Archive of Our Own ^beta

“Oi, cook.”

Okay, so, Sanji might be a tad bit infatuated with Zoro. It's not a big deal. Except he has been straight for all his life and now apparently he likes Zoro. Sweaty, insufferable and oftentimes disgusting Zoro, who was very clearly not a woman. 

The worst day of his life began like this:

It was another scorching day on the grand line. He had been making something cold and refreshing for the idiots and the lovely angels suffering on the deck. He was adding some sugar syrup to the drink when totally unprompted, the picture of the marimo trying out the sweet mocktail came to mind. The way he would scrunch his nose in distaste and glare at the drink like it offended him personally. Something warm spread in his chest, making him smile, wide and silly. Just as he reached out for the alcohol cabinet to make something the barbarian won't turn his nose at, the horror of the situation dawned on him. He was smiling. He was smiling thinking of Zoro. 

He touches his lips and desperately searches his mind to name the feeling that prompted such an outrageous action. Annoyance? No, it wasn't that. Begrudging fondness? Close, but not quite. It wasn't the smile he saved for his crewmates. It definitely wasn't his Luffy smile, because no one but Luffy gets the Luffy smile. It was gooey and silly and… was that… was he feeling the warm fuzzies? Oh, god. Was it the smile he reserved just for the ladies? 

He slams the glass on the counter, feeling lightheaded all of a sudden. It was not the smile he had for the ladies. It was much, much worse. 

See, this clusterfuck was not on his agenda for the day. He didn't even want to touch what it meant with a 10 foot pole. So he does what any normal, well-adjusted adult would do: he convinces himself he made up whatever he was thinking and makes Zoro's drink as shitty as possible. 

He makes the worst bloody mary he has made in his entire career as a chef and for some fucking reason, it's way harder than making any elaborate gourmet meal. Chefs don't tamper with food. But there is something simmering beneath his skin and he has to get rid of it, quick and the only way he can do it is by making Zoro pick up his sword and open his shitty mouth to spew his usual bullshit. He's not a kid to pick fights with no reason. He would only do so only if the situation calls for it. It doesn't matter what or who caused the situation. As long as he has a reason, it's good enough.

He chooses the worst combination of alcohol he can think of for the drink and goes all out with the tabasco sauce and the tomato juice. He briefly considers adding some rubbing alcohol in the drink, but decides against it at the last minute. A good chef would never poison anyone, much less his crewmate. Even if said crewmate was very, very good at invoking his murderous tendencies.

He brings the shitty drink with no garnish because a brute like Zoro doesn't even deserve a drink in the first place. Sanji is already being generous. He walks up to the moss sleeping on the deck and wakes him up with a swift kick to his stomach.

Zoro snarls and reaches for Wado out of instinct but brightens when he sees the drink in his hand. Bastard can probably sniff out the alcohol in the drink. He all but snatches it out of Sanji's hand before taking a big sip.

Sanji watches with a smirk he tells himself is smug and not at all shaky as he watches Zoro swallow. The swordsman pauses and looks at the glass with raised eyebrows like he isn't sure what he just tasted. There's a furrow between his brow and for a moment, Sanji has a horrifying urge to smooth it out.

The blonde takes a fighting stance, his heart thundering in his chest. Out of adrenaline, of course. He is sure that any moment, the marimo will insult the drink and he can kick his face in. 

But Zoro does nothing of the sort. Instead, he tips his head back and chugs the whole thing in one go.

Sanji gapes. Zoro watches his cigarette fall to the ground and scoffs, annoyed, before stamping it out with his boot.

“You drank that,” Sanji says and it sounds more like an accusation than a statement.

Zoro seems to pick up on that. He frowns. “What else was I supposed to do?”

“That tasted terrible,” He hates that he sounds way more unsteady than he would like. This is stupid. Of course Zoro drank it without complaint, Zoro will drink anything if it has alcohol in it. Still, he feels like his world has been turned upside down. “How did you even drink that?”

Zoro looks at the empty glass thoughtfully and hums. When he licks his lips, Sanji tracks the movement, transfixed. “‘S not bad. Stronger than the stuff you usually give me. Tasted kinda weird. Not the bad kind. Just weird. But it was okay.”

It was terrible. Sanji knows that it was terrible. And while Zoro would drink anything with alcohol, it was also the only thing he had a good palate for. There is no way he doesn't think it's terrible too. Sanji thinks he's going to throw up.

His throat is dry when he tries to get an answer that will make everything fall into place one final time. “Why did you drink that.”

Zoro rolls his eyes, looking at him like he's being more of an idiot than usual. “You sound like a broken record, Curly. What else was I supposed to do, throw it away?” He settles back on the deck and Sanji thinks he has deemed the conversation to be over. Just as he turns back to the kitchen with shaky legs, Zoro mutters loud enough for him to hear, “Besides, I'm not gonna waste anything you make.”

Shot through the heart. Sanji used to think getting shot by Cupid’s arrow would be a beautiful ordeal, but he gets to know that Cupid is a stupid cunt and the whole experience sucks. He can't pull the shitty arrow out of his heart no matter how hard he tries. So he does the next best thing and kicks Zoro squarely in the chest.

The point is, he would say he has been dealing with this mess fairly well so far. Because yeah, maybe he had some kind of… feelings for the mosshead, but it wasn't like he was in love with the guy. Of course not. It's just that being out in the sea for so long has rotten his mind a little bit. Yeah, it's messed up that it wasn't Usopp or Luffy that caught his eye. It's awful, because Usopp is kind and funny and Luffy is Luffy. But his monkey brain has attached itself to Zoro for some fucking reason. 

(Okay, maybe he knew the reason. Zoro was insufferable, but Sanji couldn't deny that the man was kind of… sort of… easy on the eyes in some angles.)

Sure, he did go through all 5 stages of grief and maybe create some new stages along the way, but it's fine now. He has finally reached the acceptance stage. He has come to terms with his feelings for Zoro and their nature. They are nothing but aesthetic and maybe even—god, he needed a drink to just think about it—physical attraction. And Sanji had always been an all out kinda guy, so it's easy to romanticize everything. Even in the past, he had had a very hard time figuring out if the woman that caught his eye was the love of his life or if he was just horny. He's certain that's exactly what's happening here. It's just his hormones acting up. He's also confident that he can coexist with Zoro without his feelings affecting his actions because at this point, he is all but used to it. 

“Oi, Curly!”

Without looking back, Sanji sends a kick to what he hopes is Zoro's face.

Okay, maybe he is not used to it. He's getting there, though.

Instead of his leg clanging against the flat of a blade like he is used to, it comes to contact with something far less sharper. More solid. Sanji looks back with a grimace to see Zoro blocking his kick with his arm.

Zoro scowls. “What the hell, shithead. What crawled up your ass and died?”

“Fuck you,” Sanji hisses, “what the hell do you want now?”

Zoro regards him carefully. Sanji stands tall against his scrutiny despite the fact that he is trembling on the inside. Being the sole focus of Zoro's attention is a thrilling ordeal; when Zoro has his eyes on something, his whole world narrows down to that point and Sanji has been realising that maybe he likes that. Likes being his whole world, if only for a second. 

He almost bites his tongue off at the thought. Fuck. What the hell was he thinking? He needed to look away from Zoro's eyes, fast. But he doesn't want to lose the unspoken challenge they've got going on. Crush or no, he won't lose to that asshole. So he crosses his arms and subtly averts his gaze to somewhere below the man's face.

Big mistake.

The reason Zoro didn't block his kick with his sword, Sanji realises, is because he doesn't have them. And the only time Zoro is without his swords is during that ridiculous training regime of his. During which he never wears shirts.

Sanji must be some kind of masochist, because he doesn't look away the moment he realises the man is shirtless. Instead, he watches a bead of sweat roll down his chin, and into the hollow of his throat. He suddenly wants, no, needs to sink his teeth in the flesh where his neck meets his shoulder. He wants to lick the sweat off his body, and watch him fall apart beneath him. His mouth waters at the thought. He can almost taste the salt on his tongue. It's disgusting. Downright barbaric. He wants it anyway.

“What is up with you today? You're acting so weird.”

His gaze shoots back up to Zoro's face, who is now looking at him with a frown. There's a flush riding high on his cheeks from the workout. Sanji has never hated someone so much.

“Just tell me what you want,” He grits out.

Zoro looks at him for a few more seconds and thankfully decides to drop it. He simply says, “Booze.”

Maybe he should just kill him. That would fix all of his problems.

Just when Sanji's about to give him a piece of his mind, his eyes land on the mountain of dishes in the sink. They had a huge spread for breakfast today just like they have for the last few days because the only way Sanji can stop thinking about his life falling apart is by cooking. But a feast means extra dishes, which means extra work. His shoulders slump.

“I'm not giving you shit,” Sanji grumbles and shoulders his way past him. “Get out. I have work to do.”

For a blissful second, everything is silent. Sanji foolishly thinks Zoro has somehow gotten a brain overnight and decided not to make his life a living hell everyday. But he is proved otherwise when a body, warm and solid, presses against him.

Sanji flinches. “What are you doing?!”

Zoro, the bastard, just looks bored. He washes his hands with soap and says, “We can get work done easier if we do it together. Maybe then you'll stop being such a bitch.”

Sanji’s heart skips a beat. I want to kiss him. 

The bane of his existence raises an eyebrow. “I wash, you dry?”

He can feel his face starting to burn and he knows in no time he will be glowing red like a stop sign. He grabs the dish towel next and throws it on Zoro's face before turning away. 

“Hey!”

“You are not going anywhere near my dishes smelling like that,” He clears his throat. “Go wipe all that sweat off and wear a shirt if you want to help. You're disgusting.”

He feels the towel hit the back of his head before Zoro stomps out of the galley, muttering about stupid prissy cooks and dumb eyebrows. Sanji has no doubt he will wear his dirtiest shirt and come back to help him. He always does. 

Sanji buries his head in his hands and muffles a scream. 

He is pretty sure his thing for Zoro was only because he hasn't gotten any action in a good while.

In the Sunny, the only women around were Nami and Robin. While he loved both of them very much and enjoyed spoiling them regularly, he loathed to admit he had no chance of anything of romantic or sexual nature between them. That's why his brain must've attached itself to Zoro as the next viable object of his attractions. He must've just been confused, what with Zoro walking around shirtless with his huge ti—chest on display all the time. Too much time in the sea ought to drive even a man like him insane. Sanji had always been an intense guy. If he is physically attracted to a woman, it wouldn't take him long to be romantically interested in her too. That's what's happening in this phantom crush he had on Zoro. That's all. 

So he wears his new shirt and best pair of slacks and sets out to find a place to hopefully meet the woman of his dreams. Soon enough, he finds himself in a bar chatting with a lovely lady. They talked all night and she had blushed so sweetly whenever he complimented her. It was perfect. It made him feel nothing. He left the bar with a kiss on the back of her hand and an excuse about how his crewmates were waiting for him back on the ship. His walk back to the Sunny was filled with frustration and guilt; he couldn't believe he lied to a lady. No one except Chopper was in the Sunny and he definitely wasn't expecting Sanji to be back any soon. 

He curses himself all the way to the galley and stops short when he sees a figure rummaging through the fridge. 

“Zoro?”

The mosshead in question peeks his head out of the fridge, blinking. It's obvious he's shitfaced. 

“What the hell are you doing in my kitchen, do you want me to kick your ass?”

Zoro blinks again, slower and cat-like. He pouts. Roronoa Zoro, Pirate Hunter, Demon of the East Blue, pouts. Sanji feels the arrow in his heart twist deeper. 

“Hungry,” Is all he offers. 

Sanji sighs and starts rolling up his sleeves. “Go sit down, drunkard. I'll make you something.”

It's hard to stay mad at a man for ruining your life when he is slumped on the dining table with his face squished against the wood. An exasperated sense of fondness rises in him when he places a plate of fried rice in front of Zoro and the dumbass starts sniffing the food without opening his eyes. 

Sanji digs his knuckles in his hair, making him groan weakly. “Get up and eat. You can sleep later.”

He sulks for all of two seconds before he takes a bite of the rice. Then he starts scarfing it down like its his last meal on earth. 

Sanji chuckles. “Slow down. No one's taking it from you.”

He says something in protest with the rice still in his mouth, making Sanji grimace. “Disgusting. Shut your mouth and eat, asshole.”

For once in his life, he listens to Sanji. After wolfing down the whole plate like the barbarian he is, Zoro sighs contently. Sanji smiles. “Good?”

“Mhmm.”

Sanji cleans the table and washes the plate, half expecting Zoro to have fallen asleep already. But the marimo was awake, eyes opened comically wide. Sanji snickers; it was obvious he was trying to stay awake. 

“Go to sleep, marimo,” Sanji chides. It sounds awfully fond. “If you fall asleep on the table and get drool all over it, I'll kick your head off.”

Zoro simply grunts and slides an article of cloth towards him. Sanji watches curiosly. 

“What's that?”

“Fo’ you.”

He does a double take. “For me?”

Zoro nods, yawning. “Your tie got torn the other day during the brawl with marines. So I got this for you.”

The same warmth that he is starting to associate with Zoro spreads in his chest. “Marimo, you didn't have to…”

But Zoro isn't listening. He shoots to his feet and starts stumbling towards what Sanji assumes is the men's room. “Sleepy. G'night, cook.”

“Good night,” Sanji echoes faintly, looking at the tie. It's moss green. 

(It's only when he lays awake in his bed, still warm all over and thinking about Zoro and his stupid tie that he realizes he didn't even think about his date once during the night.) 

It has gotten easier to pretend that wanting Zoro is nothing but an annoyance. 

But on some days, like the one he's having now, he'd have to hold himself back from throwing up all the dinner he ate after everyone has gone to bed. Some days, even three packets of cigarettes puffed in the galley don't take the edge off. Some days, he is back in the dungeon and he is small. He is small and it is dark and he is weak. No one loves him and no one ever would. He almost rips off a chunk of his hair from his head at the thought. 

Some days, Sanji is afraid. 

Because that's the thing, right. Liking Zoro is not as hard as it should be. Maybe if he was a lady, Sanji would've made his move back when he first joined the crew. But he is not a lady. 

He is not a lady but sometimes he thinks everything would be so much easier if he was. 

He puts out the cigarette and lights the new one. His hands are shaking and his mind is too loud. Everything is blurry. He is small, and he is so, so scared. 

Everything would've been so much easier if he was a woman. It would make sense that he liked Zoro not just despite all the things that made him a man, but also because of it. It would make sense that he wanted to kiss him and touch him and hold him and God, he was fucked up. He was fucking disgusting. 

He feels another wave of nausea hit him and doubles over gagging. Spit pools in his mouth and his eyes are watering and his head is so loud. Maybe his father was right. Maybe he really is weak and good for nothing. He has the strongest urge to put out his cigarette on his arm. Maybe it would clear all this fog, take away all this noise. He doesn't do it. 

He is still trying to curb his urge to throw up when the door opens. 

“Curly? Why are you—oh shit.”

Every muscle in his body locks up. He lifts his head to see Zoro stride towards him, forehead creased in worry. 

This would all be so much easier if he could hate Zoro. If he had been selfish and arrogant and awful to be around. But Zoro is so undeniably good, that it sometimes hurts to breathe next to him. 

“Hey,” Zoro bends down to look Sanji in the eye and he hates it, he hates how concerned he sounds, how he sounds like he cares. He hates it. “Are you okay?”

He can feel bile climbing up his throat once again. He digs his fingers into the meat of his palm and croaks out, “Leave.”

Zoro frowns. “What?”

“I said, leave!” He yells. His eyes sting but he inhales and stubbornly keeps the tears in bay. He refuses to cry in front of Zoro. He screams louder, “Get the fuck out!”

Zoro takes a step back, eyes wide in alarm. He whispers harshly, “Calm down! You're going to wake the crew up with all this noise!”

Sanji barks out a laugh. Even now, he's thinking about others. Fucking Zoro. 

Sanji steps forward to dig a finger into his chest. His voice climbs higher and higher till he can hear himself over the ringing of his ears. Fucking finally, he thinks a little hysterically. 

“I don't give a shit,” he snarls, “just get out of my sight. Leave!”

For a second, he wonders if Zoro will unsheathe his swords. If he will push him against the wall and scream right back. If he will tell him, no, I'm not leaving. 

He hates that he wishes he would. 

But he doesn't. All the concern in his eyes fades into cold indifference. He steps back. 

“Okay.”

Zoro leaves. Sanji doesn't know how long he stands there, frozen, after he does. When he finally collapses to his knees, he digs his nails on his face and pulls. 

He doesn't remember the last time he let himself cry. That night, he buries his face between his knees and sobs. 

Sanji is humble enough to admit that he fucked up in many ways. 

His mistakes had started haunting him from the very beginning of the next morning. As usual, he had gone to greet the beautiful Nami-san a good morning and instead of greeting him back like she usually does, she had shrieked in fear. It took him a few seconds to remember the way he had raked his nails in his face last night. Ah. That explains the pain. 

He had given them half-assed lie about itchiness from an insect bite to explain the state of his face. After a thorough check up from Chopper to make sure he wasn't dying, he was released from the infirmary, but only after his face was lathered in some colourless ointment. By that time, he could barely stand on his feet. It had been two days since he last slept properly. He absentmindedly tried to rub his face and in his exhaustion, forgot about the ointment and the wound. His pained yelp had summoned Chopper and he had to go through the check up process all over again. 

These were the tolerable parts of the divine retribution he was facing. The worst part is that Zoro was avoiding him. 

He never thought he could feel the man's absence so loudly in his life. After Zoro had taken to pretending like he didn't exist, Sanji found himself with way more time in his hands than usual. The time he spent bickering with Zoro was now allotted to staring at the galley ceiling forlornly. His time spent sparring with Zoro was now used to make overly complicated meal spreads that were only finished because their captain had a black hole for a stomach. He rarely ever saw Zoro anymore; he was always training, took all his meals in the crow’s nest and came down to the deck only when Sanji was busy cooking. By any miracle if they do cross paths, Zoro would send a scathing glare his way and stomp off in the other direction. This has been going on for a week now, and slowly but surely Sanji was losing his mind on top of feeling like the biggest asshole in the world. 

He doesn't really plan the apology. He finishes breakfast and instead of giving it to Usopp who usually takes it to Zoro, he does it himself. 

It's only when he's standing in front of Zoro bearing the full force of his glare that he realizes maybe he should've thought this out a bit more. 

Say sorry. Just say sorry and give him the food. 

“I shouldn't have yelled at you,” he says lamely. 

Zoro raises an eyebrow, sarcasm dripping off his words, “You think so?”

“I…” he flounders. What does he even say in this situation? Sorry I yelled at you, I was having a breakdown about having a gay crush on you and seeing you standing in front of me just made me realize not only am I disgusting and wrong, I am also unworthy of loving someone like you. Also you're so hot it pisses me off. 

No thank you. 

He bites the inside of his cheek. “Look, I shouldn't have—”

“Save it,” Zoro snaps. “I don't want some shitty apology that you don't mean. Just keep the food down and leave.”

“I get too into my head sometimes.”

That catches Zoro's attention. As if talking to an easily spooked animal, he slowly asks, “Yeah?”

Sanji nods stiffly. Every word felt like tearing his teeth out with a fork. “Everything becomes too much to handle and I get insanely overwhelmed. It has been a while since I had one of those happen. But it happened that day and when you walked in, I panicked and lashed out at you. I shouldn't have done that. I'm… I'm sorry.”

It might not have been the whole truth, but it's the most honest he had been with someone for a good while now. The ball was in Zoro's court now; his answer would determine whether or not Sanji would end up jumping into the ocean. 

“Okay.”

“Look, you can even beat me up,” he is aware that he is rambling. For some reason, he feels desperate to make this work. “I know I was an asshole, so you can take a hit on me and I won't try to hit you back or say anything. I—wait. Did you just say okay?”

Zoro's lips were quirked up ever so slightly, like he was fighting not to smile and failing. “I did. And you can fight back, it doesn't matter. I'll end up kicking your ass anyway.”

The relief he feels is so intense that he almost lets the insult slide. Almost. 

“Bastard, do you wanna fucking go? I'll kick your ass right now—”

The mirth in Zoro's eyes fades and is replaced by shock. “Is that the tie I gave you?”

It's truly fascinating how one can turn from pale to fucking crimson in a fraction of a second. He tries to cover up his embarrassment with a scowl. “What if it is?”

It wasn't an intentional decision. He had spent the whole morning thinking about the situation with Zoro that his hand had reached for the green tie without him noticing. He had only registered the colour after he had tied the knot. He could've removed it. But the image of a drunk Zoro pushing it towards him with a quiet fo’ you came to his mind and he decided to leave it as is. 

Sanji squirms in place, scowling. “What, you gonna tell me how shitty it looks? Don't forget that you're the one who bought it.”

Zoro was gaping at him. Gaping. His words sound mortifyingly sincere when he says, “No. Looks nice.”

Sanji didn't know it was possible to turn any redder, but apparently it was. He places the food by his side and runs out of the place in record speed. 

Fucking Zoro. 

Roronoa Zoro is bad for his health. 

That's the only coherent thought he has as he sits beside the asshole in the infirmary in the middle of the night and smokes. He is almost done with the pack and he has barely been there for an hour. Zoro shows no sign of waking up any time soon. 

Fucking Zoro. Who does he think he is? 

“Ooh I'm Zoro I'm a macho man who has to take care of everything by myself because I don't trust anyone can do it other than me,” he mocks under his breath. “What a dick.”

“Finally lost it, I see,” comes the hoarse reply and Sanji honest to god jumps in his seat. He whips his head around to glare at Zoro, who had one eye cracked open to regard him with amusement. “Can you take it outside? Chopper won't be happy in the morning when the infirmary looks and smells like a chimney.”

Sanji only barely holds himself back from sending a flying kick to his chest and killing him on the spot. 

He takes a deep breath to calm himself. He can't ruin this chance. Zoro has been evading him ever since they left Thriller Bark, so he needs to make the best of this conversation. It's not like he had been fully avoiding him, not really. But he could be a crafty bastard if he wanted so he was everywhere, but always with another crew member. He didn't even train alone and had started to teach Brook meditation for some fucking reason. Sanji was losing his goddamn mind. 

Luck must've been on his side, because he finally managed to catch the elusive fucker alone. 

After he overdid his training again like the fucking moron he is, Chopper had patched him up in near tears, fretting all the while. It had made Zoro feel bad enough to agree to his demand of him sleeping in the infirmary. Sanji had to hide his smirk under the guise of lighting up a cigarette after hearing the conversation. Bingo. 

Now, he crosses his arms on his chest and glares at the cause of all his stress. Zoro watches back steadily for a minute before sighing. 

“If you wanna stare at me like a creep for the rest of the night, knock yourself out,” he yawns and turns to his side, facing away from Sanji. “Close the door if you leave.”

Sanji inhales, deep and slow. Then he asks, voice quiet, “Did you think I was weak?”

Zoro's shoulders visibly stiffen, but he doesn't say anything. Sanji continues talking,

“Do you think so lowly of me that you won't even let me put my life on the line for the crew? That I can't take the pain that you knew might kill you?”

Silence. 

Sanji hates the way his voice cracks when he whispers, “Tell me, you bastard. Tell me you think I'm weak. I know you want to.”

When there is no response for a good while, Sanji thinks Zoro must've really fallen asleep while he was talking. It wouldn't be the first time he did. He scoffs and leans back on the chair, noticing that his cigarette was almost burnt to the nub. He didn't even get to get a decent drag in. What a waste. 

“I don't think you are weak.”

Sanji almost drops his still burning cigarette on his thigh. He swears under his breath before extinguishing it under the sole of his shoe. 

The sheets rustle as Zoro turns to face him again. The moonlight slithers in from the crack of the open door and the closed windows, draping itself over Zoro. His eyes are on Sanji, burning brighter than any flame he has ever seen. 

He is beautiful. 

He doesn't even startle at the thought. He only exhales shakily and looks down at the floor, because he would be a fool and a liar to deny it. Zoro is beautiful. In the dark of the night with the sound of both their breaths being the only thing loud enough to be heard, he can't bring himself to be either of those things. 

“I don't think you are weak,” Zoro repeats, firm and unyielding. “But I knew you were going to die, because you wanted to.”

Sanji doubles back like he has been slapped. His heart speeds up as he hisses, “What the hell are you talking about? I was trying to do what you did, sacrifice myself for Luffy. I am not fucking suicidal, if that's what you're implying.”

His blood is roaring in his ears and he thinks he is breathing a little too hard to be considered normal. If Zoro notices it, he doesn't say anything. His face is infuriatingly blank. 

“I don't know if you are suicidal or not, but you wanted to die.”

“I didn't—”

Zoro raises a hand to silence him and sits up. “You did. You said that you always knew you were going to sacrifice your life for something like this. You thought this was the only way you could be worth anything.”

And what if I do? 

What if I am? 

Sanji grits his teeth together. “You don't know what the hell you're talking about.”

“Maybe. But I know what I saw and heard. A sacrifice like yours would've been worthless and cheap. I wasn't gonna let that be what kills you and saves Luffy.”

That's all it takes for him to break. He pushes himself up from the chair and grabs Zoro by the ratty material of his shirt and digs his other hand into his chest, clenched in a fist. There is a barely healed bruise there. He knows, because Zoro's forehead strains ever so slightly. He presses harder. 

“And your sacrifice matters because, what, you're better than me?” he spits. “Fuck you. Fuck you.”

Sanji wants to scream, because there is still nothing on Zoro's face. There is only a sense of calm that he sees in him when he's meditating on the deck, or getting ready for battle. Sanji wants to punch him, kick him, kiss him, anything, do anything to make him look like he feels even a fraction of what Sanji feels at that moment. 

“No,” Zoro unfurls his fingers one by one where they're fisted in his shirt and circles his wrist. He doesn't push him away or pull him closer. His hand just rests there, wrapped loosely around his wrist, impossibly warm. Sanji feels like he's losing his mind. “I think it didn't matter because I knew the worth of what I was sacrificing and you didn't.”

He doesn't have anything to say to that. Because Zoro did know what he was sacrificing. He was willing to die for his dream when he first met him, had sworn that he would become the greatest swordsman no matter what it takes. He had meant it, too. When he had told Kuma to take his life, it held weight. It held unconditional devotion. He wanted to achieve his dream and yet, and yet—

He shakes his head, biting his lip. He pulls out all the hurt in him and twists it into anger, since there seems to be so little of it left to hold onto. “A sacrifice is a sacrifice. You had no right to stop me when I was just trying to protect what's important to me.”

Cruel was never a word he associated with Zoro before, but now with his words that hit a little too close to home, he might be beginning to. “Your life doesn't belong to you till you understand its value. It belongs to the ones who do.”

“So what, since you understand it so much, it belongs to you?” Sanji seethes, and freezes. Before Zoro could say something cruel and devastating like yes and force Sanji to face the truth that maybe it did, he backtracks, “And what, someone is going to protect me from harm till I learn my worth? Are you going to? Be serious.”

Zoro's grip on his wrist tightens. There is something else in his eyes now, something Sanji is too afraid to name. 

“If not me, who else?”

I'm in love with you. 

Zoro must have just processed his own words, because his eyes widen. He hastily adds, “Because it's my job to protect the crew, and you are important to the crew.”

“The crew,” Sanji repeats hollowly. “Right.”

“Cook—”

I'm in love with you. 

He shakes his hand out of Zoro's grip and steps away. “Sleep. Chopper will have my head if you don't.”

I'm in love with you. 

Sanji closes the door on his way out. 

Sanji places his hands on his hips and watches the green-haired menace walk back from the ship he completely obliterated. 

He's gotten stronger, he admits begrudgingly as he looks at the single clean cut that had cleaved the ship in half. But even that sight isn't enough to calm the bundle of nerves in his stomach. 

It's been two years. Two whole years spent apart, pushing their body to its limits, fighting every day to be better. Everyone has changed. At least, he has. And Zoro doesn't have a fucking eye anymore, apparently. 

It's safe to say nothing is the same. On his way to Sabaody, he had stewed in his own fears for the whole journey. What if we're all strangers once again? What if we can't get along like we used to? Oh god, what if it's awkward? 

It's a scary thought. And it's just his luck that he managed to run into the object of his (eugh) affections first. 

He had hoped his time away would have lessened the intensity of his feelings, that he would start feeling like a person instead of a tender bruise around the man. But he sees Zoro walk towards him and immediately, his heart skips a beat. 

Oh no, Sanji despairs, he got hotter. 

Zoro finally stands in front of him. His heart is a drum beating faster and faster because what if nothing is the same? What if he spits fire and instead of returning it tenfold, Zoro looks at him like he's insane? What if all that they built together is gone without a trace? 

He doesn't have enough time to continue his spiral, because the first thing the bastard of a man does is shake his head like a dog and get water all over him. Sanji jumps back with what he refuses to call a yelp. 

“You asshole,” he yells, “this is brand new!”

Zoro opens his mouth to respond, and Sanji holds his breath. This is it. This would tell him if they're no longer what they used to be. 

“Young man! I was so worried!”

Sanji deflates when the fisherman rushes to Zoro and fusses over him. The mosshead looks entirely unfazed. 

“I'm alright. If you give me a few minutes, I'll change and we can go fishing.”

“Absolutely not!”

After the old man seems to have finished his lecture about being safe and not getting lost anymore. The marimo throws a hand in the air and beckons him. 

“I'm gonna go change. Follow me if you want.”

Sanji grumbles something about not taking orders from him, but complies. 

He's quiet as they walk back to wherever Zoro is leading them. He is 99% sure they're lost, but he doesn't say anything, too lost in thought. It's a miracle he doesn't stop and kick rocks with a frown like a pathetic manchild. 

Whatever. So what if Zoro doesn't want to talk to him? It'll just make it easier for his stupid feelings to go away. Idiot marimo. Sanji can't believe he likes this guy. 

“Looks like you've got a beard stupid enough to go with the eyebrows, Curly.”

“HAH?! What did you just say, you shitty swordsman?!”

Anyone watching the whole ordeal would've thought they hated each other, but Sanji knew otherwise. When they skid away from the impact of haki-clad sword and leg meeting, Zoro’s eye settles on him. Then he scoffs, annoyed. It lacked any of the indifference that Sanji was sure he'd be faced with. Zoro looked at him, wildly exasperated but if you knew him enough, you could see the relief settling in his features, the fondness in his glare. He seemed to say, there you are.

Sanji exhales a plume of smoke and takes a fighting stance. Here I am.

The rest is muscle memory. They fight like they always have—terrifyingly in sync, bringing destruction in their wake. It unravels something wound tight in his chest, even as he exchanges stupid insults and fumes at how the green-headed idiot always knew how to rile him up like no other. 

Later, as he lies on Sunny's deck, light headed and so, so happy, he places his hand on his heart. It's loud, louder than Kamabakka island, and so much better. It feels like coming home. 

Zoro sits beside him and beneath his palm, his heart speeds up. He closes his eyes. 

Everything has changed, but nothing has changed at all. 

You change a lot as a person when you spend two years in a place like Kamabakka kingdom. 

He remembers the day he lashed out at Zoro in the galley. He remembers thinking, everything would be so much easier if I was a woman. Everything would've made so much more sense. 

He understands the sentiment even now. It would've made sense he liked wearing dresses and sometimes dreamed about the eyeshadow dusted over his eyelids, one that made his skin glitter like gold if he was a woman. 

It's hard not to think about it when you have lived in a place like Momoiro island for two years. He would never admit it, not even under the threat of death, but he did think about it. When the Okama had smudged paint as red as sin on his lips and draped a dress made of silk around his body, he thought about it. When he looked at himself in the mirror and found that he didn't hate what he saw in the mirror, he wondered if he was a woman. It was easier to think about such things in a land painted with pastel and so far away from reality. He could almost convince himself that it was all a strange dream.

He stands in the crow’s nest and takes a deep drag of his cigarette. He thinks about the absolute certainty and maybe a little disappointment that came with the conclusion that he was not a woman. 

It makes it so much worse. A woman who likes makeup and pretty things is beautiful, but when a man does, he's just a freak. It was okay to be one in Momoiro island, because they were good at making him believe that it wasn't such a bad thing. That being himself is not a crime. 

He exhales. 

It's hard to grasp onto that thought when you're so far away from that dreamland. Now, the thought of wearing a dress or admitting that he likes men makes his stomach churn. He probably won't throw up, but he's still not going to tell anyone what he was upto the last two years, what he found out about himself.

His problems are not the same as they were two years ago. Loving a man is not what makes him lose his mind with fear now. It's being in love with Zoro. 

Zoro, who is good and loyal and strong. Zoro, who is his friend and rival. Whatever will Sanji do, if he presents his beating, mangled heart in a plate and all Zoro does is turn his nose at it? What if he says, sorry, but I don't feel the same way? Worse yet, what if he pities him? 

He doesn't want to think about Zoro and yet he does. All he does is think about him. 

The problem lies in him. Him, who is weak and small and wrong. He who lies and hides and hides. Letting Zoro in and allowing to see his soft insides without being sure that he will love him back is the same as a death sentence. He is more of an open wound than he is a person, garish and ugly. He wouldn't blame Zoro if he decides to plunge his swords in his flesh; who could ever love a creature like him? 

But deep down, he knows Zoro will do none of those things. Because he is Zoro and he will never point his sword at anyone who he cares about. And Sanji knows he's one of the people the swordsman cares about. 

When the hope in his chest blooms too fast, along with it comes the mind-numbing fear. Because what if Zoro says yes? He might not like him yet, but Zoro is the kind of guy who will do anything for his crew. What if he says that they can try the whole relationship thing out and after a while, seeing how his heart wheezes and spews blood as black as tar, throws it away? What if he ends up knowing him and not loving him?

His sight is getting blurry. He scrubs the moisture out of his eyes aggressively. Fuck, this is embarrassing. 

“Sanji?”

He almost jumps a few feet in the air. “What the—Luffy? What are you doing here? Isn't it Usopp's turn for the watch?”

Luffy yawns and fights to keep his eyes open. “Mmm, lost a bet to ‘sopp. You go to sleep, Sanji, I'll take care of everything.”

Inexplicably that's what makes a tear roll down his cheek. I'll take care of everything. What Sanji wouldn't give to believe that.

He thanks god that Luffy is basically sleep walking and in no way awake enough to see that he wasn't okay. If he was, he would've definitely noticed how hoarse his voice was, or the tear that slipped out of his eye. He turns to discreetly wipe his eyes when a weight slams into his back.

He chokes at the vice grip that suddenly surrounds his waist. “What the hell?”

Luffy's voice is muffled into his back when he says, “I wish you could see yourself like I do.”

The thorns in his chest twist and twist. Of course Luffy knew what was wrong. His lips wobble when he chuckles ruefully. “I think you're seeing me all wrong, captain.”

Luffy shakes his head vigorously before turning Sanji around. He doesn't try to catch Sanji's gaze; he seems to know his attempts would be futile. Instead, he buries his head on his chest and hugs him closer.

“No,” Luffy says, digging his chin into his chest. “I see you just as you are. So you should let me help when you get sad, okay Sanji? I know you are very mean to yourself sometimes.”

He shudders and bites his lip, trying to push down the wave of emotions threatening to drown him. He buries his face in Luffy’s hair and lies, “Alright. I will.”

If Luffy knows he is lying, he doesn't show it. He simply holds him tighter and in that moment, Sanji can almost believe that everything is going to be alright.

This is getting ridiculous. 

He can't believe he is… pining over Zoro. Eugh, even the word leaves a bad taste in his mouth. You know it's bad when Luffy figures out something's up; not because he's stupid, but ‘cause he doesn't bother with anything that's not serious. And he has supposedly deemed the state Sanji's in as serious. 

He's not wrong, either. Just the other day, he caught himself looking at Zoro playing with Chopper and sighing wistfully. Sighing. Wistfully. He was going all longing maiden for that patch of grass. What the fuck.

Enough is enough. He did not spend two years on Momoiro island for this. If the okama ever heard of the droopy eared bullshit he has been pulling, they'll never let him hear the end of it.

He nods to himself. It's decided, then. He has to seduce Zoro.

It's a solid plan. His thing for Zoro doesn't seem to be leaving any time soon and he is this close to killing Zoro and then himself if Zoro fights him shirtless with that feral grin of his again. He's making Zoro's favourite food without even thinking. He's laughing at his stupid jokes more and more often. He is blushing whenever they touch. That's just fucked up. Who thought it'd be a good idea to let him do that.

The only way forward is through. If he can't get all this gooey shit off his chest, he will make Zoro feel the same... Okay, that might be an impossible task, since whatever he has seen of him hasn't made him fall madly in love with him yet. Sanji doesn't think he can change his personality overnight. Not that he would even if he could. He might be in love with the marimo, but he's not insane. Yet. 

What he could do is make him want to fuck him so bad he goes mad with it. He can do that. Probably. It's a win-win plan for the most part. Maybe Zoro would start seeing him in a different light after their night together. And they could do it again and again, till he has no choice but to fall for Sanji. If that doesn't work and nothing happens after, he'd at least have that one night to remember. Maybe it will scratch the itch under his skin a bit, and make the feelings fade. Maybe Zoro will be terrible in bed and that would make him lose some of his appeal. Maybe, maybe, maybe. 

See, this is where the problem starts. Sanji has no idea how to seduce Zoro. 

Mind you, it's not like he's clueless about wooing people in general. He's fucking great at it. He is oozing sex appeal, even. He just doesn't know how to put that to use with Zoro. I mean, have you seen the guy? Sanji still isn't sure if he's attracted to anything at all. He's a bit certain that he doesn't like women, if anything, because anytime a beautiful lady tries to hit on him there's nothing but disinterest or if he's in a truly terrible mood, annoyance, in his face. Sanji can only hope he's not opposed to liking men. 

Nothing would work if he tries the romantic route. If Sanji tries to flirt with him, that airhead will think he's mocking him. If he touches him casually, Zoro would most definitely start thinking he lost his mind, because he has never once done that before. He can't give him flowers, he'd just get laughed at. Even the smallest of flirtatious gestures will end up doing the opposite of warming him up to Sanji; he'll puff up like a cornered animal. There is no fight or flight in his distress response; there's only ‘aim to kill’. 

Sanji scowls and resists the urge to kick the swordsman sleeping beside his leg. He lights a cigarette, cursing about stupid swordsmen and sentient plant growth under his breath when Zoro speaks up. 

“Can you stop speaking to yourself next to me when I'm trying to sleep? It's kinda creepy.”

Sanji glares. “No. Fuck off.”

Zoro shrugs. He knows him enough to know when he says something with venom and an intention to hurt and when he is just being difficult for the sake of it, so he shrugs. “Back at you.”

Sanji fumes to himself and loosens his tie before deciding to take it off altogether. He throws it where Zoro is sitting, ignoring the indignant hey! he gets in response. It's too hot for 5 PM, he thinks grumpily as he pops open a few buttons of his shirt and tugs his collar to expose as much of skin as he can without looking indecent. Unlike a certain someone in the crew, he has some modesty and doesn't plan on flashing everyone this afternoon. 

He leans his back against the railing, lounging on his elbows and exhales a ring of smoke. It takes him a few puffs to realize that the marimo had gone awfully quiet. By now he should've made a jab about him finally deciding to stop being prissy and how he stinks of cigarettes. 

To his surprise, when he tilts his head to look at him, he finds Zoro already looking back. Or not at him, exactly, but somewhere below his face. Sanji frowns and glances down. Was there something on his shirt? He didn't—

Oh. 

Sanji snaps his gaze back at the mosshead to check if he's really staring at what Sanji thinks he's staring at. Sure enough, when Sanji traces the direct line of his sight, it ends at the skin he exposed when he unbuttoned his shirt. 

Oohhhhhh. 

No way it's this easy. No way.

Sanji removes the cigarette from his lips and swallows hard. Zoro's eye zeroes in on his throat. He licks salt stained lips and watches Zoro track the movement with an intensity he reserves for the battlefield. 

Sanji grins. Oh, this is too good. 

For the final test, he leans down to Zoro's level and teases, “Like what you see, mosshead?”

Sanji holds his breath. 

“Uh—as if! Just looking at your face is giving me a headache. Tch.”

It takes all his self control to not burst out laughing. The answer would've been believable if not for the way he paused a little too long before saying it. If not for the way his cheeks have begun to darken. 

“Whatever you say,” He sing-songs and walks back to the galley with a skip in his steps. He's going to have so much fun with this. 

“Here.”

Sanji doesn't have to look back to know what Zoro's holding. “Keep it in the bowl by the sink, marimo. I'll take a look at what monstrosity you've scoured up this time.”

The sound of a wet smack against his counter. Then, “Stop being dramatic. I know you get all giddy when you see these things.”

Sanji purses his lips to hide his smile, because he's not wrong. 

It has become something of a tradition after they came back from Fishman island; one day Zoro came into the galley holding the ugliest fish he had ever seen with a deadpan look in his face. 

Weird fish, is the only explanation he gave him when Sanji asked what the hell that was all about. Later, he would offhandedly mention that he saw the fishermen catch this ‘ugly ass thing’ and contemplate throwing it back into the ocean. He had brought it to Sanji because he thought he would like cooking with strange shit like that. Sanji ended up giving him a good bottle of sake, because he had been right. Zoro, ever the alcoholic, started doing the same thing every time they dock at an island to get free booze. The way he always brings back a fish and waits for his approval is kinda adorable. Just a little bit. 

He closes the pot with a lid and turns to Zoro. “Let's see what we've got here—holy shit what is that?”

Zoro pats the creature that's supposed to be a fish with a smug smirk. It's almost half his size. What the fuck. “Found one ugly motherfucker for ya. Looked like one of your distant relatives, so I thought you'd like to say hi.”

He's too busy staring at the thing in front of him to respond to the jab. Sanji pokes a curious finger into its body. It comes back slimy. 

“Ew,” he says with a kind of wonder, “yhat is disgusting.”

Zoro smiles with all his teeth. “I know, right?”

“I mean, it's the ugliest thing I have ever seen. Just looking at it makes me gag.”

“I know, right?”

Sanji shoots him a grin. “Wash your hands and sit your ass down, marimo. I'm gonna make you a damn good meal with this.”

“I'd like to see you try, shitty cook,” he retorts, but does as he is asked anyway. 

This too, is a routine. After the disastrous Bloody Mary incident, Sanji had gotten to experimenting with his dishes and giving it to Zoro to taste test. At first, it was just the mid or downright terrible dishes. Zoro would finish the whole thing without complaint and when asked, shrug and say that it tastes fine, like the tasteless moron he is.

Once while trying to figure out Franky's new additions to the oven, he fucked up a savoury pastry by burning it. Still pissed, Sanji had shoved the charred remains at Zoro, certain that he would break and turn it back. He remembers watching Zoro with a bitter frown, ready to take whatever the man was going to dish out after he took the first bite. Tastes like shit, is what he had said. Before Sanji could kick his head in, he popped the whole thing in his mouth, swallowed it without chewing and did the same for all the other pastries. 

It was after that that Sanji started giving a plate of whatever new dish he was experimenting with. His little projects turned out good more often than not and yet, he finds himself giving the first plate to Zoro and not anyone else in the crew. It's just a habit, nothing else. He had learned to read the marimo like a goddamn book during this time (if he does the nose scrunch, it means that he thinks it's too sweet and hates it enough to make him wanna stick his tongue out in disgust. If he makes a hmph sound after swallowing the first bite, it means he is surprised at how good it tastes. If the lines of his forehead smooth out, it means he likes it. If his eyes flutter shut for just a second, it means he really, really loves it). 

Sanji shifts his gaze to the fish. Excitement bubbles in his chest as he rolls up his shirt sleeves. He can't seem to stop smiling. “Let's see what we can do with you, eh?”

It takes him almost an hour to just finish gutting the fish. Way too much viscera. A lesser man would've been traumatized for life at the sight, but he is no lesser man. He is Blackleg Sanji. If he can survive the horrors of being in love with his crewmate, he can survive anything. 

“You never mentioned you can use a knife like that.”

Sanji twirls the butcher's knife in his hand and cleaves the fish's head from its body in one clean slash. He wipes his forehead on his shoulder and shrugs. “I'm a chef, mosshead. Of course I know how to handle a knife.”

“Yeah,” comes the strangled reply, “I can see that.”

He frowns. “Why the hell do you sound like that? When was the last time you drank water?”

Zoro averts his eye quickly when Sanji looks back to chastise him, but it's too late. He already saw the way his pupils were blown wide and his cheeks were a deep, dark red. Sanji stifles a chuckle. 

He is covered up to his forearm in fish guts and his apron looks like something out of a crime scene. The blood dripping down his butcher's knife would be enough to send a man running for the hills. Of course Zoro is into this. 

The chopped fish head stares at him with disdain when he does a little trick with a knife just to be a little shit. When Zoro braves a look back at him, Sanji beckons him forward with a bloody finger. 

“Wanna help me out with cutting up this thing, mosshead? Maybe you can learn a thing or two from me.”

A whole battle between arousal and annoyance plays out on his face. Eventually, annoyance emerges as the victor. 

Zoro scowls and places his swords on the table carefully. “Step aside, dartbrow. Let me show you how it's actually done.”

It's fun, there's no other way to describe it. Zoro is good at making the major cuts and sucks at filleting the flesh (in his defense, filleting that abomination is nothing short of a nightmare). He gags more than once at the various fluids leaking out of its body, making Sanji almost pass out with laughter. At one point he tries to flick a fishbone at Sanji's hair, to which he had received a very real threat of losing his one remaining eye. They make a mess of the counter and bicker and shove at each other like little kids. It's fun, it's so fun and he never wants it to end. 

“There, we're done—what are you looking at?”

There was something awfully soft in Zoro's gaze. Sanji’s heart flutters when the thought, that's how I look at him, comes to his mind. But he picks up that flower of hope blooming in him and crushes it below his foot before it grows into something too big to tame. He must be projecting his own feelings into Zoro. He must be making things up, he must be. 

“Nothing,” Zoro smiles, corner of his eyes crinkling. “You just look stupid.”

Sanji scowls and gnashes his teeth at him, desperately hoping Zoro doesn't notice his red cheeks. “Fuck you.”

“Yeah, yeah. Get to cooking, dartbrow. I was promised a good meal.”

Nothing was working. 

It was 4 in the morning and Sanji is pissed. He has been laying it thick for a whole week now, and he has gotten nothing more than blushes and prolonged glances from Zoro. Nothing. Nada. Nuh huh. Not even an almost kiss. All that effort for nothing. 

“I'm going to kill him,” Sanji seethes, throwing a towel over his shoulder. “I'm gonna fucking strangle him with my bare hands. Bet he'd be into that, that freak.”

He had taken to doing yoga on the deck wearing a tank top and his tightest shorts. It was downright obscene, he knew. Even the precious, sweet Nami had been impressed enough to wolf whistle at him. Zoro, the bastard he is, had taken one look at him bending down to touch his toes with his ass facing him and turned on his heel and headed straight for the crow's nest. But it's not like he was unaffected by it; Sanji knew because after Zoro stormed to the crow's nest, he had pouted and continued with his stretches. Maybe it didn't work with Zoro, but it did feel good to stretch his muscles. When he lifts his leg in a vertical split, he is almost scared out of his skin when a loud bang comes from the direction of the crow's nest. Like Zoro had dropped the dumbbell he was lifting, which has never, ever happened before. He looks up just in time to see a silhouette disappear from the window. So he had been watching, then. 

He was grinning the whole day. 

But still, there was nothing more than that. One day they were fighting and Sanji had ended up defeating him by jumping on his shoulders and pulling him down to the ground, choking him out with his legs. 

“Give up yet, mosshead?” he tightened his thighs around his neck, smirking. 

Instead of tapping out or trying to throw him off violently, Zoro stayed silent. His hand was resting on Sanji's thigh; not hitting or trying to throw them off—just resting. 

Mildly concerned that might've made him pass out, Sanji had stretched forward to catch his gaze. “Mossy?”

Zoro was a sight to behold; hair all messed up, dripping with sweat and pupils so dark that he could only see the blacks of them. His face was painted with what he could only call arousal. His chest rose and fell rapidly as he tightened his hold on Sanji's thigh and squeezed. 

With a startled gasp, Sanji released his chokehold like he had been burned. 

That had been enough to shake him out of his daze. Zoro jumped to his feet. “I'm gonna go. Train.”

Sanji's eyes darted down to the obvious tent in the man's pants. He swallowed. “Training. Right.”

He was half sure that Zoro would pull him by his lapel and kiss him senseless. He looked ravenous, like he wanted to eat him whole and lick his fingertips clean. And Sanji wanted him to; he wanted Zoro to pull him to his feet and push him into the galley to do everything he wanted to with him. Hell, he wanted him to push him back on the deck right then and there and suck bruises into his neck and make him lose his mind. 

Zoro's eye fell to his lips and Sanji thought, this is it. He's going to kiss me. 

He was wrong. Zoro just turned on his heel and fucked off to the crow's nest where he probably jerked off to the memory of Sanji's thighs around his face when the real thing was right there. 

(That night, if Sanji had held himself in his fist and came with Zoro's name on his lips, well. It's no one's business but his own.) 

“Stupid asshole,” Sanji grumbles as he turns the shower on. The water is freezing; just what he needed now. 

He stews in his own frustration for the next few minutes. Usually, his baths made him unwind and energized to face the day. But now it just left him crankier than he already was. 

He towels himself off roughly and pulls on his boxers. He goes to pick up his clothes and—fuck. 

He had forgotten his clothes back on his bunk because he was too busy cursing Zoro out. Now he had nothing but boxers to wear. 

He contemplates his options; he could walk back to the room with the towel wrapped around his waist. There is no one awake except Brook right now, and he doesn't think the skeleton would care all that much about what he’s (not) wearing. He also won't be making his precious Nami-san and Robin-chan uncomfortable with his state of undress. But it was also really fucking cold out there and his teeth were already chattering from the thoughtless cold shower he took. Ugh. This sucks. 

He looks around the bathroom to see if the guys had left any of their clothes around. It seemed like somehow those fuckers had gotten enlightened about cleanliness, because there was not a single article of clothing around. 

Well. Except for two. 

Zoro's robe was thrown haphazardly beside the sink because absolutely nothing can make him learn cleanliness. And his dear Nami-swan's bra and jeans were over the robe; poor thing, she must've been so exhausted that she forgot to put them in the washer. Sanji frowns and makes a mental note to make her something energizing to have before breakfast. 

Neither of the options look great; Zoro's robe would stink of the barbarian and sweat. Sanji might even pass away from the odour, since Zoro only took a bath once every two weeks. Nami-swan's clothes, while absolutely lovely, will not fit him. The bra is pointless to wear in the cold and if he tore her good set of jeans because his thighs didn't fit in there, he knows she'll have his head. He sighs dreamily. What a woman. 

Unfortunately, that left him with Zoro's robe. He glares at the article as he shrugs it on and is immediately assaulted with a sense of Zoro enveloping him. His scent was overwhelming; sweat, steel and something uniquely Zoro. Sanji saves some of his dignity by not sniffing the material. Okay, maybe he did, but only a little. He speedwalks out of the bathroom before he could embarrass himself further. 

While jogging towards the men’s room, he doesn't see what was in front of him in all his urgency. Only after he slams into a very firm chest does he look up to find Zoro gaping at him. He vaguely remembers that Zoro had the night watch and has the habit of loitering around the deck during the time. 

“Oh, it's just you. Move aside, marimo, I gotta go change—woah, hey!”

He is pushed into the wall aggressively and boxed in by Zoro's arms. He opens his mouth to complain before stopping short at the sight in front of him. 

Zoro looked wild. Sanji thought he looked ravenous before, but that was nothing compared to this. His eye darts to the robe he's wearing and back to his face. 

“I know what you're doing,” Zoro hisses. His hands fall from the wall to slip into the robe and grip his bare waist. Sanji arches into the touch just as Zoro slams their foreheads together. “I know what you're doing. Stop it.”

It's very hard to concentrate with Zoro's hands on his skin, grip possessive and downright vicious. Sanji holds back a whimper and breathes out, “Really? Then do enlighten me, marimo, cause I have no idea what you're talking about.”

For a second, he looks like he will do just that. Their lips are close enough to brush against each other and Zoro pushes his thumbs into his hips. 

Kiss me, you animal. Take what you want. Give me what I want. Fucking kiss me. 

Then it's like Zoro's hands were never on him. The swordsman is standing a few feet away from Sanji, who is still trying to get his mind functioning again after whatever that happened. 

“Nothing. I'm just sleepy. I'm going back to the crow's nest.”

And just like that, he is gone, leaving Sanji shivering for a whole different reason not related to the cold. 

Sanji holds a sake bottle in his hand and shifts from one foot to another, grimacing. 

What was the protocol to talk to your rival/friend/crush after almost leaving the crew and without explaining anything that happened, asking him to kill you if you lost your mind? It was unfair that Sanji was the first one to figure out this shit. Someone else must've done this before and left an instruction manual or something. 

It's not like he hasn't talked to Zoro. He had talked to him in Wano and even after they left the place; they just haven't had the space to speak alone. He had a nagging feeling that Zoro was waiting for him to come to him this time. It was his job to do the explaining, after all. 

Should he knock or just kick the hatch in? Should he announce that he's coming in? What the fuck are you supposed to do in this situation? 

Taking a deep breath, he raps his knuckles on the hatch and announces, “‘m coming in.”

When he steps inside the crow's nest, Zoro raises an eyebrow at him. “Since when do you knock?”

Sanji shrugs. “Since now,” A pause. Hesitantly, he asks, “Do you wanna get shitfaced?”

Zoro snorts, already making space for him on the couch. “Shitfaced with just two bottles of sake? I'm not you, curly.”

Sanji's expression sours. “Look if I'm ever nice to you again. Ungrateful bastard.”

“I dunno, man,” Zoro starts casually, plucking a bottle from his fingers. “After all the shit you pulled, I think you owe me one.”

Sanji resists the urge to fist his hands in his hair. So they were getting right to it, huh. 

But Zoro doesn't say anything else. He just pillows his head on his arm and stares out the window to look at the sea, seemingly content with the silence. It's Sanji who breaks first. 

“You're not going to ask me about what happened in Whole Cake?”

Zoro considers that. He simply asks, “Are you done being stupid?”

For a second, he thinks Zoro is fucking with him and instigating a fight as usual. But when he meets his eye, deadset and serious, he knows he's not. Sanji chugs a mouthful of sake.

“Yeah,” he finally says, “yeah, I am.”

Zoro shrugs. “That's all I need to know. As long as I know you're back and not leaving again, the rest is irrelevant to me.”

The lump in his throat is back. How the fuck does he just say things like that. And why does it affect him so much? Sanji tips back the bottle and takes another big sip. 

“Why did you ask me to kill you?”

Sanji chokes on the alcohol. Zoro, the bastard, doesn't do anything to help; just watches him with mild interest. After the coughing fit recedes, Sanji wipes his mouth on his sleeve. His chest burns for more reasons than one. 

“Uh,” he swallows. Where does he even start? “When I was a kid, my father—”

Zoro cuts him off, “No. I meant it when I said I don't care about the other stuff. I'm asking why you asked me to kill you.”

Sanji locks up. This was the one question he was hoping Zoro wouldn't ask. 

He decides to give him the half truth. “I thought you'd be the only one who'd have stood a chance against me. Luffy wouldn't want to—”

“Sanji,” Zoro stops him again. He would be pissed at being interrupted again, if not for the warmth in Zoro's voice. If not for the way he said his name like he was cradling it in his mouth and not clamping his jaw around it like he could; like he was the only thing he cared enough to not break. 

Zoro places a hand above his and asks softly, “Why did you ask me to kill you?”

Because you know the worth of my life better than I do and wouldn't take it unless it meant that was the only way to protect the crew. Because you know I don't want to die and would do anything to keep me alive. Because even if you kill me you wouldn't leave a single cut on my hands. Because I am selfish; even if I never got to hold you in my arms while alive, I wanted to die in your arms. Because it has always been us. Because I love you. 

But what comes out of his mouth is, “If not you, who else?”

Zoro's eyes widen. 

Shit, shit, shit, that's so much worse. He did not mean to say that. That was basically a love confession and he still doesn't know how Zoro feels about him. He has to do something to fix this, right now. 

He removes his hand from Zoro's and stands up, “I should,” his voice cracks, “I should go.”

Zoro's face falls. 

Ask me to stay, Sanji begs in his head, hold me back and kiss me, tell me you want me, please, just fucking ask me to stay. 

“Yeah,” Zoro looks away. His voice is quiet when he says, “Maybe you should.”

Sanji's heart breaks into a million pieces. He walks back to the bunk, hoping he could cry, hoping his tears could wash out all this heaviness settled in his lungs and make the dull throb in his head into a piercing pain. But all he feels is numb.

Sanji is having a stare-off with the sourdough starter when Zoro bursts inside the galley door. 

“What the fuck was that all about?” he demands. 

It's been… awkward after that night, to say the least. Neither of them were avoiding each other, but it was clear that they had no idea how to talk either. Sometimes, if he looked really hard, Sanji could almost see something akin to hurt in Zoro's eyes. I must've been imagining it, is what he tells himself. 

Then today, when they came across a decently strong marine ship, the crew was happy to finally go all out. The peace after leaving Wano was very nice, but their captain can only take a week of calm before he starts getting antsy. And when their captain gets antsy, everyone else gets antsy. 

It was a good fight. Not enough to make them serious, but good enough to keep them entertained. Sanji had fought side by side with Zoro and their coordination was still impeccable. Sanji felt like he could finally breathe. 

It was all going great till some marine asshole tried to take a swing at Zoro's back when he was busy with 5 other marines. It wasn't even a strong swing. It definitely wouldn't have killed Zoro, or even seriously harmed him. But if he landed the hit, it would've scarred, or at least bruised his back. The thought had made Sanji panic.

He kicked Zoro out of the way hard enough to send him flying across the deck and broke all the ribs of that stupid officer who dared to slash him across the back. Zoro had returned to his spot and started taking down marines without a word, but not before sending him a glare that said, we'll talk about this later.

Looks like he wasn't kidding.

Sanji winces and continues staring at the starter like it was the most interesting thing he has ever seen in his life. “I don't know what you're talking about.”

Zoro whirls him around to face him with a hand on his arm. Sanji winces and keeps his gaze fixed on the wall.

Zoro grips his chin and forces him to meet his eye. “Whatever the fuck we got going on, it shouldn't affect how we work together. We're in the New World, and Luffy is going to be Pirate King. We can't be making mistakes like this because of some stupid feelings.”

Sanji would've been offended if not for the fact that it's true. He pushes him off and tries his best to sound annoyed. “It's not that serious. I made a mistake and that's all there is to it. Everyone makes mistakes, don't they?”

Zoro steps closer, making his breath hitch. “Everyone else, maybe. But not you. Not us.”

Not us, he said, like they were one. Like they belonged together, like it had always been them against the world. Sanji feels like someone put his heart through a meat grinder.

“So tell me. What the hell were you thinking?”

He couldn't hold it in anymore. He pushes Zoro's chest and blurts out, “I panicked, okay? He went for your back and I panicked because you don't like scars on your back. It's fucking stupid, I know, but I panicked and—”

He trails off midway when Zoro cups his cheek gently. He looks devastated.

“You're killing me,” he whispers. “You're killing me, Sanji.”

Then they're kissing.

Sanji doesn't know who leaned in first (he tells himself it was Zoro) but they were kissing and it's nothing like he thought it would be. There is no teeth or tongue or urgency. Zoro's kisses taste like heartbreak and love, like the onigiri Sanji made him for breakfast and the ache in his chest. Sanji tries to make him speed it up, tries to make it heated and messy but Zoro is stubborn. He holds Sanji gently, so gently by his nape and kisses him like he is trying to savour him. Like he is trying to etch every moment of this in his mind, lest it all end up being a wonderful, terrible dream. He kisses him like he loves him. Sanji moans into his mouth. He wants to cry.

He doesn't realize he's shaking till Zoro pulls back, concerned. “Curly?”

Sanji startles. He looks at his hands fisted on Zoro's robe and realizes he has been pushing him away and pulling him closer again and again. He is still shaking when Zoro reaches out to touch him, a gesture that is so impossible tender. Sanji flinches back almost violently—he can't help it, being the wounded animal he is. Sanji realises that he fucked up when Zoro's expression shutters and before he can even comprehend what's happening, Zoro's walking away.

“It's fine,” Zoro says quietly, back turned to him. “We don't have to do anything you don't want to.”

The image before his eyes trickles into his head slowly. He is at the door. He is leaving. 

And suddenly, he's fucking furious. Sanji sees red. “Wait a fucking second,” he calls out, fuming. “That's it? You're leaving?”

He is angry. He is so angry. But as the words leave his mouth, the only thing he can hear in his voice is hurt. 

Zoro's face is carefully neutral. “Yeah, I am.”

“Fuck you,” Sanji spits. “You know what I want. You know, there's no way you don't after—after what we were just doing. I know you want me, asshole, don't try to deny it,” he wants to sound confident, but it only trails off like a question, desperate and afraid. “You know what I want. You know I can't say it. Why can't you just. Why can't you just let me have it this once? What do you want me to do, fall to my knees and beg? God, this is so fucked. I'm losing it over a guy who can't even bother to stand for whatever the fuck we have. Every fight, you face head on. You never back away. Why am I the only thing you won't fight for, Zoro?”

Before he can blink, he is slammed on the kitchen counter, knocking his breath out of his lungs. Sanji groans in pain and opens his mouth, ready to yell out some choice words, when he catches the look on Zoro's face and stops short. 

It's Zoro's turn to look livid. “You don't get to say that. Everything with you is a fight. I have been fighting you for you since the day we met. You don't get to make it sound like I don't care when this whole time, you've been so… you.”

All the hurt he felt vanishes in thin air. He bares his teeth in a snarl. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

With a frustrated growl, Zoro tugs him forward by his shirt and slams him back on the counter. Sanji gasps just as Zoro leans in closer to speak, “Shut up. Shut the fuck up. You don't get to say a goddamn word. I don't fight for you? Fuck that. How fucking dare you. I have been picking fights like a little kid to keep your attention on me. Do you know how hard you make everything? One moment you act like we're best friends and the next you're looking at me like I'm worse than the scum under your shoe. But it's still so goddamn easy to love you, it's infuriating. Do you know what I did when you left for Cake Island like the selfish bastard you are?” Zoro's voice catches. Sanji can only watch as he runs his hand through his hair and spits out, “I smoked a pack of those filthy cigarettes you keep around just because I could almost pretend like you were next to me when the smoke filled my lungs. Don't tell me I don't care. Don't you fucking dare.”

Sanji feels like he has been punched in the face. He wants to pull Zoro in by his shoulders and kiss him. He wants to say he's sorry for being so fucked up, so hard to love. But once a wounded animal, always a wounded animal. So he lashes out instead. “And what, I'm supposed to magically figure it out? You've never said anything, never once showed that you care. I'm not a mindreader, Zoro. I can't—”

“Stop talking,” Zoro hisses. “Stop talking, or I'll really end up killing you. Never showed it? You fucking asshole. Have you ever seen me make a fool of myself like you do to make the girls laugh or hover over the guys when they're sick and force feed them food with that stupidly soft look on my face? No, because I don't know how to love loudly like you do. But I tried so hard for you. Who do you think tells Chopper on you when you get injured in a fight and try to hide it? I don't do loud and fancy, cook, but I tried so fucking hard. I have been courting you like a moron just because you like that shit and—”

Critical hit. Sanji grabs Zoro by his robe and shakes him, breathless. “No, you haven't. Don't fuck with me.”

For a second, Zoro looks like he is going to make good on the promise to kill him. Then, all the fight seems to drain out of him in one go. He heaves a weary breath and steps back. “I can't do this anymore. Think whatever you want. I'm out.”

Sanji forces himself to move despite every cell in his body screaming at him to shut down and pulls Zoro back hard enough to make him stumble. His heart beats loud and fast in his chest. Don't give up on me. Don't you dare give up on me now.

“No. No you don't—you don't get to say all that and leave. I don't know what you want from me. Tell me what you want,” he refuses it admit that he is pleading, but he isn't sure what else to call it either. “I have no fucking clue what you expect me to do. You have to help me, Zoro, you can't… you can't fucking leave now,” Not now, not ever. “Just tell me what you want and I'll—”

“Tell me,” Zoro interrupts his spiral, gripping his shoulder harshly. His face is all hard lines, nothing like the softness Sanji had gotten used to seeing in him. “Tell me you want this. Tell me you want me.”

He can feel Zoro’s harsh breathing against his lips when he says, “I've been fighting for you all this time, but this is the one thing I want you to do. I can't have you step back and decide you're not ready to drag your pinky finger out of the closet, or break this off because you can't stand to have another person care for you. It will drive me insane. This is the one thing I won't do for you. I need to hear you say it. I want you to look me in the eye and tell me what you want, and I'll give it to you. Tell me you love me. Tell me this means something to you, too.”

Sanji thinks he makes a wounded noise. He isn't sure. He can't think, not with Zoro's eyes pinning him in place, blown wide and feral.

“Or if you're just looking for a quick lay, tell me,” Zoro places his hand against the wall beside Sanji’s head, leaning closer, closer still, to mouth the words against the shell of his ear, angry, seething, “You asked me if I want you on your knees, begging. Yeah, I do. I bey you'd look like a dream, on your knees for me.”

He is trembling again, but it's nothing like before. Molten fire, white hot and all consuming, burns in his gut.

“I'd do it if you asked, you know? I'd spread you open and fuck you till you can't even think of anything other than me. I would bite and bruise every inch of your skin, till your pretty mouth can't spew any more bullshit, because you will be too busy screaming my name.”

Zoro's hand hovers over his waist, a ghost of a touch. A taste of what he could have, taunting him to come closer. Sanji burns.

“But I'm not fucking you till you ask. Till you are losing your mind with want and begging me to fill you up nice and slow. I would fuck you so good, Sanji, if only you asked.”

Sanji tries to breathe, but all he ends up making is a sound dangerously close to a whine. Every inch of their bodies is pressed together. He feels Zoro everywhere; against his chest and pushing into his half-hard cock and behind his fucking teeth. He feels insane with it. He wants.

Then, Zoro pulls away completely, and he is cold again. He almost cries out, almost reaches for him. Almost.

Zoro looks at him, eyes searching, almost desperately. “Just tell me what you want.”

I can't. I can't I can't I want you so bad but I can't I-

He stays silent.

Once again, he sits in the galley stress smoking while thinking about Zoro. He can see a pattern developing and he does not like it. 

It's been a few hours since dinner and the whole mess that went down, and from the look in his face when he slammed the kitchen door shut, no one has dared to come and check on him yet. He's glad, because he isn't sure what he will do if he sees anyone else now. 

He doesn't even know where to start. Everything about that conversation was fucked up. There were so many things to unpack. What the fuck does he mean, fight for me? That's what he has been doing all this time trying to seduce him or whatever the fuck he was doing even when he knew he had no chance. So it was okay when Zoro didn't use words to express what he was feeling, but it was bad when Sanji did the same? Fuck that. Fuck him. 

And then there was the whole… 

I'd fuck you so good, Sanji. 

His cheek burns bright red and embarrassingly, he feels that liquid heat start to simmer in him again. He shakes his head vigorously and slaps his cheeks, forcing himself to focus. 

Zoro also mentioned something about courting him all along, which made no sense. There was no way Sanji wouldn't have noticed if he was, so what was that about? 

Despite being skeptical, Sanji can't bring himself to believe that Zoro was lying. Because Zoro was many things- infuriating, annoying, headstrong- but a liar wasn't one of them. So he groans and starts to flip through his mind to see if anything different stands out. 

If not me, who else? 

Sanji's breath catches in his throat. Did he… no, there's no way he meant it like that. It was him saying he cared because Sanji was a part of the crew, not that he cared about Sanji. Besides, that's not what courting is. It's not intense dialogues and fucking sacrificing yourself for your crush. It was sweet things like holding the door open for them, buying them gifts, bringing them flowers, complimenting them… 

No. Looks nice. 

Sanji's eyes snap open. No. There's no way. 

Thinking about it… All the things Zoro found hot about him. They were just things he did on the daily, weren't they? 

Curly. Weird fish. 

You're like a sweaty, disgusting housecat, marimo. Just put that on the sink—jesus fuck, is that alive?!

Were those… gifts? 

Cook. Here. 

Why are you giving me flowers? Don't tell me they are poisonous because I don't have time to kick your ass right now. Lunch is not ready yet. 

No, idiot. Apparently this is edible and a specialty of this island. Since you're watching the ship today and we will be setting sail soon, I thought I'd bring this since you'd throw a bitch fit if you knew you couldn't cook something with this. 

What the hell do you mean bitch fit?! 

Flowers. Oh my god, Zoro got him flowers. 

Oi, Curls. 

Little busy trying not to get killed here, marimo. 

Forget about that. Do you want to take that guy down together? He looks like the strongest one there is. Well, strongest after the guy who Luffy is fighting. 

What a gentleman you are. Lead the way. 

Zoro doesn't hold open doors for him, but he lets him share his victory in battle. He didn't give him his opponent, he asked him to fight with him. Because he thinks Sanji is his equal. Because he wants Sanji by his side. 

“Oh my god. Zoro was courting me,” he whispers, horrified. “Zoro was courting me.”

“Hey Sanji, are you—” Usopp cracks open the door and immediately doubles over coughing. “Dude, what the hell are you doing in here? Speedrunning cancer?”

Sanji ignores that. He pushes himself up from the couch, drags Usopp into the galley and closes the door. Usopp makes a questioning noise, but doesn't say anything as he watches Sanji pace around. 

“Um.”

“I think Zoro's in love with me.” he announces with feeling. What feeling, he's not exactly sure. 

Usopp doesn't react with even half the amount of shock he expected to see. His eyebrows reach his hairline. “You finally figured it out? We thought it'll take at least 10 more years.”

Sanji chokes. “What do you mean, figured it out? You say it like everyone in the crew knows except me.”

Usopp shrugs. He seems to know this is not a conversation that will be ending any soon, so he pulls up a stool and sits down. “I mean, yeah. We just thought you'll never figure it out, or that it'll take you a solid 10 years more. So good job on figuring it out.”

Sanji flushes at the last part of the sentence. “I might've had some help for that.”

Usopp tilts his head in question, before it seems to dawn on him. He slaps his forehead. “That was what you guys were fighting about earlier? I can't believe he had to yell it out for you to finally get it. Actually, wait. I believe it.”

Any other time, he would've felt offended and tried to argue that Usopp was talking like he was dense, but now, he can’t feel anything but a bone-deep exhaustion. His throat stings when he says, “I'm in love with him.”

Maybe he would’ve never even considered saying it out loud a week ago. Maybe he’s only saying it now because it’s Usopp. Usopp, the one who tries to make him laugh more than anyone else. Usopp, who is warm and brave. Usopp, who is his best friend. He doesn’t know what makes him say it, but he does. He is just so, so tired. 

There is a pause before Usopp sighs. “Come here, sit down.”

Sanji complies numbly. Usopp places his hand on his knee after he settles beside him. “Are you okay?”

Something in Sanji breaks. Why is he not surprised? There is not even a trace of judgement in his eyes, nothing that says he thinks Sanji is undeserving of this love. He only waits for him to talk patiently. 

He doesn’t know how much longer he can hold back his tears. “You knew?”

There is no pity in his eyes, only sympathy. Usopp nods. “I did.”

“How?”

Usopp turns his stool and pulls Sanji’s closer to him so that he could press their shoulders together. Distantly, he is ever so slightly flabbergasted to see once again how strong his friend has gotten over the years.

Usopp leans into Sanji, a comforting weight by his side. “You look at him different.”

Sanji thinks maybe he cries then, just a little. He is not sure if he is speaking loud enough to be heard when he says, “I don’t know what to do with all this love I have for him. I don’t know.”

He is not sure if Usopp is looking at him. His chest aches when he realises that was Usopp’s intention when he turned them around; he didn’t want Sanji to feel uncomfortable by looking at him.

Usopp squeezes his knee comfortingly. “I’m not sure how much I can help, but I can always listen.”

Sanji stands up abruptly, pushing back his stool. He is shaking again. He inhales slowly. Lets it all out.

“Sanji?”

“Usopp,” his voice is level, calm in a way it hasn’t been for a while now. He rolls up his shirt sleeves. “What do you want to eat?”

His friend makes a questioning noise. “What?”

“Tell me what you want to eat. Please.”

He can’t sit down and talk about this. If he does, if he makes the mistake of looking Usopp in the eye even once, he would break into a million pieces. He feels like an open wound, burning and tender. One touch, one brush against the sensitive skin and he will bleed. He is afraid he won’t be able to stop bleeding if he starts.

Usopp seems to understand this. He makes a show of pondering his options before saying, “That dish you made with the pike yesterday? If there’s any leftovers, can I have some?”

Sanji scoffs. “Leftovers? I’ll make you a whole damn meal.”

“And talk.”

Sanji sighs. Despite the pit in his stomach, he concedes, “And talk.”

“So you never mentioned that you love him?”

Sanji throws his hands up in the air while still holding the spatula. “I didn’t realise I had to! What, so Mr. Acts Of Service can express his love with action, and I can’t? Don’t you think that’s unfair?”

Usopp chews his mouthful of rice and grilled pike. His face turns pained when Sanji places a sunny side up to his plate right beside the honey garlic chicken he added a few minutes ago. But he doesn’t say anything because he is a smart man who knows what’s good for his life.

“Okay, but did you say you loved him after his speech?”

“...”

“Did you say anything about what you feel?”

Sanji walks back to the stove quickly.

Usopp places his chopsticks on the plate with an exasperated, “Sanji.”

He groans and hides his face with his hands. “I tried! You know I'm not good with words.”

Usopp rolls his eyes. “You are doing pretty good right now, man.”

“You know what I mean,” he starts pacing restlessly, making Usopp sigh. “I don't know what I can convey with my words that sticking my tongue down his throat couldn't.”

He is far too worked up to feel embarrassed by his words. Usopp is a whole different story. 

He makes a weak gurgling noise. “TMI, dude. Anyways, why are you so opposed to voicing out your feelings?”

“He didn't—”

“I didn't ask about Zoro, Sanji,” Usopp says, making him snap his mouth shut. “I'm asking about you.”

He deflates, fisting a hand in his hair. “It's too much.”

“What do you mean?”

“I'm in too deep, Usopp. What do you think would happen if I had said just how much I love him only for him to not feel the same way?”

Usopp frowns. “He does feel the same way, though. Even if he didn't, he wouldn't have been mean about it. Zoro isn't cruel, yanno.”

Sanji shakes his head. “I know that. I know he would go back to acting like how we used to before because he doesn't want me to feel uncomfortable. But I can't do that. I would never be able to breathe around him, Usopp. Worst case scenario, it affects the crew too. This is. This is not something I thought I had to say out loud before today. It's taken me a long time to let myself think that I like—that I love him without feeling like I'm committing a crime. So I thought if I could make him love me, it would be okay. If he makes the first move, I would know that I matter to him and everything would be okay.”

Usopp's eyes soften. “But he had loved you all along.”

Sanji nods jerkily. 

Usopp takes another bite of his food, thoughtful. He eats in silence for long enough to make Sanji antsy. Just when he's about to snap at him to say something, Usopp speaks up, “You know, Sanji, you keep mentioning that Zoro never voiced his feelings for you, but I think you're forgetting one thing. He has been trying to show that he likes you all along. Or in his words, ‘courting’ you.”

Sanji frowns. “Well, I have been showing him that I like him too, so I don't see the issue here.”

Usopp grimaces. “Er. How do I say this gently. You have been trying to make him like you. You never once showed you like him.”

Sanji freezes. 

“Did you ever think,” Usopp presses carefully, “he might've thought you're ashamed of him?”

“That's ridiculous!” he exclaims, trying to mask the fear bubbling up in him. “That's not true. It can't be farther from the truth. If anything, I'm ashamed of myself.”

Usopp blinks. “Okay, we are going to unpack that later, but let's say you are ashamed of yourself. Have you heard of the law of commutative property of addition?”

“Get to the goddamn point before I kick your face in, Usopp.”

He raises his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay. What I'm trying to say is, even if he knows you're only ashamed of yourself, it wouldn't change much. Because you're basically saying you're ashamed of yourself for loving him. Which is not all that different from the former.”

Fuck. 

“Fuck.” he whispers, sliding to the floor. Usopp is by his side in no time. “I fucked up, didn't I?”

Usopp pats his shoulder. “Oh yeah, big time.”

His hands go up to his hair reflexively and pull at the strands, hard. Before he can do serious damage to his scalp, he feels Usopp pry his fingers loose one by one. 

He sounds broken when he asks, “What do I do now?”

Usopp holds his hands in his and once again presses their shoulders together. “Isn't it obvious? You fix it.”

Fixing it is easier said than done, because Zoro won't fucking talk to him.

Wait, scratch that. He does talk to him. But whenever Sanji tries to broach the subject, he raises a hand to stop him and walks away.

It's worse than the last time they fought. At least Zoro was angry at him that time. He had glared at him and taken all his meals to the crow's nest and avoided him. He was angry and hurt and it showed. But now it's worse because Sanji can see none of that in his face.

He doesn't snap at him when they have to inevitably interact. He meets his eyes when they talk. He eats all the meals with the crew at the dining table. It's worse this time, because he doesn't care anymore. It's worse this time, because it looks like he has given up on him, on them. 

It terrifies him. He tries to apologize but the words get stuck in his throat when Zoro just shakes his head, a silent don't and walks away. He tries to pick fights, only for Zoro to look at him blankly and go back to whatever he was doing before. They dock on an island, and Zoro doesn't bring him the strangest fish he can find there. Sanji is terrified he finally broke what they had to pieces that can never be put together again.

He refuses to give up just yet. They're walking down the farmer's market with Zoro being forced to be his pack mule by Nami again, and Sanji can't stop talking. He explains about the different varieties of fruits, plans the dishes he could make with the produce, mentions that he should stock up on ginger since he is almost out and complains about the unfair prices quoted by the farmers. He talks and talks and talks, till he is out of breath, till his throat is parched and scraped raw. Usually by that time, Zoro would've given his useless input on what he should buy and what looks ugly as hell. He would've told him to stop whining about the prices and intimidated the merchants into giving him a discount. His eyes would've been fixed on him the entire time he talked.

This time, Zoro doesn't look at him. Doesn't say a single word in response. Sanji feels like he is drowning.

One thing that doesn't change is Zoro's horrible sense of direction. While he was examining the peaches on sale, the dumbass was no longer by his side. Sanji sighed with his hands on his hips. Now he has to search for the guy who doesn't even want to fucking look at him. Great. 

That proves to be unnecessary, because miraculously, Zoro returns to his side in a few minutes, looking immensely displeased. Sanji rolls his eyes and tugs his arm. “I look away from you one second, and you already get yourself lost?”

His gaze is sharp when he shakes his arm out of Sanji's grip and curtly says, “Let's leave if you're done.”

His stomach falls. He doesn't even want him to touch him anymore? Sanji wants to scream and kick something. He wants to tear his heart out of chest; maybe then it will stop weeping.

They leave the market. Zoro carries all the boxes and this time, Sanji remains silent. He is afraid that if he opens his mouth he might start crying and he really isn't looking forward to embarrassing himself in public and adding on to his already shitty day.

They unpack the groceries in silence. When they're almost done, Sanji slaps his forehead and groans.

“Can't believe I fucking forgot the ginger,” he mutters to himself. “Now I have to make another trip to the town. Fuck.”

Sanji had almost forgotten Zoro was still by his side. He only registers his presence when he drops something on the table. 

“You were yapping about having to buy this.” Zoro grunts. “I saw a farmer selling freshly harvested ones, so I got some.”

Sanji blinks. He opens the small bag with trembling hands and finds them filled with ginger. 

Zoro got him ginger because he was talking about it. Zoro got him ginger. 

He is hit with a strong sense of deja vu when he watches Zoro walk to the door. 

Wait a fucking minute. 

Zoro is at the door. He is leaving. 

No. Not again. 

“I'm in love with you,” is what he tries to say. But the words all rush out of him in one panicked breath, so they end up sounding like imilovwiyou. 

Zoro freezes in the doorway. 

He clears his throat and tries again. “I'm in love with you. I've been in love with you for a long while. You asked me what I want and fuck, Zoro, how am I supposed to tell you that I want everything? I want to fight with you and kick your ass. I want to laugh and gut fishes with you. I want to kiss you filthy and hard, I want to kiss you soft and slow. I want to wake up next to you and finally touch your earrings and hear how they sound in the silence of the early morning. I…” he lets out a watery laugh, running a hand through his hair. “I want forever with you, you stupid bastard. I'm greedy for you. How am I supposed to tell you all this without sounding batshit crazy? How am I supposed to expect you to handle all this without—mmph!”

There is nothing sweet about this kiss. It's fingers clawing into skin and teeth on lips and desperation. It's relief and passion and a scream of finally, finally. It's love, it's so much love and it's in the every press of their lips and maybe, it is sweet. This is the closest they can come to softness and Sanji wouldn't have it any other way. 

Sanji chases his lips when Zoro pulls away, panting. “Took you long enough, dartbrow.”

Sanji scowls. He wraps his hands around his shoulders and bites the words into his lips. “Less talking, more kissing.”

Zoro seems all too pleased to follow the order. The ache in his chest is all but gone and in its place is a fire burning brighter and brighter till its blinding; all his happiness and hunger and neverending want condensed into one raging forest fire.

This time, Zoro slips his hands into his shirt and lets it linger. This time he does a whole lot more than touch and Sanji is dizzy with it, this knowledge that he is allowed to be greedy, that Zoro likes him greedy. Zoro likes him. Zoro likes him. He laughs into the kiss and Zoro makes a noise like he has been shot. 

When they pull away for breath once again, Zoro cups his face in his hands and presses their foreheads together. 

“I love you.”

Sanji's heart almost stops. “What?”

Zoro leans back just to roll his eyes at him. Sanji is not all that affected by his snark; he is too busy staring at his kiss-swollen lips and planning the marks he could leave on his body and processing the fact that Zoro is in love with him. 

Zoro's grip on him tightens. He sounds desperate, wild with fear when he says, “You're not allowed to leave. You can't. We're in this for the long run, Curly. Don't you dare leave me hanging.”

Sanji damn near melts. He ducks down to hide his blush and clamps his teeth over the meat of his shoulder. Zoro gasps. 

Between licking and kissing the already blooming bruise, Sanji breathes, “You're going to regret that. I'm never leaving you. You're going to fucking go insane and hate me after a few years and you're—”

He doesn't get to finish his sentence, because Zoro grips him by his chin and kisses the words out of his mouth. He looks furious when he snarls, “Don't tell me what I will and won't do. Don't fucking underestimate me. I'm gonna love you till you can't breathe and you'll just have to sit and take it because we're it now, don't you get it? Neither of us are leaving.”

Sanji wants to cry. But he presses himself closer and kisses Zoro instead, because he can do that now. Just the thought makes him giddy. 

“Okay,” he whispers. “Okay.”

They stay like that for a long while; just holding each other and catching their breath. Savouring the taste of this moment, letting it melt on their tongue. Sanji still can't believe he wasn't dreaming. 

Well. Dream or reality, might as well try it out. 

“Hey, um,” Zoro looks at him questioningly when he averts his gaze, embarrassed. “Is the option to fuck still on the table by any chance?”

Zoro almost dies laughing before he shows Sanji that it very much is on the table.