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“We fear not the loss of those we love, but the loss of who they were.”
— Khalil Gibran
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The sky burned in a blazing red, dyed by the flames consuming everything in their path. The fire didn’t just devour the landscape—it made the air heavy, suffocating, almost unbreathable. The roar of the embers fought to overpower the sound of the battle, where swords clashed against precise blows in a rhythm that seemed to mark the end of everything.
Zoro stood firm, unwavering in his determination as a warrior, facing the man who had once been his comrade, his rival… his equal.
Standing before him was Sanji.
Or at least, what remained of him. The figure before Zoro was nothing but a hollow shadow, a soulless shell of the man he had once loved. Sanji’s movements, which were once filled with passion and determination, were now cold and automatic, each step stripped of life. His fighting style lacked the unique spark that had always defined him, and the grace that once flowed through his attacks had vanished. Everything about him had been reduced to a ruthless, almost mechanical precision.
There were no jokes, no taunts. This time, there was no truce. This battle would not end until one of them fell.
“After the battle… if I’m no longer myself, I want you to kill me.”
The words Sanji had spoken during that call from Wano echoed in Zoro’s mind, cutting deeper than any blade could. Zoro felt those words extinguishing even the metallic clash of their weapons.
With every strike, the weight in his chest grew heavier. This wasn’t a fight that fueled him; the fire that usually drove him in battle was absent. His body moved, but his eyes… His eyes searched desperately for a sign, a trace that the man before him was still Sanji. But all he found was an icy abyss.
Empty.
Cold.
Inhuman…
The eyes that once reflected the warmth of the sun over the sea were now dark voids, foreign and unrecognizable.
Even the crooked smile Sanji wore—a smirk that seemed to cruelly mock him—held no life behind it.
And that was when Zoro understood.
There was no turning back.
With a decisive movement, the blade of Wado Ichimonji plunged into Sanji’s chest, cutting through flesh and bone. Zoro closed his eyes at the last moment, unable to witness what he knew would be the end. But the sound of the blade slicing through the other’s body stayed with him, an echo that would haunt him forever.
His breathing was labored, not just from the effort of the fight, but from something deeper—something pressing down on him from within. He knew he had to confirm it was over. With a will that felt ripped from the depths of his soul, he forced himself to open his eyes.
Blood slid slowly down Wado Ichimonji’s once-pristine blade, staining it a deep, dark red that seemed to consume its purity. His stomach twisted, and an indescribable burn rose in his throat, scorching him from the inside. He needed to confirm that those unfamiliar eyes no longer stared back at him, that it was truly over, and that somehow, in some impossible way, his Sanji had returned and was okay.
Slowly, his gaze lifted. Each second felt like a punishment. His body trembled, frozen by the tension and uncertainty. The white dress shirt Sanji wore was soaked in blood, stained a vivid red as fierce as the burning sky. The sword remained embedded in his chest, a cruel symbol of the promise fulfilled.
Zoro’s fingers clenched into a fist, grasping for anything that might steady him. Finally, just as his eyes began to rise toward Sanji’s face…
He woke up.
.
.
.
Zoro’s eyes snapped open, his body still pressed against the mattress as he gasped for air, as though he had been running for hours. His heart thundered in his ears, reverberating through every fiber of his being. His hands, clenched tightly into fists, tingled with an unsettling familiarity—an echo of the adrenaline he often felt during battles.
But this was different.
This weight didn’t drive him to move; it pinned him down, trapping him as though invisible chains anchored him to the bed, squeezing his chest until he could barely breathe.
He tried to calm himself. Closing his eyes, he forced his lungs to fill with air.
One…
Two…
Three deep breaths.
But the images lingered.
Vivid. Searing.
Sanji’s empty eyes stared at him from the shadows of his mind, burning hotter than the flames of his dream. Every time he tried to push the memory away, the image returned, relentless. Instinctively, his hand went to his chest, as if trying to tear away the invisible weight crushing him.
It hurt.
It hurt more than he was willing to admit.
Zoro exhaled sharply, forcing the air from his lungs in an attempt to shake off the sensation. Slowly, he willed his body to move, sitting up with difficulty. Cold sweat clung to his skin, making his shirt stick to his torso. The chill sent shivers down his spine, grounding him in the present, even if only slightly.
He let his gaze wander around the room, searching for something—anything—that could anchor him to reality. He counted every shadow, every familiar object, noticing the gentle sway of the ship and the creak of the wood beneath him. The images began to fade, their sharp edges blurring into the hazy recollection of a dream. But the physical sensations remained, clinging to him like thorns. His racing heartbeat slowed only marginally, and his breathing, though steadier, was still uneven.
He wasn’t going back to sleep. He couldn’t.
Zoro began to move, cautious, like someone afraid of breaking something fragile. His steps were light, barely audible as he crossed the room. His gaze instinctively drifted to the cook’s bunk, his figure barely visible in the dim light.
He needed to see him.
He needed to confirm that those blue eyes still held the same light, that the image from his nightmare was nothing more than that: an illusion unable to touch reality. He approached, his own footsteps nearly silent, stopping at the edge of the bed.
Sanji lay there, his breathing steady and calm, completely unaware of the storm raging inside Zoro. For a moment, Zoro simply watched him, his eyes tracing the relaxed features of the cook’s face, searching for a sign, some detail that might ease the unease gnawing at his chest.
His hand moved toward him, driven by an impulse he couldn’t suppress. But just as his fingers were about to graze Sanji’s skin…
He stopped.
Zoro clenched his jaw, withdrawing his hand in a swift motion. He watched the blond for a few more seconds, his gaze lingering, before turning and leaving the room.
‧‧‧ ⋄ ✧ ⋄ ‧‧‧
The days passed in a monotony that Zoro couldn’t break. Since that night, a persistent unease had settled in his mind, a weight that refused to lessen. His thoughts spun in endless circles, always returning to the same point: Sanji. No matter how hard he tried to focus on his training or his night watches, his eyes inevitably sought him out, teetering on the edge of obsession.
He watched him from a distance, scrutinizing every gesture, every word, every reaction. Sanji seemed the same as always, brimming with that boundless energy that kept him constantly in motion: cooking, organizing ingredients and provisions, scolding Luffy for stealing food for the tenth time that day. It was a familiar, comforting spectacle.
But for Zoro, it wasn’t comforting.
Every time he saw Sanji cross the deck, something inside him tightened. His eyes followed him like a predator studying its prey, searching… for something. Anything. He didn’t know what. He couldn’t explain it.
A single question lingered in the depths of his thoughts, tormenting him. His mind replayed the call from Wano over and over again, the words the cook had spoken with such weight and seriousness:
“After the battle… if I’m no longer myself, I want you to kill me.”
.
.
Why?
What could drive someone like Sanji to say something like that? Sanji, who never gave up, who always fought until the end. What could have happened for him to consider the possibility of losing himself? And…
How could he lose himself?
Zoro analyzed every movement, every habit, searching for clues, signs that something was wrong. And even though everything seemed normal, he couldn’t shake his unease. There was something in the air, something he couldn’t put into words but that kept him in a constant state of alertness.
Sanji still idolized the women aboard, chasing their attention with a devotion as predictable as it was irritating. That should have reassured him. It was normal behavior, a constant in Sanji’s character. But instead of calming him, that normalcy only unsettled Zoro further.
Was it real?
Or just a façade?
His mind returned again and again to the battle against King and Queen. He remembered the moments when Sanji had changed, though he couldn’t pinpoint exactly how. There was something different about him: a slight tremor in his voice, an unusual gleam in his eyes, something in his expression or posture that didn’t quite fit.
The idea of not being able to distinguish the real Sanji from someone who had lost himself consumed Zoro. His promise weighed on his shoulders like an invisible chain, and the possibility of failing—of not recognizing that crucial moment—terrified him more than he was willing to admit.
.
.
‧‧‧ ⋄ ✧ ⋄ ‧‧‧
.
.
Zoro let out a deep sigh, leaning against the railing of the Sunny. His gaze drifted down to the water, where the moon danced across the surface in a distorted reflection. The sea was so peaceful that night that, for a moment, he wished he could dive into those tranquil waters, let the ocean envelop him, and wash away the tension that seemed embedded in every muscle of his body.
But he knew, even the sea couldn’t erase what he was feeling.
Even though he was alone, surrounded by the vast immensity of the night, he couldn’t escape the truth that haunted him. A truth he barely dared to admit: he was afraid. A fear so real, so tangible, that it made him doubt himself.
What would he do if that moment came?
If Sanji ceased to be himself—if everything that defined him, his fire, his passion… his kindness, disappeared—would he truly be able to keep his promise?
Zoro clenched his jaw, his hands tightening against the cold wood of the railing. Of course, he would be able to. He had to stay true to his word. He always had, and he always would, even if, this time, the price felt unbearable.
Sanji had always been there. Even when they argued, even when their differences clashed like two storms meeting, Zoro had always known he could rely on him. But the day Sanji left…
…he realized how much he needed him.
Could he live a life without him?
The truth was, he wasn’t sure.
Zoro closed his eyes, letting the night wind caress his face. It was a cold, refreshing breeze as if it carried away the scattered fragments of his thoughts. The waves lapped gently against the Sunny’s hull, their rhythmic sound like a constant murmur, as calm as the ocean itself. Slowly, the tangle of thoughts that tormented him began to unravel, leaving behind a void that almost felt like peace.
And then, he felt it.
A warm hand, barely a touch, rested on his. It wasn’t firm or certain; it was hesitant, as though the one who initiated it doubted whether they had the right to be there.
Zoro slowly opened his eyes and turned his head. There stood Sanji, next to him. The faint moonlight and the flickering orange glow of the cigarette hanging from his lips highlighted the contours of his face. Yet, his gaze remained fixed on the water, avoiding Zoro’s.
“Hey…” Sanji muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.
“Hey.”
Zoro’s response was brief, devoid of emotion, and he made no effort to reciprocate the gesture.
Sanji’s hand pulled away almost immediately, as if the touch had been a mistake. The silence that followed was dense, heavy with words neither of them seemed able to say. Something hung in the air between them, a shared weight they didn’t know how to carry together.
Sanji was the first to break it.
“What’s going on? You’ve been acting strange.”
Zoro tilted his head slightly, his voice tinged with a subtle irony that barely masked his discomfort.
“Oh, really?”
Sanji frowned slightly but chose not to rise to the bait.
“Yeah. You’ve been watching me, but… you haven’t said anything. Why?”
“I don’t know. Why haven’t you come to me?” Zoro replied, his tone harsher than he intended.
Sanji blinked, caught off guard. He lowered his gaze, his jaw tightening before he managed a response.
“I… I’m here now, aren’t I?” he said, his voice faltering before letting out a quiet sigh.
Zoro glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, noticing how Sanji’s hands clenched into fists, his knuckles tense, as if he were holding himself back. Something about that vulnerability softened Zoro’s defenses.
“Yeah, you are,” he admitted, his tone calmer.
Sanji lifted his gaze, and this time, his voice carried a trace of firmness.
“So, what’s going on?”
Zoro remained silent. His hands clasped together on the railing, and his eyes drifted out toward the dark horizon. The waves continued to break softly against the ship’s hull, a steady rhythm that clashed with the chaos roiling inside him.
“I’ve been thinking about what I promised you back in Wano,” he finally admitted, the words heavy, as if they had been torn from his soul.
The weight of those words hung between them. Zoro hesitated, searching for the right way to continue, but the pause stretched too long.
Sanji clicked his tongue, the sharp sound cutting through the air like a whip.
“I told you to forget about that.”
Zoro growled, the comment igniting something inside him.
“Of course. Because for you, it’s so easy to just do whatever the hell you want, thinking it’s what’s best.”
Sanji frowned, clearly offended by the swordsman’s words.
“Excuse me? And what face are you using to tell me that?”
Zoro turned fully to face him, his voice low, a restrained growl as sharp as the swords he carried.
“This one. You didn’t just leave us. When you came back, you couldn’t even manage to say a damn ‘I’m back.’ No, of course not. But somehow, you had the time to call me—who knows how long had been holding onto that damn Den Den Mushi—to ask me to kill you.”
Sanji remained silent, his lips pressed tightly together as his expression hardened.
Zoro let out a heavy sigh, the weight of his own words beginning to settle on his shoulders.
“I know… your intention was to protect us,” he said, his voice lower. “I’m not trying to hold the past against you… but you can’t ask me to forget it or pretend it doesn’t matter. Because we both know it does. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have come to me.”
Zoro paused, lowering his gaze. There was something broken in his words, a confession left incomplete, one he couldn’t bring himself to fully articulate.
Sanji inhaled deeply, the smoke from his cigarette curling upward in spirals that disappeared into the starry sky. He tried to catch Zoro’s gaze, but the swordsman refused to look at him.
“Zoro… look at me.”
Sanji’s voice wasn’t a command—it was a plea. It was enough to break through the last of Zoro’s defenses.
“I look at you, Sanji,” Zoro said at last, his voice heavy with restrained emotion. “I look at you every damn day, wondering if that little stumble while serving breakfast means something. If the unnecessary extra punch you gave Luffy for trying to raid the fridge means you’re not yourself anymore… or if I’m just imagining things.”
He paused, the words burning in his throat.
“I look at you when, at the end of the day, you sit there staring at the wall for forty minutes before finally getting up to wash the dishes. I see you every damn day, dreading the moment you’ll stop being you… and I won’t know how to tell.”
The silence fell between them like a heavy blanket, leaving only the rhythmic sound of the sea to fill the empty spaces. Sanji glanced at Zoro out of the corner of his eye, his shoulders tense under the weight of what he had just heard.
“When I stop loving you.”
Zoro turned his head sharply, startled by the words.
“What…?”
For the first time in what felt like centuries, their eyes met. Sanji’s gaze burned with intense determination, contrasting with the barely perceptible tremor in his voice.
“The day I stop loving you, Zoro, it will be the day I stop being me.”
Zoro wanted to believe him, to hold on to those words, but the memory of the last letter Sanji had left before he’d gone came rushing back like a knife. His lips pressed into a tight line as he averted his gaze.
“I thought I knew you loved me… but now I’m not sure,” he admitted, his voice breaking more than he intended. Taking a deep breath, he continued. “I trusted you, but you left. You said you were going to marry someone else… How can I be sure now?”
It felt like reopening old wounds, but he couldn’t help it. The vulnerability of laying himself bare made him take a step back, his intention clears to end the conversation. But before he could move, Sanji grabbed his arm firmly.
“When I stop making your breakfast the way you like. When I stop wanting to fight with you. When you stop finding bottles of sake waiting for you during your watch. When I stop having your back in battles…”
Sanji paused, closing his eyes as though he needed to gather all his strength to go on.
“When I stop taking care of you, Zoro… that’s when you’ll know I’ve stopped loving you.”
The raw sincerity in his words left Zoro frozen, his mind struggling to process what he had just heard. Sanji let out a sigh, his grip on Zoro’s arm loosening, as if ready to give up. But this time, it was Zoro who held him back.
Without saying a word, his gaze urged Sanji to continue.
“I didn’t want to leave…” Sanji finally said, his voice trembling. “I was scared, alright? Scared of losing everything. And you weren’t there… I didn’t know what else to do.”
Zoro’s grip stayed firm, a silent promise that he was listening.
“I assumed you could handle it, like you handle everything else. It didn’t even occur to me to think about how it would affect you. I’m sorry… I’ll tell you everything, just… give me time, okay? I need a few more days to sort out my thoughts.”
Even though Zoro didn’t have all the answers he needed, something in Sanji’s honesty allowed him to release, even slightly, the weight he had been carrying. He nodded, giving Sanji’s arm a brief squeeze before letting go, assuming the cook might need some space. But to his surprise, Sanji didn’t let go.
“But I need you to stay with me…” Sanji murmured, his voice barely audible as it mixed with the night breeze. “Even if no one says anything…”
Sanji met Zoro’s eyes, pressing his lips together before speaking the truth they had both been hiding.
“I missed you. More than you realize.”
Zoro blinked, startled by the confession, but the words resonated deeply within him.
“I missed you too,” he replied, and though his words were few, they carried everything he hadn’t been able to say.
Sanji let out a small smile, hesitant but genuine. It was enough to break the last barriers between them. Slowly, Sanji closed the distance and kissed him.
The first touch was soft, as if doubt still lingered between them. But soon, the warmth grew, enveloping them like the waves brushing against the Sunny. Zoro reacted instinctively, his hands finding their way to Sanji’s waist, pulling him closer with firm but gentle care. Sanji, in turn, cupped Zoro’s cheeks, as if ensuring he wouldn’t slip away, as if afraid this moment might vanish.
The kiss wasn’t just a confession—it was a silent conversation. Every movement conveyed the words they had never managed to say: the pain of their separation, the guilt, the persistent longing, the anger, and, above all, the love that had endured even when everything seemed lost.
When they finally pulled apart, their breaths mingled in the cold night air. They rested their foreheads together, neither willing to break the fragile bond they had created.
Zoro let a smile tug at his lips, a real one, for the first time in days. It wasn’t big or boastful, but it was enough to light up his tired eyes. Sanji gazed at him closely, saying nothing, but the softness in his expression spoke for him.
The wind continued to brush against them, and the sound of the ocean seemed to wrap around them like a silent embrace. For a moment, there was no past or future—only the present: a starry night and two hearts finally at ease.