narrowing into a glare. “Seriously?”

“Seriously,” Sanji confirmed as he sat up and stretched.

“You’re ruthless,” Zoro accused with a huff, pettily pulling the blanket off of Sanji to wrap himself up in it.

“Maybe,” Sanji conceded as he stood up, “but I’m also winning, so there’s that.”

His lead was short-lived. Shortly after breakfast, Zoro snuck up on him as he leaned against the ship’s railing for a smoke, bringing them to a tie with a swift swap of Sanji’s cigarette for his own lips. It had resulted in a face-full of sputtered smoke and being dumped head-first into the ocean, but Zoro considered it all worth it in pursuit of his goal.  

~+*+~

Following his two consecutive losses, Sanji locked himself in the galley under the guise of needing some peace and quiet to work on inventory and meal planning. He was technically working on those projects, but most of his brain space was actually devoted to scheming how he was going to even the score. He was toying with something involving a dessert-related bait-and-switch when a commotion outside caught his attention. There was shouting and cannon fire, followed by Luffy’s unmistakable raucous laughter. Peeking out of one of the galley’s portholes, he was just in time to catch Luffy scooping up a reluctant Zoro to slingshot them both onto a pirate ship flying a jolly roger he didn’t recognize. From the looks of them, these newcomers didn’t seem to realize just who they were picking a fight with.

Taking a break from his tasks, he watched as Zoro and Luffy dispatched the aggressors. Zoro was, as ever, incredible. Sanji had never admitted it out loud, but he loved to watch Zoro fight. He was equal parts elegance and raw power, never a wasted movement. It was poetry in motion. He wondered if Zoro knew how beautiful he was.

Compliments were still few and far between for them. It was hard enough admitting their feelings for the first time; expressing them on a regular basis was still outside of their comfort zone. If Sanji were to actually tell him how enchanting he was to watch, it would probably explode his little moss brain. Which… now that he thought about it… gave him an excellent idea.

When the threat had been sufficiently neutralized, Luffy slingshotted them both back to the Sunny. Zoro was sent tumbling across the deck, landing in a heap amongst a pile of crates on the far end of the ship. His head spun as he tried to sit up – the fight hadn’t put a single scratch on him, but of course Luffy’s preferred method of inter-ship travel was what earned him an aching head.

“Oi.”

Zoro looked up blearily to find Sanji standing over him, extending a hand to help him up off the floor. Still a little dazed from the fall, he took the proffered hand and let himself be hoisted to his feet. Sanji didn’t let go. Instead, he pulled Zoro close, slipping an arm around his waist.

“You looked amazing out there,” Sanji told him, voice low, making intense eye contact.

If Zoro’s brain was not operating at full capacity before, now it was totally offline. He froze, unable to process the dueling emotions of pride and embarrassment and shock. He couldn’t do a damn thing as Sanji tipped him backwards, dipping him gracefully as he kissed him. He didn’t even register the significance of the action until Sanji pulled away.

“Two-two, marimo,” Sanji teased before unceremoniously dumping his dumbfounded partner back onto the deck. He turned to walk back towards the galley, fishing his box of cigarettes from the inside of his jacket, ready to reward himself for his achievement. Just as he was raising his lighter, however, he heard running footsteps behind him and before he could react he was being tackled by an aggravated swordsman. He squawked as he hit the floor, the cigarette falling from his lips, rolling across the planks and over the side of the ship.

“You bastard!” Sanji shrieked as he tried to wriggle out of Zoro’s hold.

“You’re the bastard here, curly! That was cheating!” Zoro shouted as he tried to maneuver the squirming cook onto his back.

“All’s fair in love and war,” Sanji quipped back sarcastically as he attempted to get his knees up to kick Zoro off.

Zoro managed to get the upper hand, shifting weight onto Sanji’s thighs so that he couldn’t use his best weapons against him. He pinned Sanji’s wrists to either side of his head, looming over him with a smirk. “This ends now, cook. I win.”

“Screw you, shitty swordsman!” Sanji spat as he struggled to free himself.

Zoro was leaning down, closing in, inches away from victory –

“Ahem.”

Both men froze. Tilting their faces in the direction of the interruption, they found their new passenger, Trafalgar Law, looking rather unamused.

“If you would be so kind as to stop blocking the doorway, I’d very much appreciate it,” Law said, his polite words undermined by a cold, deadpan tone.

The two of them scrambled to their feet with muttered apologies, shuffling away with quiet excuses about needing to start dinner and sharpen swords.

~+*+~

It was nearing midnight when Sanji climbed up through the hatch in the floor of the crow’s nest to take over watch. Zoro was seated cross-legged on one of the benches, lost in thought as he stared out the window.

“Oi, mosshead. Want a snack before you go to bed?” Sanji asked. He offered Zoro a plate of onigiri, which the swordsman took gratefully, before settling on the bench next to him. They sat in comfortable silence for a moment before Zoro observed, “If you’re here, that means it’s midnight. Day’s over.”

“In about,” Sanji glanced up at the clock on the wall, “two minutes. Yeah.”

“Guess it’s a draw then?” Zoro asked through a mouthful of onigiri.

“Mm, guess so,” Sanji agreed, nudging Zoro’s foot with his own, “I’d say we both put up an impressive effort.”

Zoro chuckled and nudged him back. “Yeah.”

Suddenly, Zoro perked up, squinting his eyes as he peered out the window. “Cook, do you see that?”

Sanji twisted in his seat to get a better look. “See what?”

Zoro pointed into the distance. “There, on the horizon?”

Sanji frowned, scanning the horizon for whatever had Zoro spooked. “I don’t see anything.”

Zoro paused, as if waiting for something. “There! It just happened again!”

Sanji sighed in exasperation. “Marimo, what—”

Zoro gestured for him to come closer. “Come over here, you can see it from this angle.”

Sanji moved the plate of onigiri out of the way so that he could scoot right next to him. Zoro put an arm around his shoulders pulling him even closer, bringing their cheeks together so that they were nearly touching, trying to show him whatever this mystery object out on the sea was.

“There.”

“I don’t see anything.”

“Here, if you just look over here…” Zoro reached up to take hold of Sanji’s chin, guiding his gaze to the right.

And then further to the right.

And then Zoro turned and captured Sanji’s lips in a kiss.

And then the clock on the wall began to chime midnight.

First to three.

“You sneaky, sneaky bastard,” Sanji murmured against Zoro’s lips. “I’m going to kill you.

“At least I’ll die a winner,” Zoro teased, pulling Sanji into his lap for a deeper kiss.

He went willingly, winding his arms around Zoro’s neck.

“Stay with me for a bit?” Sanji asked between kisses. “After spending all day running away from you, I want to enjoy this for a bit.”

Zoro smiled, uncharacteristically soft and sweet. “Of course, curly. As long as you want.”

Chapter Text

“Ma-ri-mo,” Sanji said in the sweetest voice he could muster.  He watched Zoro deliberately ignore him, closing his eyes and turning his face away.  Fair, Sanji thought, nevertheless frustrated.

He tapped Zoro on the shoulder.  Zoro responded by scooching a few feet further down, out of Sanji’s reach.  Sanji’s eye twitched.

“Mosshead, I’m trying to have a conversation here.”

“Seems a bit late for that,” Zoro grumbled.

“Passive-aggressiveness is not a good color on you.  It clashes with your hair.”

“I learned from the best,” Zoro muttered, “And nothing clashes with my hair.”

Sanji sighed.  On the voyage from Whole Cake to Wano, he’d gone through several reams of paper trying to decide how to explain… everything to Zoro.  

First Draft of Blackleg Sanji’s Apology to Roronoa Zoro:  Dear marimo, I know you’re probably mad.  But my family is weird.  They arranged for me to marry into a possibly weirder family.  I thought I could handle it.  Turns out I couldn’t.  Sorry?  I love you?

Seventeenth Draft:  Zoro, I don’t know if you’ll ever forgive me, but this was something I had to do.  I love you.

Twenty-third Draft:  Mosshead, I thought I was doing the right thing.  Did I make a mistake?  I love you.

Thirty-fourth Draft:  Zoro, I am nothing my family wants.  But somehow you want me, right?  I love you.

Forty-sixth Draft:  I am a collection of broken parts.  I love you.

Fifty-seventh Draft:  I love you.

Instead, Sanji had started a fight as soon as he saw Zoro, made jealous remarks about the beautiful oiran, and ridiculed Zoro’s bounty, all in one afternoon.  After nearly cutting off Sanji’s head with his new fancy sword, Zoro had avoided him, leaving rooms right when Sanji entered, starting senseless conversations with people he had never talked to whenever Sanji opened his mouth, pretending to meditate as a final resort.

Sanji now watched Zoro do just that, cornered in the crow’s nest of the Sunny, eyes squeezed shut, breathing erratic, jaw clenched.

“I know you’re not meditating, mosshead,” he said softly.  Zoro didn’t react.

“Okay, I’m just going to talk at you.  You don’t have to listen.”  He took a deep breath and continued, incoherency gaining momentum as he tried to apologize for everything at once, “I’m sorry, Zoro, I’m sorry I left, I’m sorry I didn’t wait for you at Zou, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about my family, I’m sorry I wasn’t strong enough, I’m sorry it took me so long to come back, I’m–”

“‘s kay, curly,” Zoro interrupted, his warm hand suddenly grasping Sanji’s, “I forgive you.  Nami told me everything already.”

Sanji stared at him, then said slowly, “You… forgive me.”

“Yup,” Zoro shrugged, “Your family is shitty, and I plan to introduce them to Enma when I have a chance.  I get why you left us, Luffy explained why you stayed away, and now you’re back, so everything is good with us, always is, always will be.” 

Seventeenth Draft:  Zoro, I don’t know if you’ll ever forgive me, but this was something I had to do.  I love you.

Sanji glared, “So… this whole routine you’ve been doing...”

“I thought it’d be fun to make you sweat, at least a little, but I was getting tired of it anyways,” Zoro yawned, “Being passive-aggressive is exhausting.  Avoiding you is a full-time job, cook.  I almost took pity on you the way you were following me around– oof.”  He clutched at his side where Sanji had kicked him.

Sanji stalked out of the crow’s nest, heading for the kitchen, gladness ballooning his chest despite Zoro’s childish behavior. 

They had a few days left before the raid of Onigashima, and Sanji was determined to properly feed the alliance members.  Luffy’s appetite had increased recently as well, as their captain spent his days training his haki.

“Now who’s following whom around?” he muttered when Zoro joined him, standing by silently as Sanji rummaged through their dwindling food stores.

“Do you need any help?”

“I’m making soup,” Sanji said, “Garbure.”

Zoro nodded and went to retrieve a stockpot.  Sanji tried to keep the smile off his face as they fell into their usual routine.  He couldn’t remember when Zoro first started helping him cook.  It was probably something to do with wanting a different kind of “training.”  At first, they said nothing to each other, awkwardly trying to maneuver around the other in the kitchen until Sanji almost decided to forbid Zoro from helping.  Then, like some things do, everything clicked into place.  Zoro learned at least the basics.  Soup needed a pot.  Similarly-sized pieces of vegetables made Sanji happier.  It was possible to stir too much.  Zoro learned how to orbit Sanji in just the right ways, moving aside when Sanji had Hot Things in his hands, retrieving ingredients when Sanji requested them, always ready to offer a hand when needed.

Sanji put a pile of onions at Zoro’s station and gestured at it.  Zoro grimaced at his least favorite task, but opened a drawer and took out the goggles he had somehow found in Skypeia that he now used for saving his tear ducts while chopping onions.  He snapped them on then looked toward Sanji, sticking his tongue out.  Giggling, Sanji turned to carefully dissecting a ham hock for the soup.

They worked in silence until Zoro said, “Luffy and Nami weren’t, um, very specific about what happened.”

Sanji froze at the sudden statement.  “What did they say?”

“That you gave three reasons for not coming back,” Zoro said, “Because you beat up Luffy, but you know our captain has the memory of a goldfish and a spirit that moves mountains.  Because they threatened Zeff, which, honestly, old geezer would have sent them packing, dunno why you were so worried.  And because even though you have an evil, psychotic family, you still wanted to save them.”  His voice was soft, a softer smile on his face as he carefully chopped onions.

“Dumb reasons, I know,” Sanji winced.

“No.  You did the right thing, curly.  You saved the people in front of you.  You wouldn’t be you if you didn’t do that,” Zoro replied.

Twenty-third Draft:  Mosshead, I thought I was doing the right thing.  Did I make a mistake?  I love you.

Sanji offered Zoro a small smile and took the onions Zoro had finished cutting, scraping them into the pot and reveling in the sizzling sound as the onions hit hot oil.  Zoro lifted the goggles off his eyes and placed them on his forehead, his green hair sticking up in every direction.  Sanji tugged at a few strands, trying to find some semblance of order.

“I should get you a monocle for onion-cutting,” he muttered, running a finger gently across the scar on Zoro’s closed eye, counting stars on each stitch.

“These look good on me,” Zoro shrugged, “What’s next, cook?”

“Turnips, carrots, potatoes.”

Zoro nodded and headed to the storeroom.

“I’ll need—”

“Red potatoes, yes, I know, curly,” Zoro said, “Red ones are for soups.”

Sanji chuckled, adding leek and garlic to the pot.  He had trained his mosshead well.  Once, in a fit of madness and in an attempt to impress Sanji, Zoro had sliced fifteen pounds of creamer potatoes into tiny rounds for a dish that called for cubed russets.  He had sulked when Sanji lectured instead of praised him, emerging from the crow’s nest only when Sanji stood below the locked hatch, apologized, and sang the song Zeff had taught him when he was child for remembering the best potato for any particular recipe.  Sanji would hear Zoro humming it to himself whenever they cooked.  He never used the wrong potatoes again.

Zoro returned from the storeroom, arms ladened with root vegetables, placed them in the sink, and prepared to wash them.

Sanji added the ham, herbs, beans, and stock, scraping off the fond at the bottom of the pan and giving the ingredients a stir, then hopped onto the counter next to Zoro.

“Remember when you thought you were supposed to use soap to wash vegetables?” Sanji teased.

Zoro flushed, “You’re so fucking fussy about food, cook, how was I supposed to know just a little water was enough.”

“You don’t even use soap to wash yourself,” Sanji pointed out.

“I do now.”

“Reluctantly,” Sanji sighed, watching Zoro’s rough hands gently scrub bits of dirt off a turnip.

“Curly, about—about your family,” Zoro said, clearing his throat, “Nami said they seemed shitty and they weren’t good to you, but she didn’t know any more than that.  Will you tell me about it?  One day, when you’re ready.”

“Yeah,” Sanji breathed out, “Yes, I will.  Not today, but one day.”

“Whatever they did to you, I’ll fix it.”

Thirty-fourth Draft:  Zoro, I am nothing my family wants.  But somehow you want me, right?  I love you.

Sanji jumped down from the counter and returned to check on the soup, the bubbling cauldron a fair metaphor for the state of his heart.  Eyes blurry, he looked for his tasting spoon.  When he turned around, remembering he’d left it by the sink, Zoro was standing right behind him, a wry grin on his face as he held the spoon out to Sanji.

“Looking for this?”

“Thanks, marimo,” Sanji said, tugging at Zoro’s cheek fondly as he took the spoon and went back to the pot.  He listened to the sound of Zoro chopping vegetables behind him.  Slow and steady, the swordsman always took his time, putting all his concentration into the simple act of helping Sanji.  The resulting vegetables always looked like they had been cut by machine.  Sanji had tried to explain that they didn’t need to be so precise, but Zoro had shrugged him off, continuing to slice like he was a human measuring stick.  Only the best for you, the intensity of his focus said to Sanji.

“While I was gone, how did you all eat?” Sanji asked, the question that had been bothering him since he arrived at Wano.

“Caught animals and roasted them.  Was fine.”

Sanji shuddered.  Zoro couldn’t tell the difference between salt and pepper, raw and overcooked, so he was likely just eating bland, underdone meat.  And it didn’t sound like he ate any vegetables or fruits for weeks.  Sanji would have to stuff him with oranges once the soup just needed time to simmer away.

“I ate fruits, cook, if that’s what you’re moaning and groaning about over there.  Found random berries.  Pretty sure some of the ones I ate were poisonous and gave me a stomachache, but I’m still alive.”

“Don’t just eat random things,” Sanji shrieked, “What did they look like?  Some berries have long-acting poison.”

“I don’t remember, curly,” Zoro said, rolling his eyes, “That was ages ago, once I found Luffy again, we ate stuff that villagers gave us.  I’m not going to drop dead suddenly from a fruit I ate four weeks ago.”

Mollified, Sanji turned back to the soup.  “Did… did the oiran cook you anything?” he asked nonchalantly.

Zoro chuckled, “Pretty sure she doesn’t cook.  That woman just plays dumb instruments.”

“She’s beautiful,” Sanji sighed happily, “I’d love to see her play the shamisen.”

“She’s okay,” Zoro grunted.

“You wouldn’t know beauty if it kicked you in the face,” Sanji sniffed.

“It has.”

“What?” Sanji asked, confused.

“Never mind,” Zoro muttered, the back of his tanned neck a dark red.  When he turned, holding a large bowl of cut vegetables, his face was the same color.  Sanji stepped back and watched Zoro carefully add the vegetables to the soup, before returning to the sink to clean the cutting bowl and knife.

“Did you just try to give me a really cheesy compliment?” Sanji asked.

“Fuck off.”

Trying to fight back a goofy smile, Sanji stirred the pot, waiting for the soup to come back to a slow simmer.  He snorted when he remembered Brook pulling him aside to give him a bit of gossip.  “Brook told me that he found you and the oiran—”

A loud snapping sound made Sanji turn around and stare at the two halves of the cutting board in Zoro’s hands.

“Nothing happened with her, curly,” Zoro said, eyes wide, “I swear—”

“Don’t be an idiot, I know that, why would she want anything to do with a big brute like you?  I’m out of my damn mind, wanting to be with you,” Sanji laughed, feeling sorry for teasing Zoro and deciding to forgive him for the property damage.

“Give me that, I’ll have Usopp repair it,” Sanji said, putting a hand on Zoro’s shoulder.  Zoro held the halves of the cutting board possessively to his chest, “I’ll repair it.”

“You only know how to cut things in half, not put them back together.”

“You’re wrong, curly,” Zoro said, a determined look in his eyes.

Forty-sixth Draft:  I am a collection of broken parts.  I love you.

Heart beating like skipping stones, Sanji cleared his throat and moved back to the other counter, “Alright, fine, I’ll leave that to you then.  Come help me with the bread.  Soup will be done soon.  We have a lot of mouths to feed.”

“Sanji.”

Sanji shuddered at the soft sound.

“Zoro,” he said evenly.

Zoro watched him carefully, and Sanji felt certain Zoro could read everything flashing through his brain at once.

“It’s always you, for me.  Even when you run away or when you hide or when you tease me or can’t tell me what you’re really thinking.  It’s you.”

Sanji cycled through all the drafts he had written, trying to find the right one, trying to put every conflicting emotion warring in the eaves of his mind into words that wouldn’t come out just a pale imitation of what he felt for his partner.

“I love you,” he choked out.

“I know that already, my love,” Zoro smiled.

He paused, then admitted, “And also I found all the draft letters you wrote me on your way to Wano.”

“You what?” Sanji gasped, “Give those to me.”

Zoro laughed, dodging out of the kitchen.

“Mosshead, get back here,” Sanji yelled, reluctant to leave the soup.  Zoro returned moments later, arms full of the letters Sanji had written.

“I’m burning these,” Sanji gritted out, as he snatched them out of Zoro’s hands.

“Go ahead, except for this one, I’m keeping it.”  He held up a short letter.

Fifty-seventh Draft:  I love you.

“I love you, curly,” Zoro said, brushing Sanji’s hair out of his eyes, his own unbearably fond, “Welcome back.  Welcome home.”

Chapter Text

They've lived here together for years, and in all that time, Sanji still hasn't named his restaurant out on the All Blue.  For a while, he just hadn’t decided; Zoro understands the importance of names, so he never asked the cook why it was taking so long for him to choose one.  Besides, he could tell that Sanji half wanted to name the place after the Baratie, and just couldn’t do it with his old man still kicking back in the East Blue.

Then it had just been… too long, or something; this part, Zoro doesn’t understand so well, but his husband is fickle in odd ways, and Zoro has learned how to roll with it.  He loves that about Sanji, anyway - his unpredictability and whimsy.  Besides, there's only one restaurant on All Blue.  It’s not like anyone would get confused.

People figure out how to get here from all over the Five Blues whether or not the restaurant has a name, after all.  Zoro has gotten good at figuring out why at a glance; these days, he can tell a ship full of foodies from anyone meaning to cause trouble before their masts are even all the way over the horizon.

Being settled suits Sanji, not that being a pirate hadn’t, or that Zoro can call the day-to-day excitement of their lives settled, even here.  They may have achieved their dreams, but the world doesn’t give them a goddamn break.  Some days, Zoro will let troublemakers get close enough for both him and his husband to get some exercise.  Usually, he sinks them before Sanji can even make it out of the kitchen.

“You need to stop leaving me out of the fun,” Sanji grumbles, cleaning the confetti-colored shrapnel out of a bullet wound in Zoro’s shoulder.  Lucky shot.  Zoro hasn’t fought anyone with anything as gimmicky as these bastards’ glittery flash-bangs in ages; the sheer disbelief that a crew this ridiculous made it this far into the Grand Line caught him off guard.

“Thought we left all the literal clowns back in the East Blue,” he huffs back.

"Buggy -"

"Don't talk to me about Buggy."

“If this had hit any further down, we would’ve had to call Franky,” Sanji complains, rapping his knuckles on the top cuff of the prosthetic their shipwright made for Zoro after he lost the arm winning his title from Mihawk.  

“Would not.  You fix me up fine either way.”

“I’m a chef, not a mechanic, shitty marimo.”

Sanji’s beautiful hands are just as capable keeping Zoro’s arm tuned up as they are in the kitchen, so he just shrugs, prompting another round of hissing about making the wound worse and do you want to give Franky a reason to replace more bits of you, idiot.  It’s Zoro’s body, but Sanji notices when he’s a hair off from peak performance even before Zoro does, and it feels just as good to watch him oil up all the tiny gears and whatever else Franky stuffed in there as it does to get the cook’s hands on his biological parts.

“It was the middle of the lunch rush, of course I wasn’t going to let them get close,” Zoro justifies.  Sanji sniffs, tossing the golden fall of his hair back behind his shoulder, and goes to make him a cup of green tea to drink with his onigiri.  This is one of the dozen ways Zoro knows the cook isn’t really mad; the tea is served in Zoro’s favorite cups, and isn’t that something he never expected to have, favorite cups?

The cook gave them to him after Zoro taught the 100th aspiring swordsperson to challenge him a lesson in magnitudes of skill.  A traditional Wano-style teaset, chunky round cups with an earthy green glaze - of course green, always green with this bastard - and the very un-traditional slogan of “World’s Greatest Marimo Swordsman” painted on the sides by Sanji himself.  They live in a special cupboard in the kitchen.  They live in Zoro’s heart.  He’s never cared about objects before, nothing but his swords, which are a part of him, partners, before mere objects, but anyone who so much as looks at these cups gets a burst of Haki Zoro can barely control glared their way.

This includes Luffy, who is equally sullen about not being invited to the seconds-long fight off the restaurant’s aft side.  Naturally, Zoro’s Haki slides right off of him, but the cook drops a plate of ribs in front of their Captain - always their captain, even if they rarely sail together any more - before Luffy can lay a finger on Zoro’s tea.  Of course Nami, who showed up with him the day before, already has her own afternoon snack set out with a proper place setting, a safe distance from Luffy’s wandering eyes, if not his hands.

“Zoro’s no fun any more,” Luffy complains.

“Getting boring in your old age, huh?”  Sanji snickers, poking him in the temple, where the damn cook insists he can see streaks of silver starting in.

“We’re the same age!”  Zoro growls.  Sanji is growing his hair out, past his shoulders and so soft Zoro hardly dares to touch it, and he just knows that if he even suggested that his husband has even a single gray hair, he’d be sleeping out on deck for a week.

Sanji traces the crows’ feet beginning to show at the corners of Zoro’s eyes, voice teasing but eyes fond.  “People aren’t gonna believe that for long if you don’t start moisturizing, marimo.  It’s probably already too late.  They’ll start asking who the old homeless guy bumming around the handsome young chef’s restaurant is.”

It’s a familiar line of teasing, so Zoro bats his husband’s hand away and wouldn’t think anything of it, if not for Nami rolling her eyes from across the restaurant’s private dining room, and the question that drops from her lips.

“So when are you two getting married?  This is getting ridiculous.”

Zoro stares at her.  How did she miss this?  He and the cook got their shit together way back before he even fought Mihawk again.  There’s nothing ridiculous about it, and if Sanji wasn’t in the room, he’d prove it to her with more than words.

“We’ve been married, witch,” he says.

“You can’t rush these things, my angel,” Sanji answers, simultaneously.

Zoro stares at him.  Something is terribly wrong.  Judging by the look on Sanji’s face, he agrees.

“What?”  they both say.  From the corner of his eye, Zoro sees Luffy stop eating.

“We got married ages ago,” Zoro carefully clarifies.

“No we did not,” the cook retorts.

They stare at each other.

“O-kay,” Nami slowly says.  “Clearly we have some kind of misunderstanding here.”

“Zoro and Sanji totally got married,” Luffy chimes in.  

“We did not,” Sanji insists.

“You’re wearing one of my earrings,” Zoro points out.  He’s feeling a little desperate.  Does he sound desperate?

“That’s hardly a ring,” Sanji hisses, the blue eyes Zoro loves so much open wide enough that Zoro can see the white all around Sanji’s beautiful iris.  Desperately wide.  At least they’re on the same page with that.

“I told you I never want to be without you,” Zoro says.

“Same,” the cook chokes out, “but when - I don’t think I missed my own wedding, moss for brains.”

“You better not have gotten married without inviting me,” Nami threatens.

Zoro ignores her.  “We were fighting Marines,” he says, the memory crystal-clear like their first kiss, their first everything.  “Nothing special, but you were laughing, with blood all over your face, and I just knew, more clearly than ever, you’re it for me, the only person I’ll ever feel this way about, so, I had to ask -”

“Ask what, marimo,” Sanji grits out.

“I asked if you’d stay with me forever,” Zoro doggedly continues.  “You said I’d have to kick your ass to stop you.  You were getting blood everywhere, so I tied my bandana around your dumb head and made you sit down next to Luffy -”

“And I said you two should kiss!”  Luffy interrupts.  “I’m the captain, so I can do that!  You did, so you’re married!”

“I asked you if you meant it, and you said I do and everything,” Zoro adds, sounding a little too plaintive for his own liking.  “We were in the middle of the ocean, so I couldn’t get you a ring, but I gave you my earring the next day and you asked Robin to piece your ear right then and there.”

“That’s -” Nami begins.

“That doesn’t count,” Sanji gasps.

It’s like cold water down Zoro’s back.  “You… don’t want to be married to me?”

Sanji makes a high-pitched whining noise and tugs at his hair.  “Of course I want to be married to you, you idiot!”

“Good!”  Zoro says.  “Then, curly, since you apparently missed it the first time, will you m-”

“Stop!”  Sanji yelps, pressing a hand over Zoro’s mouth.  Zoro licks it.  He knows better than to bite, even if the curly-browed bastard deserves it.  “Did you just - you’re disgusting, marimo.  Shut up and wait here for a minute.”

With that, the cook who maybe isn’t Zoro’s husband - yet? - whirls out of the room, leaving Zoro to stare down a disbelieving Nami while Luffy unconcernedly turns back to his food.

Sanji dashes up to the room above the restaurant where he’s been living in what he thought was contentedly unmarried bliss for years, and barely hears his own footsteps over the ringing in his ears.  All this time Zoro thought - and he never said anything -

Well, that part isn't too unbelievable.  They’ve never been the best at talking things through, and actions speak much louder than words between them, anyway.  Zoro probably never even noticed Sanji introducing him to people as his partner instead of his husband - his husband! - and it’s good terminology to use anyway, right, normalizes situations like Sanji thought theirs was where people just haven’t gotten around to asking the question yet, or for people who don’t want to use a gendered term, or -

Sanji has to close his eyes and do a breathing exercise for a minute.  He’s well into adulthood now, he can’t be freaking out like this over every little thing.  The word doesn’t change what they are to each other, even if Sanji has been trying to find the right moment to propose to his shitty marimo boyfriend for ages.

At the back of a drawer the damn swordsman would never open, much less dig through, full of Sanji’s plain socks and underwear - not that Zoro gives a shit about even the fancy stuff, unless Sanji is actively wearing it - there is a box.  It’s locked.  The key is in an ornate silver cigarette case Brook gave him, deep in the pocket of Sanji’s fanciest tux, which Zoro knows he is not to touch under pain of death.  Inside the box are a stack of painstakingly tabbed wedding planning magazines, and under those, one velvet jewelry box.

It’s just never been the right moment.  Sanji is a sucker for ceremony, for cheesy romantic overtures, and he knows Zoro is not.  After a while spent daydreaming over how Zoro might propose to him, Sanji decided to take matters into his own hands - a good call, if he apparently missed the mossy bastard’s sorry excuse for a proposal.  Since making that decision, Sanji hasn’t been able to figure out the right balance between popping the question on any perfect, sleepy morning, and arranging some fancy occasion that would only serve to put his love on edge.  This, Sanji supposes, is what he gets for putting it off so long.

Taking the entire box with him, Sanji returns to the others, and finds perfect Nami-swan and his hopeless brute of a swordsman having a silent conversation entirely via glares.  He’ll reprimand Zoro on how to communicate with a lady later.  In the meantime, Sanji slaps his stack of magazines down in front of the marimo, keeping the ring hidden in one increasingly sweaty hand.

“Did you know,” Sanji says, in a tone far too conversational for how wild-eyed he must be, “that I only started booking the restaurant as a wedding venue so you wouldn’t get suspicious about the magazines?”

“What?”  Zoro blankly asks.

Sanji sighs.  Knowing Zoro, he’s probably never so much as glanced at the magazines Sanji started subscribing to, and he’s been dealing with high-strung brides and grooms a few times a year for nothing.  Well, not nothing; of course it’s a delight to make other couples’ special days perfect, and by now, he knows his staff is prepared to handle anything.  

“I have the menu all planned out,” he says, flipping to a few of the tabbed pages.  Pink for flower inspiration, red for place settings and centerpieces, blue for invitation layouts.  Naturally, he’ll be using all his own recipes, but there are some clever serving suggestions tabbed in purple.

“You’re not cooking for your own wedding,” Nami interrupts, while Zoro stares at the glossy photographs as if the accompanying text is in a foreign language.  “I’m sure Chef Zeff will agree with me.”

“Is this gonna be a huge thing, cook?”  Zoro demands.

“If Zoro and Sanji are already married, what -”  Luffy begins.

“It’ll be a party, Luffy,” Nami impatiently tells him.  “A huge party, and yes, with meat.”

“You should definitely get married again,” Luffy decides.

“Didn’t we skip a step or two here?”  Zoro asks.

Sanji’s hand tightens on the ring box, and his stomach fills with butterflies.  He knows that Zoro loves him.  There’s only one possible outcome to this question, but it still feels big.  He’s said the words before, begged Nami to marry him a hundred times when they were younger, but he’s never really meant them before, never wanted it like this.  Spending the rest of his life with Zoro is the only future Sanji can imagine.

When he drops to one knee, Zoro’s eye goes wide, and he reaches out as if to stop Sanji, before his gaze catches on something over Sanji’s shoulder, and he freezes, looking mildly horrified.  Probably Nami threatening him, by the faint reflection Sanji can make out in the window behind Zoro, but he can’t spare her even a fraction of his attention for once.  Feeling light-headed, he takes a slow breath through his nose and holds out the box, deftly popping it open.  Hours of practicing that move in secret pay off, and his hands don’t shake in the slightest.

“Will you marry me, Zoro?”

It’s not the fiercely romantic occasion Sanji has been imagining, but the furious blush on Zoro’s cheeks and the way he hastily dashes a hand across his face make Sanji’s heart skip in his chest.

“Yes,” his marimo says, voice thick with emotion in a way Sanji has rarely heard, and actually, Sanji can’t imagine a more perfect moment than this, because this is the moment Zoro is agreeing to marry him.  Every fantasy pales in comparison, even though he can hear Nami shushing Luffy somewhere in the background.

“But I still asked you first,” Zoro adds, as Sanji starts sliding the ring onto his finger, and Sanji considers breaking his hand instead.  “I know you like all this fussy stuff, curly, but we’ve been married for years.”

“I’m going to kick your ass,” Sanji threatens.  Can’t he have one nice thing?!  

“Put that in your vows,” Zoro retorts, with a shit-eating grin.

“Not inside!”  Nami hisses, as Sanji’s legs begin to heat up, and Zoro reaches for his swords.  Sanji stops, for her, and Zoro folds his arms over his chest, sullen.

The ring looks good on Zoro’s finger, silver shining against his tanned skin.  Sanji knows he won’t actually wear it, too risky with how often he gets into fights, but he can get Zoro a chain for it soon.  He’ll probably have to point out the details, the little spiral etched inside the three-strand woven band, and Zoro will make fun of him for being sentimental, but he knows his fiancé will appreciate it in his own way.  Seeing Zoro with it makes him giddy, and Sanji thinks it probably always will.

“Hooray!”  Luffy shouts.  “Sanji, when is the party!”

“There’s a ton of planning to do,” Nami scolds him.  “We’ll have to tell everyone else about the engagement, and send out invitations, and figure out the perfect date -”

Sanji is lucky to have her in his corner, because Zoro falls asleep within minutes, and Luffy wanders away to find something more fun to do.  At least Sanji knows his staff is trained to keep Luffy out of the kitchens, Pirate King or not.

Once they call around with the news, all their old crewmates show up at Sanji’s restaurant within days to celebrate with him and Zoro.  They find out that Robin and Usopp both witnessed their first wedding and simply never said anything about it, while Chopper saw and simply didn’t understand the significance of the moment.  Franky cries enough to cause a flood over having missed it, Brook proclaims himself blind not to have realized - though of course he does not have eyes, ohoho! - and Jinbei seems only mildly perplexed, letting the dramatic carrying-on wash over him like so much seawater.  The chaos of wedding planning is spread into so many hands that Sanji barely gets a chance to be stressed about it, and Zoro is as grounding as ever.

“You guys should get married more often,” Luffy says, trying out the third wedding cake recipe that Sanji has tested this week.  Beside him, Chopper nods along with stuffed cheeks.

“Twice is enough,” Zoro growls, and Sanji laughs.  They always do agree on the important things, in the end.