Archive of Our Own

There are two types of bar: the ones where you go to for company and the ones where you go to be alone.

This one—with its crappy illumination, sticky floors and air that's more cigarette smoke than oxygen—is one of the latter. It's why Zoro walked in and why he stayed even after he saw Sanji sitting at one of the tables. They don’t have to acknowledge each other here. They can pretend they don't know each other, that they're acquaintances at best, that Sanji has never smiled against Zoro’s lips while playing with his earrings.

Zoro takes a seat as far away from Sanji as he can, tells the bartender to keep the bottles coming, and hunches over his drink. If anybody comes within a two-meter radius, he glares at them. Out of the corner of his eye, he watches Sanji nurse his drink and chainsmoke.

They could spend the night like this, existing parallel to each other until it's time to go home and resume their lives. Pick up where they left off, pretending that nothing has ever happened between them, that they're just two men that hate each other and who happen to be loyal to the same idiot. It'd be a proper ending to something that wasn’t allowed to begin.

A firm set of footsteps makes Zoro turn his head in Sanji’s direction. High heels make a distinctive sound against hardwood floors, a clacking that no other type of footwear can hope to imitate. It's the type of shoe worn by someone that wants to announce their presence, and the woman walking towards Sanji is someone that doesn't want to be missed. The size of her chest can compete with Nami's and her cleavage leaves nothing to the imagination. The skirt of her dress reaches only halfway down her thighs, and the fabric hugs her body tightly, evidencing a lack of underwear. She's dressed in black, but when the light hits her dress from a certain angle, there's a green sheen to it.

It's hard to see her face without staring. Zoro has never cared about being caught staring.

The woman meets his gaze when she feels his eye on her, and she smiles at him—flirty and inviting, ready to go to him if Zoro calls her over.

He glares at her and turns back to his drink. He came to this bar to get drunk in peace. The woman keeps walking and takes a seat next to Sanji, with her back to Zoro.

There's no need to see Sanji’s face to know how he's reacting. The woman is pretty, Zoro supposes: green eyes, dark brown hair that reaches her hips, full lips, olive skin. Nothing special, no spark in her, but that's what Sanji likes, anyway. Pretty women he can fawn over and that don't actually care for him. He'll be happy with her, for as long as he manages to hold her attention.

It ends up being a long time. Zoro’s lost count of how much he's drunk, yet the woman and Sanji are still together. Sanji’s on his fourth drink, the woman's still on the first. At some point after Sanji’s third drink, she climbed onto his lap and made herself comfortable there. She has a hand in his hair now, her nails scratching his scalp like he's a beloved pet, while Sanji’s head is almost on her chest. He's practically drooling over her tits. His arms are loosely wrapped around her waist.

The worst part is that every time Zoro glances at them to see how much more pathetic Sanji has gotten, he finds Sanji looking at him. Jealousy burns in Zoro’s gut, fueled by the alcohol and fanned by Sanji’s stupid expression, by how his eyes won't leave Zoro, daring him to do something.

Fuck him. Not a day ago he'd claimed to love Zoro. A few hours ago he'd said he'd stay loyal, even if they weren't together. It's Zoro’s fault for believing him. It's Zoro’s fault for forgetting that what Sanji truly likes are soft curves, long hair, and the illusion of fragility.

It's Zoro’s fault for letting this affect him. They aren't together. Any chances of that were cut to pieces earlier that day.

The woman brings Sanji’s glass to his lips and Zoro watches him drink, not fast enough to keep some of the alcohol from running down his chin and onto her chest.

With delicate movements, the woman sets down the glass and guides Sanji’s face up so she can whisper something in his ear. He nods slowly and lets her move his head towards her cleavage so he can lick the spilled alcohol.

Zoro almost breaks the bottle he's holding. He lowers his head and starts counting, willing himself to calm down. He has no right to Sanji. The horny, pathetic idiot can do whatever he wants with whoever he wants.

Out of the corner of his eye, Zoro watches the woman get to her feet. She grabs Sanji’s tie and tugs at it. When Sanji stands up, she pats the top of his head in approval. She leaves some money on the table and heads for the door, dragging Sanji along by his tie. Only yesterday Zoro had pulled on the same tie to get Sanji close enough to kiss him.

Before they disappear into the night, Sanji turns to look at Zoro. He holds his gaze until he’s gone, then downs a whole bottle in less than a minute.

Zoro counts his money, signals the bartender for his tab, and heads back to the Sunny, willing himself not to think about Sanji fucking the woman in some random hotel. There’s nothing between him and Sanji, and his own stupid heart better remember it soon.

“How are you feeling, dear?”

The voice in Sanji’s ear is soft, caring. The woman it belongs to wants him to be happy and comfortable. She's said as much all along, from the moment she first touched him.

Her hand is cupping his cheek, warm and soft and caring, because she wants him to feel good.

Sanji opens his mouth to try to tell her how nice it is to be with her, but the words have no shape. His tongue is too heavy and clumsy for them.

The woman's thumb pushes past his lips and presses down on his tongue.

“Don't speak, love,” she says, quiet and soft and caring. “There's no need for you to speak. Make a sound if you want something.”

She tastes sweet, like the drink she bought him at the bar. Sanji licks her thumb and whines when she removes it from his mouth.

“Just like that,” she says. “Well done.”

Sanji smiles, even though he doesn't deserve the praise—talking is hard, sounds are easy.

“Keep being good for your mistress,” she says.

Sanji wants nothing more than to be good for his mistress, so he nods, and his mistress smiles, because he's being good for her. He's on his knees for her. He's so happy to be with her.

She pets his head and guides him to rest it on her lap.

“Good boy,” she says, scratching his head. “Aren't you a good boy, Black Leg Sanji?”

Sanji rubs his cheek against her thigh. Her skin is soft and warm and nice to the touch and he wants to stay like this.

“You deserve a treat,” she says, soft and warm and caring and her fingers brush his lips and feed him something small and round and sweet that melts on his tongue, which is heavy and clumsy and makes it hard to swallow.

Some saliva trickles down the corner of his mouth, and his mistress pulls his head back by his hair.

“Don't make a mess, pet,” she says, soft and warm and caring, and looking at Sanji like he's very amusing.

Sanji hums and does his best to swallow despite his heavy and clumsy tongue.

“Well done, pet,” she says, wiping his chin with a handkerchief that he belatedly recognizes as his own. He doesn't remember giving it to her.

He frowns at it, trying to remember. He had it in his jacket pocket.

His jacket has been draped over the armrest of his mistress’ chair. When did that happen?

“What's wrong, pet?” his mistress asks, cupping Sanji’s face, brushing his cheeks with her thumbs, warm and soft and soothing and caring.

He tries to tell her. He wants to tell her. His jacket is on her chair when he should be wearing it.

He can't speak because his tongue is heavy and clumsy, so he tries to point at his jacket, but his arm is heavy and clumsy too.

“Oh, love, stop that,” his mistress says, carding her fingers through his hair, soothing and caring and warm. “You're thinking too much and it doesn't make you feel good.”

She's right. His mistress is right. The jacket doesn't matter. His mistress doesn't want him thinking about the jacket.

“Be good for me, pet,” she says. “Be good for me and I'll make you feel good.” She holds up his head by his hair. It's good that she does, because his head feels heavy too.

Her fingers go to his forehead and travel downwards, passing over his eyes, lowering his eyelids in the process.

Sanji tries to open his eyes. He thinks it's better if he sees what's happening. He should see what's happening.

“Close your eyes, pet,” his mistress says, brushing over his eyelids again, bringing them down. “It's too much effort to keep them open, isn't it?”

A whine escapes Sanji, he doesn't know why. His mistress wants him to keep his eyes closed, why doesn't he want to keep his eyes closed?

“Stop thinking, pet,” his mistress says, soft and warm and caring, her fingers keeping his eyelids down. “Let me take care of you.”

Sanji shivers.

“Be a good pet, Black Leg Sanji,” his mistress says, sweet like the drink she bought for him, like the treats she's been feeding him.

Sanji stops trying to open his eyes.

“Good boy,” his mistress says, pushing another treat past his lips. Small and round and sweet, melting on his heavy and clumsy tongue.

His mistress’ hand undoes the buttons of his shirt. Where is his tie? He doesn’t remember. Must be with his jacket. He hopes it's there. He likes that tie. Zoro likes that tie too.

Zoro. Zoro had been there, hadn't he? At the bar, not looking at Sanji. Of course he wasn't going to look at Sanji. He had no reason to look at Sanji. He probably didn't even care that Sanji had been looking at him. Why had Sanji been looking at him?

Sanji frowns and his mistress’ hand returns to his face to rub gentle circles on his cheek with her thumb.

“Let it go, pet,” she says, warm and soft and caring. “Whatever it is, it's not worth it.”

Zoro is always worth it. Why isn't it him undressing Sanji now?

Sanji whimpers, and his mistress guides his head to her lap again. She runs her fingers through his hair.

“Forget about it, pet,” she says, soft and warm and caring, and gives him another treat, sweet and melting on his clumsy tongue.

He's so tired, and it's so easy to be good for his mistress. He can forget about Zoro for his mistress.

“That's it, pet,” his mistress says. “Good boy.”

Sanji hums contentedly. His mistress is happy with him.

She pushes him up by the shoulder. His head falls forward, too heavy for him to hold up, and then his mistress is guiding him to rest his head on her shoulder. When did she get on his level? Sanji doesn't know. He doesn't remember. He didn't notice.

It doesn't matter.

“Good boy,” his mistress says into his ear, warm and sweet and happy with him, unlike Zoro.

Sanji whimpers.

“Stop that,” his mistress orders, slowly pushing back his shirt.

The room is warm, because there's a fire to keep it warm, because his mistress wants him to be warm and comfortable and happy, and so it doesn't matter that Sanji isn't wearing a shirt anymore, and then it doesn't matter either that his mistress takes off his undershirt.

This isn't right. Zoro wouldn’t be happy that somebody else is undressing him. Sanji doesn’t want anyone but Zoro to undress him.

“Relax, pet,” his mistress says, carding her fingers through his hair. “Be a good boy and do as you're told.”

Sanji shakes his head. This isn't right and he should leave, but his body's heavy and clumsy and if he leaves his mistress will be upset.

“Stop that, pet,” his mistress says, no longer warm and soft and caring. She's firm and cold and angry because Sanji isn't a good boy.

He tries to look at her, but he can't open his eyes. He should be able to open his eyes. Why can't he open his eyes?

His mistress gets to her feet and he falls forward, his face hitting the floor. He bites his tongue and tastes blood, and he isn't happy and safe anymore, except his mistress turns him over and wipes the blood that's trickling down the corners of his mouth.

“Such a mess, pet.” His mistress sighs. “Maybe I won't keep you, after all.”

Sanji sucks in a breath and a sob escapes him. His mistress isn't happy with him. His mistress won't keep him.

“Oh, pet,” his mistress says, soft and warm again, her hands back to caressing his face and hair. “Does it really bother you so much?”

He can't form the words, but he can nod.

“Be good for me, then,” his mistress says, caring and soft and warm. “Be a good boy and I'll keep you. Can you be a good boy?”

Sanji nods again.

His mistress’ fingers push past his lips again, feed him another treat because he's being good, so good for his mistress that will keep him, that wants Sanji and will keep him because he's good for her.

He feels her hands around his neck and then they're gone and there's still something around it.

“There, pet,” his mistress says, happy and pleased and warm and soft. “A collar for you.”

Something tugs at the collar. Must be a leash. A leash and a collar because he is his mistress’ pet.

“Get on your knees, pet,” his mistress says, pulling at the leash.

Sanji tries to obey, he really does, but his body's heavy and clumsy and it shouldn't be, and maybe he isn't supposed to be here even if it's warm and safe and his mistress wants him.

Or maybe he is supposed to be here, because if he wasn't, someone would have come for him. Zoro saw him with his mistress, if Sanji wasn't supposed to be here, he'd have stopped him from leaving. Even if he doesn't want him, Zoro would never put Sanji in danger, so if Sanji’s here, then maybe he's supposed to be here. He's supposed to be his mistress’ pet. He can be good for her and then maybe Zoro will see that he can be good and he can be good for Zoro too.

All he has to do is to get on his knees.

There's no breakfast waiting in the galley. It's a small thing, it has happened before, except now that Zoro thinks about it? It's never happened before.

He knows it and Robin knows it, and that's why she woke them all up.

“I came to the kitchen for my morning coffee and Sanji wasn't here,” she says. “I thought maybe he'd overslept,” impossible, they all know that, “so I went to check. When I didn't see him, I worried.”

A cold sensation crawls down Zoro’s spine.

“Did he come back last night?” Nami asks, looking at the men of the crew.

Some of them shake their heads, others shrug. Zoro stays still, thinking about Sanji leaving the bar with that woman. No matter how much fun he might have been having with her, he wouldn't have left Robin without her morning coffee.

His stomach churns.

“Zoro?” Nami's eyes are narrowed and accusing, even though she doesn't know anything and has no way of knowing.

“We were at the same bar last night,” Zoro says. “He left with a woman.”

Robin raises an eyebrow. Nami's expression hardens. Everyone is looking at him now.

“What did she look like?” Robin asks, her tone serious.

“Tall. Thin. Huge tits. The sort of woman the Cook likes,” Zoro says, his own voice sounding foreign to him.

“Do you remember anything else?”

Zoro shakes his head. He was too busy being jealous to bother with the woman's appearance.

“Do you remember where the bar was?” Nami asks, although her tone says she doesn't expect an answer.

Zoro shakes his head again. Nami opens her mouth, her face twisting.

“We have to find Sanji,” Luffy says, already heading for the door of the galley and forcing Nami to swallow whatever it was that she'd wanted to scream. “We need breakfast, he knows that.”

He does, and he isn't here to provide it. Sanji left with a woman and never came back to feed them all.

Zoro’s feet move before he really thinks about it. He rushes past Luffy and runs back into town, ignoring the voices calling for him to come back to the Sunny.

He can't waste another second.

Too sweet. That's the only opinion Sanji has of the drink in front of him. Sweet and with a high level of alcohol, which is enough to make it acceptable. He'll have to ask his companion for the name.

Out of the corner of his eye, he catches Zoro watching him. For what must be the twentieth time since Zoro walked in, Sanji bites his tongue so as not to call him over. He desperately wants to call him over.

“What's wrong, dear?” Sanji’s companion asks him, sounding genuinely concerned for him. It's nice to have someone who cares, even if it's just for a moment.

“Woes of the heart, my lovely flower.” Sanji smiles and takes a long sip of his drink. “There's no need for you to concern yourself with it.”

“But I'd like to know, love,” the woman says, reaching out to cup Sanji’s face. “I want you to be happy.”

His heart skips a beat and then makes up for it by racing inside his chest. This isn't right, though. She isn't the person he wants touching him, and it's not fair for anyone if he allows it to continue.

Sanji tries to take the woman's hand and remove it from his face, but he finds that his fingers are stiff and clumsy, and he can only hold on to the woman's elbow.

The woman. What's her name? He should know her name. Why doesn't he know her name?

“You look tense, dear,” the woman says, her thumb caressing Sanji’s cheek. “Is there a problem?”

“No, I…” Is there a problem? He can't remember. There must be, otherwise his hands wouldn't feel strange, too big for him, awkward.

Sanji frowns.

“Here, love,” the woman says, pushing his glass over to him. “Maybe you need a drink.”

It is his glass, right? He hasn't lost sight of it, he's certain nobody has tampered with it. He and the woman are the only ones who've been here, and she hasn't touched his drink before now.

He has to grab the glass with both hands, not trusting himself not to drop it.

As soon as the alcohol touches his tongue, he realizes that his companion was right. He did need a drink.

His frown deepens. His body feels heavier than it should, and he thinks maybe he should be more concerned about it. Why isn't he more concerned about it?

His eyes immediately go to Zoro, who's still sitting at the bar. Good. If he's there, then Sanji will be safe. If Zoro hasn't jumped over to scare off this woman, then she must mean no harm. Zoro wouldn't let Sanji get hurt, even now.

Maybe Sanji’s overthinking.

He downs his drink and his companion smiles, delighted.

“Oh, you're wonderful,” she purrs. The sound makes Sanji’s body warm up and it has him leaning forward in order to hear her better. “I think I'd like to keep you. Would you like that, pet?” she asks in a whisper.

Sanji nods and checks that Zoro’s still at the bar. Just in case.

“Let me get you another drink,” the woman says, and gestures at the bartender.

When it comes to Zoro’s sense of direction, he'll be the first to deny that he has any problem with that. Everyone loves to tell him that he's always getting lost and refusing to understand that the world moves around him. That's fine, he doesn't care. He always ends up where he needs to be, anyway, so why bother?

Today, it matters. Today, he needs the buildings and the trees to stay exactly where they were last night. Today, he ignores his memory and trusts his gut, and because that's not enough, he trusts his swords.

Take me back to where I lost him, Zoro pleads, and he senses Wado take the lead and nudge him in the right direction.

He runs, uncaring of who stands in his way, ignoring the urge to double check his path when he passes a house he doesn't recognize. He follows Wado's lead and eventually finds himself standing in front of the same bar he left maybe three hours ago, hurt and jealous and willfully blind to the fact that Sanji kept looking at him.

Zoro takes out his swords and promptly destroys the bar's front door. The noise brings the bartender down from the second floor, screaming bloody murder until he sees Zoro. That's when he shuts his mouth and tries to run back upstairs. Objectively speaking, that sounds like a reasonable reaction to having a man with three swords and a reward in the billions crashing into your business. Zoro is certain that he can smell the guilt.

“The blond guy from last night,” Zoro says, Kitetsu at the man’s neck and Enma's tip against his chest. “The one with the stupid eyebrows.”

“I have nothing to do with this,” the bartender pleads.

Enma wants blood, and Zoro sees no problem in indulging her.

The man sobs when Enma cuts through his clothes and rests against his skin.

“You made his drinks last night,” Zoro reminds him. “That woman couldn't have slipped something into them without the Cook noticing.” He allows Kitetsu to touch the man’s neck.

The bartender sobs.

“Where is he,” Zoro demands.

“I- I don't-”

“Try again,” Zoro growls, standing closer, showing his teeth.

The sound the man makes is akin to a mouse's squeak.

“The abandoned inn,” the bartender says, shaking. “Three blocks east from here.”

“If you're lying,” Zoro warns, “I'll find you and you will regret it.” In order to drive the point across, he slides Kitetsu over the man's neck, cutting the skin. Blood pours out of the cut, and the smell of iron mixes with the unmistakable smell of piss.

Zoro steps away from the bartender and runs back outside.

Wado tells him where to go.

There are times to be truly alone and times to be alone while surrounded by people. If Sanji could choose, he'd go for the former, but if he tries it on the Sunny, everyone will notice. That'll lead to either questions or theories, and he isn't in the mood for either.

His only alternative is to get truly and properly drunk, ideally in a shady bar where nobody will bother to look at him twice.

The one he finds is promising. The illumination is terrible and most of the patrons look like they'd sell Sanji for a drink if the offer came up. That suits him well, maybe he'll get to fight someone before the night ends and deal with some of the frustration that’s been festering in his gut for the last few hours.

It's a great plan. Sanji’s halfway through his drink when Zoro walks in, takes one look at him, and pretends he didn't see Sanji at the table. It's almost funny how obvious Zoro is in his efforts not to acknowledge Sanji. It's tempting to ask him to join him, to get drunk together and act like things are fine between them, but he knows Zoro won't accept the invitation. If Sanji calls, Zoro might even go so far as to leave and find another bar.

It's better to have Zoro pretending not to care than to be away from him.

Sanji downs his drink. He's about to go and get himself another one when he sees a woman approaching him, forcing him to stay seated lest she notices his body's reaction to her. She's stunning: firm breasts, perfect hips, eyes like emeralds and lips like sin. She's carrying two glasses and she sets one in front of Sanji with a flirty smile.

“Drinking alone, love?” she asks softly, her voice dripping honey.

Sanji’s too stunned to do anything but nod.

“Would you mind some company?” the woman continues.

Sanji shakes his head and the woman takes the chair next to him, her thigh pressing against his.

“Cheer up, dear,” she says, holding out her glass for a toast. “I'm here now.”

It takes effort, but Sanji manages to smile at his companion. She doesn’t deserve to deal with the fallout of his nothingness with Zoro. He picks up his glass and clinks it against hers.

“If you stay by my side, I can only be happy,” Sanji says.

The woman smiles. “Don't worry, pet,” she purrs. “I'll make you forget everything.”

The sign announcing the inn's name is an unreadable piece of wood with faded splotches of color on it. The stairs leading up to the front door protest under Zoro’s weight. The door is locked. Zoro rests a hand on it and closes his eye. There can't be any room for mistakes.

He only senses two people inside the building. He refuses to consider the possibility that Sanji might not be one of them.

Zoro’s body itches with fury, eager for violence, but he controls himself—instead of bursting into the building, he pushes Kitetsu into the gap between the door and the frame and cuts down anything and everything that might be keeping the door closed. Then he opens the door gently and quietly steps inside. There's no telling what the woman will do to Sanji if she becomes aware too soon of Zoro’s presence. Zoro has failed Sanji enough in the last day; he won't add Sanji’s death to the list of his mistakes.

The building has three floors and several rooms in each one. Zoro heads straight to the last floor, the two people in the building acting as his beacon. He turns left at the top of the stairs and softens his footsteps—a tiger on a hunt. He comes to a stop in front of the fourth door and turns the knob.

There's a lit fireplace at one side of the room, making it obnoxiously warm, and a chair that resembles a throne in front of it. The woman from the bar is sitting there, calmly reading a book, her legs stretched towards the fire. Sanji’s kneeling on the floor next to her, naked from the waist up. His head is resting on the woman's lap and she's absent-mindedly running her fingers through his hair. She's holding a leash. The leash is connected to a collar around Sanji’s neck.

The heat in the room isn't the reason Zoro turns red. Did this fucker really ditch his duties for some kinky roleplaying?

In the second it takes Zoro to process what he's seeing, the woman notices his presence. She drops her book and stares at Zoro with wide, terrified eyes, just like the bartender had earlier.

The bartender that had been obviously guilty. The bartender that drugged Sanji’s drinks.

Zoro’s fury returns, multiplied by three and accompanied by nausea as he takes in the obvious signs he missed on his first look. Sanji’s breathing is fast and shallow, he didn't react to Zoro’s arrival, and his arms are hanging limply at his sides.

The woman grabs Sanji’s head with both hands and meets Zoro’s gaze.

“Take one more step and I'll snap his neck, Roronoa Zoro,” she says.

Sanji doesn't resist. The only thing holding his head up is the woman's hands.

“If you know who I am,” Zoro says, staying where he is, his tone cold and his gaze merciless, “then you know I'll kill you if you hurt him.”

The woman's hands shake.

“I took him from right under your nose,” she says, challenging despite her fear. If Zoro was a weaker man, he'd have flinched. “Why do you care now?”

“He's a Straw Hat pirate,” Zoro says, refusing to play her game. “You can't take one of us without consequences.”

Zoro takes a step forward. The woman shrinks into herself. Sanji remains in her hold, disturbingly pliant.

“Let him go and I might let you live,” Zoro offers. “Kill him and you'll spend your last day in this world begging me to kill you.”

A hysterical laugh escapes the woman and she lets go of Sanji. His head falls on her lap and his body tilts to the side.

“You might let me live?”

“It all depends on what you've already done to him.” Zoro eyes Sanji’s naked torso, trying to find answers to the questions he's afraid to ask. “You better start running if you think it's something I'll kill you for.”

The woman gets to her feet. Sanji falls to the floor in a heap and Zoro sees red.

“Run,” he growls.

The woman obeys.

Sanji loves the quiet moments right after lunch is over—he gets to see how content his food has made everyone, and nobody’s in the mood for trouble yet. It's peaceful.

Zoro ruins that with only a few words: “Cook, we need to talk.”

Few sentences are as stress-inducing as that one.

Sanji takes his time before acknowledging Zoro—he puts away the clean dishes, labels the leftovers and lights a cigarette—and hopes to be wrong in his fears and suspicions. Zoro waits for him—his arms crossed over his chest and his eye fixed on Sanji.

When he's done, Sanji gestures at the table. Zoro shakes his head and stays on his feet. Sanji sits down.

“Having second thoughts, Marimo?” Sanji says, trying to sound teasing and carefree and succeeding. Nobody lies as well as he does; not even Nami.

Zoro’s silence is an answer by itself.

“Ah.” Sanji takes a long drag of his cigarette and exhales the smoke slowly. He watches it dissipate into the clean air. “What happened?”

“You…” Zoro begins, then he frowns and snaps his mouth shut.

Of course it was Sanji.

“Me?” Sanji prompts with an amused little smile.

“Not you, Cook,” Zoro quickly says. “Just that… You want a relationship.”

It's hard to keep the smile on. Sanji manages.

“And I'm guessing you don't,” Sanji says.

“Not right now.” It sounds like Zoro’s struggling to get each word out.

Sanji hums, smokes, and avoids Zoro’s eye.

“Why not, if you don't mind me asking?” He makes it sound nonchalant and it comes across that way, because nobody can catch Sanji in a lie if he doesn't want to be caught. “You seemed very happy with me yesterday.”

He'd even seemed in love, at times.

“I started thinking-”

“That's never good,” Sanji mocks him.

“Shut up, I'm trying to explain myself here,” Zoro says.

Sanji huffs and gestures for him to continue.

“During breakfast, you were all… touchy. You kept touching me.” Sanji’s stomach twists. “And then you brought me extra snacks while I was training. It was weird. That's boyfriend behavior.”

“I thought we were together,” Sanji says icily.

Zoro winces. It's a special type of horrible, how he tries to sound conciliatory when he says, “Look, I thought so too, but I didn't realize things were supposed to change between us.”

Sanji’s heart is sinking and he thinks he's about to be sick. None of that shows when he asks, “What's changed?”

“You acting like a boyfriend?” Zoro says, an eyebrow raised. He runs a hand over his face and adds, “That's… I can't do that. Not yet.”

“You might think you're being very clear, Marimo,” Sanji says, cool and collected and perfectly fine with this, “but I don't understand what you're trying to say.”

Zoro’s lips part and he looks at Sanji for a long moment before he speaks. “A relationship requires time and commitment. I can't give you as much of those as you deserve. Not yet. Not when Luffy hasn't become King of the Pirates yet and I haven't beaten Mihawk.”

A spark of hope comes to life inside Sanji’s chest. “That's it, Marimo? You don't have to change anything! I made those things for you because I wanted to. I touched you because I wanted to. I didn't expect you to overthink it.”

“You’re changing things between us, Cook,” Zoro says. “I can't handle that now. I can't…” He pulls a chair towards himself and sits down. “I've never dated anyone. I won't do a lousy job on my first relationship.”

“This isn't a- a job, you idiot!” Sanji says, gesturing wildly. “This is about how you feel! If you want to be with me, we can figure out the rest!”

“I don't want to do that, Cook!” It'd have hurt less if Zoro had slapped him. “I can't spend time figuring out a relationship that I can't commit fully to. You don't deserve that.” Zoro licks his lips. “You should have someone that can give you the attention and time you want, and that's not me right now.”

“Who cares what I deserve?” Sanji cries, covering his pain with rage. “What about what I want?”

“What about what we both need?” Zoro shoots back. “I need to focus on our goals. You need someone who can be with you. It can't work. Not now.”

“You fucking-” Sanji lets out a frustrated groan. “Then I'll wait! One of these days we'll find the One Piece and you'll be the World's Greatest Swordsman. We can be together then.”

Zoro started shaking his head before Sanji was done talking.

“That might take years, Cook.” His voice is lower, back at the attempt to keep the peace. “I don't want you trying to wait for me.”

“Trying?”

Zoro’s gaze is impassive. “It's a big world. You're bound to meet someone else.”

“I'm in love with you, stupid brainless swordsman,” Sanji hisses. “You think that's easy for me?”

During the long moment it takes for Zoro to reply, Sanji feels hopeful again.

“I'm sorry,” Zoro says, lowering his head and bringing Sanji back to reality. “I can't be with you.”

“I'll wait for you anyway,” Sanji promises.

Zoro shakes his head and stands up. “Don't do that,” he says. “You'll only hurt yourself.”

“Fuck you, Zoro,” Sanji says, glaring.

Their eyes meet and Sanji can see it clearly, that Zoro regrets his decision, that maybe this can still be saved. Then Zoro turns his back on Sanji and walks out of the galley without another look, leaving Sanji wishing for a fight. He needs bruises and cuts, something tangible he can blame for how worn down he feels.

He buries his hands in his hair and tugs at it. Sanji's the greatest idiot that's ever lived. He finally got what he wanted and ruined it by being too much. He let himself get carried away by happiness and forgot that nobody wants all of him. That he's got to cut himself into easy-to-chew pieces, that he needs to water himself down, that he must put off the flames before he can try to offer himself up to someone. That his love isn't enough, when the rest of him isn't palatable.

He closes his eyes and gives himself half a minute to break down to pieces. He still has afternoon snacks to prepare and a crew that needs him.

Nami said they'd be at an island by nightfall. He can mope properly once they’ve docked.

“Sanji!” Zoro calls urgently, kneeling next to the limp form on the floor, taking him into his arms. Sanji’s head lolls with the movement.

There’s no reaction, not even a sound as Zoro maneuvers Sanji into what he hopes is a comfortable position.

“Sanji,” Zoro calls again, softer, supporting Sanji’s head with his arm and checking his pulse. It’s racing, going at a speed that makes it hard for Zoro to keep count of his heartbeats. “Sanji, wake up.”

If his voice comes out pleading, nobody will ever know.

Sanji’s eyelids flutter.

“Sanji,” Zoro repeats, like a charm, a spell, an incantation. “Sanji.” A trail of breadcrumbs for Sanji to follow.

Maybe it worked, or maybe whatever it is that the bartender gave him is wearing off, because Sanji manages to open his eyes. Not fully, and they’re clearly unfocused, but at least he’s looking at Zoro.

“It’s me,” Zoro says, hoping that helps. He holds Sanji closer and brushes his cheek with his thumb.

Sanji smiles and closes his eyes, leaning into Zoro’s touch. His breathing becomes deeper.

There are a hundred things that Zoro wants to tell Sanji, but they're all stuck under his tongue. He doesn't believe in regrets, but he wishes he could go back a few hours and tell himself to pay attention to what was happening right in front of him. His job in the crew is to keep everyone safe, and he was so busy staying away from Sanji that he failed.

A quick look around the room tells Zoro where the rest of Sanji’s clothes are. A careful observation of what he can see of Sanji’s body doesn’t reveal any injuries. There's an angry red line around Sanji’s neck when Zoro removes the collar.

Zoro holds Sanji closer and rests his forehead against Sanji’s. He won't make any promises he can't keep, but he can be here now. He can hold Sanji and keep him safe until they get to Chopper.

Sanji’s pulse begins to slow down. He turns his head to lean against Zoro’s chest.

“Zoro,” Sanji says, so quiet that Zoro at first thinks he imagined it. “Zoro,” Sanji says again, nuzzling him, a smile still on his lips.

“I'm here,” Zoro says, suddenly finding it hard to speak. “I'm here, Sanji.”

And that's where he's going to stay.

“I love you,” Sanji says against Zoro’s lips, and Zoro looks at him like he just got the answer to life, the universe and everything.

“Say it again,” Zoro asks, his hands on Sanji's hips, his nose brushing Sanji’s.

That's a request that Sanji’s happy to fulfill. He wants to say it a hundred, a thousand, a million times. He wants to make up for each and every time he held his tongue, for all the times he kept himself from showing affection and offered violence and disdain instead. He wants Zoro to know that he means it.

Sanji holds Zoro’s face. “I love you, I love you, I love you.” It comes out fervent and urgent, desperate and pleading. He doesn't want to stop and he doesn't think he can, not when it makes Zoro bury his face in his neck and hold him tightly.

It gives Sanji the courage to fall freely, to let himself love Zoro once and for all.

Zoro’s job is to protect everyone in the crew. He'll take good care of Sanji’s heart.