Archive of Our Own ^beta

The ship ride down the river and back into the island's biggest city is unsurprisingly loud seeing as the Sunny's deck is currently teeming with about twenty people, each newly rescued from the clutches of some strange scientist who'd abducted them about a day before the Straw Hat's arrival for some reason or other – honestly, Zoro hadn't really listened to Chopper's chattering about what he'd found in the lab, he'd been too focused on making the sucker whimper by pressing Kitetsu's tip to her neck.

Each of them is chattering away happily now, talking to the other islanders and any member of his crew who will listen.

It makes for pleasant background noise that Zoro finds ideal for dozing off, his head leaning back against the galley's outer wall as he observes the goings-on on the ship through a half-open eye.

Especially the children of the group seem to be in a talking mood, their high voices and laughter carried by the wind.

Across from him, one of them is currently standing next to Sanji. He's a short, freckled boy whom the cook had carried on board moments before they'd departed.

Apparently, he'd twisted his ankle at some point during their wild escape from the scientist's lair. At least, that's what Zoro had been able to make out over all the noise as Sanji had explained the situation to the more than busy Chopper who'd started getting to work on the kid's leg right away.

Now, he's sporting a pristine, white bandage that he resolutely refuses to look at as he, instead, stares at his savior while telling him stories about his sister and their dog, occasionally fidgeting with one of the buckles on his dungarees.

The cook wears an interested expression, his posture non-threatening enough to make himself seem perfectly capable of handling a child or two despite the blood stains on the hems of his pant-legs as he nods along and asks questions periodically.

Only the way he plays around with his lighter, opening and closing its lid as he listens to the boy, betrays his calm facade; by now, he must be craving his post-battle cigarette like a man close to dying of thirst in the sweltering desert heat craves a sip of water; that's how vital he usually makes the fulfillment of this particular desire of his seem anyway.

The lighter in question is silver, decorated with thin lines engraved into its smooth surface that form spiraling waves, and is, right now, reflecting the mid-morning sun's light in an irregular pattern right at Zoro's feet.

It's also surprisingly heavy.

He'd picked it up once as he'd stood in the Sunny's galley. It had lain on the table, glinting wickedly in the warm light coming from the lamp above, and it had presented him with the perfect opportunity to get back at the cook for whatever insult he'd thrown at him when Zoro had entered the room.

Getting to inspect this then still relatively new addition to all the fancy shit that the cook had added to his closet and general daily getup after the two years the crew had spent apart had only been an unintentional side effect to his attempt at getting under the other's skin.

Though, in the end, he'd been more occupied with studying the lighter rather than the growing confusion in the other's eyes as he'd almost desperately looked around the kitchen after patting down every single one of his pant's and jacket's pockets. At least, Zoro had still managed to catch the enraged snarl that'd made itself at home on the cook's face as he'd realized where his lighter had ended up.

The bruise on his shin had been worth it in the end. Probably.

To be honest, he isn't quite as sure of that anymore now as he was on that day. Maybe if he hadn't looked at it so closely back then, hadn't ever begun to try to map out all the differences between who the cook was before Sabaody and who he had become after the crew's reunion, his eye wouldn't snap up whenever he hears the click of the lighter's lid now.

In retrospect, had he known then what that darned piece of metal would put him through, he would have thrown it out into the sea. Perhaps Davy Jones would've been happy about such an addition to his collection.

As it stands though, it is still firmly in Sanji's hand, and slowly driving Zoro farther and farther away from the nap he so desires.

The cook doesn't even place it back in the front pocket of his pants as he attempts to wipe at his right cheek as subtly as he can: there's a cut there, not particularly long but apparently deep enough that it is still bleeding sluggishly. Chopper had tried to take care of it right after bandaging up the boy's ankle but Sanji had just swatted his hooves away, telling him to have a look at some woman that he'd seen sitting by Nami's mandarin trees instead, who'd appeared to have gotten hurt to him.

As soon as his fingers make contact with the wound, his brow twitches with pain. However, he forces the expression on his face to remain impassive even as he feels for the tackiness of the blood on his fingertips, and, for a moment, considers wiping them off on his pant leg before he decides otherwise.

The shifting spots of light dancing off of the lighter's lid as it snaps open and is closed over and over and over don't stop moving at Zoro's feet through it all, and keep his half-open eye wandering back to the offensive figure in black leaning against the Sunny's railing across from him, his attention focused on the way the cook's fingers flex and bend with the repetitive motion.

That is, until another kid appears next to the boy and begs him to join the others who are currently sitting by the ships bow while listening to some guy who is telling stories about ocean unicorns and giant ducks – probably Usopp, Zoro thinks.

After half-hugging one of the cook's legs and saying his goodbyes as Sanji had awkwardly patted his head with the back of his bloodied hand, the boy limps away with the help of the other kid, leaving the cook to – finally – reach into the inner pocket of his jacket.

Suddenly, Zoro feels wide awake, effectively and immediately shaken from his languor.

Now that the boy is a safe distance away, the other man quickly pulls out a slim silver case, the second piece of the set that he'd brought with him from wherever he'd ended up during the years they'd spent apart, equal in pattern to the lighter and equal, too, in potential for causing Zoro to feel irritated or on edge or however else he is supposed to describe this emotion that has been haunting him for a while now whenever he sees the cook with these two objects in his hands.

It fits perfectly into the other man's palm and opens with a barely audible click that Zoro would have missed had he not been listening for it in the same way a dog awaits to discover who is walking up to the door it is guarding, tense with both anticipation and dread.

Opened like a book, Sanji picks out one of the cigarettes it houses at random and quickly places it between his lips before letting the case disappear in his jacket pocket like a magician vanishing a coin, its presence almost seeming like a trick of the light.

The way he shields the flame that the lighter produces with one hand as he brings it closer to his mouth seems similarly practiced, years of habit turning the finding of the right angle to protect the fire from the wind into a thing of intuition instead of careful calculation.

The first cloud of smoke that leaves the cook's mouth reaches Zoro only moments later thanks to the breeze blowing down from the mountains at their backs. Immediately, the aromatic and slightly sweet smell of whatever tobacco the cook uses to roll is cigarettes – by now more familiar than he'd ever wished to grow with anything concerning the other man – has his shoulders involuntarily go rigid with startled attentiveness.

Usually, watching the embers crawl closer to the cook's fingers with each time he inhales has something hypnotic to it, like looking out to sea and observing the push and pull of the tides. Except, this time, the smoldering fire does not only eat away at the cigarette itself but three overlapping deep red spots as well that the cook's fingers had left behind on its white rolling paper as he'd fished it out from his case. They form a stark contrast that feels unsettling, like sudden whirlpools disrupting the ocean's mirror surface on a calm morning.

Zoro zeroes in on them as they, too, begin to disappear in the small heap of ash next to Sanji's blood-flecked brogues, as if they had never been there to begin with.

However, the disquieting feeling they evoke remains.

Unlike Zoro, the woman walking up the stairs that lead down to the mandarin grove does not seem to be disturbed by the sight. Instead, she approaches Sanji with a determination in her step that Zoro would usually expect in a situation where her position and that of the cook is reversed.

The shade of her hair is just similar enough to that of Nami's that Zoro had to do a double take when she'd first entered his field of vision. Any potential confusion about who she is that might have arisen because of her appearance would have, at the latest, disappeared once she reaches Sanji though: placing a bandage-clad hand on his forearm, she bats her eyelashes at him in a way that Nami would never think of using on the cook unless it was her only way out of a situation of deathly peril as she thanks him for sending Chopper her way – or, rather, the adorable little doctor, as she puts it.

The tips of the cook's ears turn a faint shade of pink as he practically bends over backwards trying to deflect her thankfulness.

The expression on his face, soft and mushy as he keeps assuring her that, no, there is no need to thank him at all, he'd only done what any gentleman would, only has her giggling harder as she puts her second hand on his elbow, just above where the other one is currently resting.

Immediately, the blush spreads to the cook's cheeks, the cut there almost disappearing behind his hair as he moves his head to the side to breathe out smoke between his smiling lips.

It comes out formed like a heart, the shape slightly misshapen because he seems to be too distracted by whatever it is about her that has him looking almost bashful and definitely enamored to properly concentrate on the action, but easy to recognize nonetheless.

The sweet and aromatic scent reaches Zoro only a moment later.

He immediately shuts his eye fully and wills himself to fall asleep despite everything happening across from him before the fight he would now otherwise inevitably have to start with the cook keeps him from sleeping at all until their arrival.

He doesn't understand this urge at all. It haunts him even in his dreams.

Zoro's favorite part about summer islands and their climate is the late afternoons when the warm air is moved by a mellow breeze just strong enough to gently move the hair that sticks to his forehead thanks to the sweat, as if it had suddenly grown hands that brush over his brow in an attempt to lull him to sleep. He enjoys sitting on the lawn deck then, feet stretched out in front of him as the now-golden sunlight turns the whole world a shade warmer than what it normally wears.

That he gets to do just that right now, enjoying the warmth still lingering in the grass despite the fact that the sun has moved on, feels like a blessing, especially after the encounter with the marines they'd had last night. It'd been over fairly quickly, sure, but that doesn't change anything about the fact that they all need some peace and quiet once in a while.

Once the Sunny had entered this island's climate around midday, it'd felt like the entire crew plus the ship itself had heaved a sigh of relief: Nami had promised them that the island's inhabitants had, at the very least, a neutral attitude towards pirates and that, considering the time the Log Pose would take to reset, they would have about two days of rest in a place that is generally described as one of the Grand Line's hidden holidaying gems by those (frankly) insane enough to go looking for such places in an environment as chaotic and volatile as the New World.

Now, somewhere to his right, said navigator is chatting with Robin, explaining to the other what cafés and bars they could visit tonight and what shops they can hope to empty as the island's soft sprawling hills are growing closer and closer, still only vaguely visible in the distance but probably only about an hour or so away at this point.

Zoro recalls Nami talking about the island's meadows that go on for miles and miles. He would love to stretch his legs, maybe go for a walk, before heading out to have dinner at some place on the island as is customary for them when they're docked during mealtime.

He can already hear Nami objecting to his idea should he mention it to her though, and Robin – now talking about some museum she'd heard of – commenting on how every single one of his outings turn into odysseys with no end, an observation that she makes too frequently and that he objects to every single time and vehemently at that, thank you very much.

He'll just have to hope that they'll leave before he does, allowing him to slip away unnoticed, he decides just as a rudely familiar cadence of steps coming down the stairs disturbs the quiet atmosphere.

Sanji walks onto the lawn after sequestering himself in the bathroom for the past hour or so.

It must have taken him forever to get the paint off his skin, Zoro thinks, before he realizes that, in addition to cleaning himself up, the cook had also gotten dressed in a pair of long natural-colored linen pants and a light blue button-up that he wears tucked in – an ensemble suited for the warm weather and definitely prissy enough for whatever certainly equally prissy plans he has for this evening. (Not that he's been thinking about that.)

He smells different too, the breeze carrying over the scent of the perfume the other man only ever applies when he goes out.

Prissy, just like he'd said.

The blond's appearance doesn't go unnoticed by Usopp either, who immediately rushes down onto the lawn deck as well, smiling up at the other man nervously. The green footprint on his pants just above his right knee left behind by Sanji's swift kick earlier this afternoon is still clearly visible.

“Hey, my friend!” His voice sounds insecure in a way that perfectly matches the expression he is wearing.

“Listen, I was thinking–“, Sanji immediately squints is eyes at that and Usopp hesitates, just for a moment, and scratches his cheek sheepishly before he continues, “–you know, since I sort of did arguably somewhat ruin your suit I could maybe do something to make it up to you?”

The cook doesn't immediately shoot him down – big mistake – so Usopp rattles on: “I know that paint's a real pain in the ass to get out of clothing; after all, I've got lots of experience with that.

So, I was doing some pondering, doing some calculations in my head to figure something out – you know how it goes – and now I've finally come up with a solution: a machine that helps with washing! You could call it a washing machine if you wanted to, except I'd, of course, give it a way cooler name like Usopp's Magical All-Cleaner or something, honestly I'm still open for suggestions on that.

Either way, Franky has already agreed to help me build it so, if you want me to, I can get started–“

“Like hell I will ever entrust any of my clothes to one of your contraptions!”, Sanji cuts him off, a deep frown on his face. He's not angry, but it's a close thing. “I'd rather spend a day scrubbing at every last stain before I let some hunk of metal – what – cut them all out or do something similarly horrible!”

Usopp looks appropriately cowed.

“Told you he wouldn't agree! He's like super dedicated to taking care of his stuff and totally not ready for our revolutionary ideas – no offense, bro!”, Franky's voice calls from somewhere deeper in the ship, loud and clear despite the walls between him and the crew members on the lawn deck.

Sanji just ignores him, his eyes still trained firmly on Usopp: “Promise me you won't build something like that! I swear I'll cook nothing but mushrooms for a week if you do!”

The finger he points at him comes closer to the other's face with every word he says. Usopp just nods in response, doing his best to avoid it, before disappearing back up the stairs in record speed once the blond is done talking.

The cook immediately turns around to face Nami and Robin once he is gone: “I'm so sorry you had to see that! But desperate times call for desperate measures; there's no way I'd let him build something that could potentially ruin your lovely clothes!”

They both just wave him off with an amused smile, more than aware that this is just a cop-out; he really is mostly worried about his own clothing. And he probably doesn't want Usopp spending the next two days held up on the ship instead of enjoying the beautiful beaches that await them because of a stupid accident. Not that he would ever have said that in so many words.

Then again, he really doesn't have to; Zoro's pretty sure he's not the only one who can easily read between the lines of the cook's bristliness.

In fact, out of all of them, Usopp should be the one who is the best at it at this point considering how often some commotion he causes with one of his inventions gone wrong makes Sanji mess up one of his recipes.

Today had been similar, if only in the sense that Sanji had, once again, been the victim of Usopp's clumsiness: Franky, more than eager to solve everyone's problems with the help of whatever machines he can think up, had decided to build Robin a sun umbrella that moves with the position of the sun after she'd mentioned during lunch how annoying it was to have to drag around her lawn chair to keep it in the shade. Usopp had, naturally, immediately been eager to help, aiding Franky with the construction aspect first, and then, afterwards, carrying over several tins of paint to decorate the newly-constructed paraSOLflower 2000 in fitting shades of yellow, brown and green.

Of course, the cook had walked by just as Usopp's grip on one of the tins had loosened, and it had fallen to the floor in an explosion of green right at his feet.

Honestly, Zoro wishes he had been around to see it. The way the paint had clumped together the cook's hair must have looked beyond ridiculous if Luffy's reaction to the whole affair is anything to go by.

Now, there are no traces of it left anymore; no matter what direction Sanji turns his head as he, first, talks to the two women and, then, moves to sit under one of the trees, Zoro doesn't manage to spot even a singular green smudge. His hair is as smooth and immaculately combed as ever.

In the meantime, Sanji had opened a metal box that he'd brought with him out onto the lawn deck.

The thing is vaguely familiar to Zoro: he'd seen it sitting on the galley's table next to the cook on a few occasions when he'd gone to the kitchen late at night to hunt down some sake that, inexplicably but consistently, seems to find its way into a new cabinet from time to time.

It's where the man keeps his supply of rolling papers, filters and tobacco, all of them acquired at a small shop a few islands ago during the grocery run that Zoro had been enlisted to join him on.

Seeing it outside the galley is not entirely uncommon but certainly unexpected.

Zoro wouldn't ever admit it out loud but the sight of it secretly thrills him, though he doesn't fully understand why: there's nothing special about the way Sanji rolls his cigarettes, putting tobacco and filter onto the thin paper to twist it between his fingers until he achieves the perfect shape and thickness; he's seen enough people, pirates and not-pirates alike, do it the same way in bars, on ships, on park benches, and wherever else.

There isn't even anything particularly noteworthy about the furrow between his brows or the way he slightly purses his lips in concentration as he aligns the finished cigarettes in his silver case. After all, he wears the same face whenever he cooks, so entirely focused on what he's doing that there's no more space left between the tilt of his lips and the way he narrows his eyes for any evidence of his short temper.

In all of his thinking about it – and Zoro's done more of it than what he would consider reasonable or healthy at this point – he's only ever managed to arrive at one conclusion that makes any sense at all: maybe this fascination of his stems from the fact that he finds it interesting to watch other people do things they're good at. This has always been true for him, back when he was a little boy, observing those older than him hone their fighting skills, and now, too, whenever he is present as Robin analyzes some ruins they come across, or when he gets to watch Franky build one of his machines.

It's no different when it comes to Sanji. Whenever he doesn't immediately kick Zoro out of the kitchen the second he enters it while he is cooking, he actually kind of enjoys watching him work, flambéing or sautéing or blanching away with a precision and a determination Zoro reserves for his swords.

It is only logical, then, that this extends to watching him roll his cigarettes as well, he reassures himself, once again. A little annoying maybe, sure, but not out of the ordinary.

He'd be like this if Brook were to suddenly start giving one of his concerts too. Definitely.

Nami's voice announcing their imminent arrival at the island interrupts his thoughts.

At some point, she must have walked to the steering wheel where Jinbe has been keeping an eye on their route as she is now standing up there, pointing at the quay where they'll be berthing.

He doesn't really pay attention to her though, instead watching the cook finish up his work, his tongue darting out between his lips as he moves to lick the adhesive part of the rolling paper to complete his final cigarette.

In that moment, he feels Robin's eyes on him – thankfully not literally for once. She seems mildly interested in what he is doing (never a good sign), and Zoro can't tell for how long she's been watching him (even worse).

But she is – thankfully – interrupted by Luffy who chooses this moment to run up to the woman and ask her about a million questions about the island that Nami had all answered extensively when she'd talked about it earlier that day, and to, incidentally, save Zoro from showing any kind of a reaction to Robin's curiosity that would have inevitably ended up being embarrassing for him.

After quickly closing his box again, Sanji gets up to stop their captain, reprimanding him about not paying attention to Nami like he should.

Before Robin can use this opportunity to refocus her attention on him, Zoro decidedly doesn't flee but instead calmly walks to the men's chambers to ready himself for shore leave.

Hopefully, she'll keep this to herself.

By the time he returns to deck, the ship is safely moored at the quay.

Luffy, Usopp, Chopper and Jinbe have already left, off to some cove where there are said to be a lot of crabs to both watch by the shore and eat at some restaurant. At least, that's what Brook tells him as he comes to stand at his side by the Sunny's railing.

Zoro hasn't forgotten about his own plans for a walk. If anything, he feels he needs one now more than ever.

From his position, he can see a path that leads up to the top of one of the hills that surround the harbor, and away from the town peeking out from between the hundreds of ships' masts. It looks promising, just what he needs after so much time spent at sea.

“I hope my eyes are deceiving me or are you actually already planning to run off into the hills to never be seen again? It hasn't even been half an hour since we've anchored.” The accusatory lilt to Nami's voice isn't even half as offensive as the look on her face, both incredulous and judgmental like she's seriously doubting his sanity.

She comes to a halt next to Zoro which Brook takes as the perfect opportunity to abandon him by excusing himself and jumping down onto the quay to wander off towards the town.

“It's none of your business what I do tonight, witch.”

“More like what you'll be doing the next two days. And we, too, when we'll inevitably have to go running after you to make sure you actually return to here.”

Zoro suppresses the indignant reply burning on his tongue and makes to follow the skeleton but Nami grabs his arm after shooting a quick glance over her shoulder, a rudely evil glint in her eyes.

“What'd the idiot do now?” Sanji walks down the stairs that lead up to the galley, his arms crossed over his chest as he surveys the scene before him.

“Oh, the usual.”, the witch says, as she lets her eyes wander towards the cook, her full attention now on him, “Listen, Sanji, keep an eye on him tonight so he doesn't get lost. I don't want to have to spend the next two days looking for him.”

Sanji eyes him skeptically, indecision obvious on his face. “I kind of already have plans...”, he starts to speak but he trails off as he sees the way Nami smiles up at him.

“Oh, come on! I'm sure it'll be easier for you to distract him with a beer or something than it'll be for Robin, Franky and me. We're planning on visiting this night market, and you know what he's like. He'd only get lost between the stalls.” Ignoring Zoro's protests, she continues on to deliver her killing blow: “It'd be really nice of you.”

She's got him, Zoro thinks.

With a frown on his face, the cook stops next to him, pulling the silver case from his pants pocket.

“You better not complain about my choice of restaurant or I'm making you pay for everything, shit-swordsman.”, he says as he points at Zoro with the cigarette that's now between his fingers. Zoro's eye follows its path until Sanji puts it between his lips.

Nami beams at the other man, patting him on the shoulder in thanks, before she turns to Zoro. “Behave!”, she warns him, that cheeky sheen back in her eyes that he decidedly doesn't want to try and decipher or think about at all.

“Whatever.”, he mutters, directed at the both of them and at himself at the same time, as he follows the cook down the gangplank who is smiling around his cigarette, lighting it as he walks past him to lead the way.

From the galley's window, Zoro can see Sanji walk up to the railing outside.

His shoulders are drawn up to his ears in an attempt to protect them from the wind that is whipping his hair around from one side of his face to the other and back again. Sometimes, it falls just in the right way to almost make him look like he did all those years ago in that restaurant on the sea.

Again and again the flame of his lighter flickers to life as he attempts to light his cigarette. It illuminates his face in a shade of orange that stands out against the cool backdrop of the cloud-heavy sky and the churning sea that the cook otherwise almost seems to blur into in his dark gray suit.

When he comes to a stop, the cigarette is finally burning. It makes the frustration clearly visible in the lines on his face ease off, but only for the first drag.

Inside the galley, Zoro must be frowning too; he finds Nami looking at him from his right, a question in her eyes that he notices immediately as he turns his gaze back towards the dining table that the crew is currently sitting at, enjoying the afternoon tea that Sanji had prepared for everyone to console Luffy for the bad weather.

When he doesn't react and just takes another sip of his beverage – sencha, mellow and slightly grassy; wherever the cook had managed to procure that from, he doesn't know – Nami huffs loudly: “Well?”

“'Well' what?”

“What's got you looking so pissy all of a sudden?” She crosses her arms over her chest, impatience obvious in her tone that only somewhat masks the care underneath.

“I'm not pissy.”, he mutters back. “I've just been thinking...”

Nami uses his momentary hesitation to continue speaking to interject: “Congrats. Didn't think I'd ever see the day.”

Zoro just glares at her, demonstratively taking another sip of his tea, and then inspects some of the baked goods that Sanji had arranged artfully on porcelain étagères, most of them sweet and therefore not to his taste but there's a few savory options here and there that he deliberately looks past to delay his reply further.

The navigator stays patiently still until he's picked out some puff pastry filled with something leafy and green. Spinach, probably.

“Does the cook seem, I don't know, stressed out to you or something?” He inwardly cringes at the uncertainty in his voice.

Nami looks at him a moment longer, then a small smile finds its way onto her lips that he finds to be decidedly too devious.

“What?”, he asks, doing his best to keep his tone flat.

Across the table, Robin leans forward, an innocently neutral expression on her face as she speaks that makes most people forget that reason why she's suddenly part of a conversation that she hadn't originally been included in is that she's been eavesdropping. Zoro's grown immune to it over the years. “I think it's perfectly reasonable that he seems a little off still. After all, even if his case of the flu was light, it's only logical that he wouldn't be feeling as fit as he normally does already; he's still recovering”

“That's not what I mean.”, he grumbles into his pastry once she's finished talking. Its flaky crumbs land all over his plate as he takes a bite.

Robin watches him over the rim of her cup, the coffee in it still a little too hot for her taste if the face she pulls as she takes a sip is anything to go by.

“I see. So, I take it you're instead referring to how he feels bad about us having to elongate our stay on the last island because he'd gotten sick?“ Robin phrases her reply as a question but it's clear she means it as a statement.

She sets her cup back on its matching saucer with a firm clink. “Or is this about how he doesn't exactly deal well with being forced to sit still for prolonged amounts of time? I know you can relate, after all–“

“You're right, you're right, it's”, – and Zoro waves his free hand through the air in an attempt to interrupt the archaeologist –, “something like that.”

Not even the cup that she lifts back up to her lips again can hide Robin's satisfied smile. At Zoro's right, Nami chuckles.

To Zoro's horror, Luffy, who sits on his left, interrupts his stuffing of his face with whatever cookies he can get his hands onto to get involved in the conversation as well: “He'll be fine, I know it.”, the conviction in his voice is audible despite his forceful chewing. “But if it bothers you so much, go talk to him. He'll like that.”

Once Luffy speaks on an issue, all discussions are officially over, and it's the same now: Robin and Nami share a final look, conveying some thought between them that Zoro can't seem to understand despite the fact that he stares at the both of them intently, before turning towards Franky and Usopp who have started a competition about who can throw more pieces of cake into the other's mouth across the table. Luffy turns towards them as well, cheering them on while grabbing more of the cookies to keep them out of the hands – and mouths – of the other two men.

Zoro's eye, however, wanders back to the galley's window.

He gets up a few minutes later, squeezing past Usopp first and then Jinbe who encouragingly pats him on the back while he passes him.

“Tell Sanji the cocoa is really good!”, Chopper shouts after Zoro when he walks through the door.

No privacy on this damn ship.

The wind outside is cool and strong enough to keep blowing small droplets of sea water towards Zoro as he approaches the cook who is still standing by the railing, a cigarette in his hand that looks freshly lit.

The furrow between his brows hasn't disappeared yet, Zoro observes, as he stops a few steps to his right.

“Are you here to complain about the food?”, he asks as he takes another drag.

“You know I don't like sweet things.” Zoro decides to take it slow, to offer him an out.

“Typical. I made something savory too and you didn't even notice.” When Sanji turns to face him, he's already got his free hand in his pants pocket. “Ungrateful bastard.”

Zoro feels glad, though he will not show it; that'll make this so much easier. “If the cook who made the food doesn't even want to stay around to try it, how good can it really be?”

“Oh, fuck off! All of my dishes are always delicious, I don't need to try them to know that.

You, on the other hand, aren't just directionally challenged; I'm pretty sure the moss you have for brains is affecting you taste too.”

“I have moss for brains but can beat you in a fight at any time. I wonder what that says about you?”

“As if.”, the cook says, “I'd like to see you try, shit-swordsman.” A dry laugh accompanies his challenge. Smoke pours out of his mouth in a steady stream.

Immediately, Zoro draws Enma and Kitetsu. They shine in his hands despite the low light.

Wado stays in her hilt. Sanji doesn't take offense to it though, hasn't for quite some time now; this duel of theirs will be just pretend, closer to a carefully thought-out dance than to an impromptu fight as most of their sparring matches have been for a while now. It's soothing in its familiarity in a way, this ritual of theirs, the constant push and pull of the other providing them with a way to communicate that feels fitting for their dynamic, a natural progression of their rivalry-fueled showdowns.

Sanji takes a final drag of his cigarette before leaving it to dangle between his lips, sizing Zoro up as he stuffs his other hand in his pants pocket.

As soon as Zoro takes on his opening stance, the cook charges forward, aiming one of his kicks at Zoro's chest. It's easy enough to block but he feels he shouldn't allow that to lull him into a false sense of security.

His instinct is proven right when the cook moves to land a hit close to one of his knees next, the beginning of his attack well-hidden by the twist with which he pulls his leg back from where it had clashed with his swords.

Zoro parries this strike, too, and slashes at his knee with the same movement.

Sanji has no problems evading this attack though, quickly pulling away his leg as more smoke escapes his pursed lips in an annoyed huff. It doesn't surprise Zoro; the unpredictable becomes predictable once you've been regularly sparring with someone for as long as they have, after all. He doubts he has any moves left that could catch the other wholly off-guard.

The way the cook ducks away under his next swing has them both moving closer to the stairs that lead down to the lawn deck as Zoro chases after him, both swords raised in preparation for his next strike.

The wind blows more droplets of sea water towards them. Zoro squints his eye; stay focused now, he tells himself as he brings his arms down.

Sanji rushes to the side just as the blades are about to connect with his hip. One of them gets close to grazing his thigh as he moves, forcing him to almost jump over the swords.

The cook lands in a crouch a few steps away from Zoro and regards him through his pale fringe, a spark in his eyes. He breathes out some smoke through his nose and moves the cigarette to the other side of his mouth with his tongue.

The line between his brows has smoothed out, Zoro finds when he looks over at him, perhaps watching the way his lips half-curl into a determined smile more intently than the tension in his shoulders or the twitch in his legs that is usually a good indicator of the direction he's planning to move in next.

“Told you I could take you.”, he taunts, grinning in a way that he knows the other finds incredibly obnoxious.

“This isn't over yet, marimo.”

The movement with which Sanji, first, leaps onto his hands and, then, propels himself up into the air to aim a kick at Zoro's shoulder looks impossibly fluid, like a wave rising before crashing into an island's bluff.

Zoro throws up his arms as quickly as he can to avoid getting hit. He gets his swords into position mere seconds before Sanji's feet connect with the metal.

The cook diverts the impact's energy into a jump that has him practically flying over Zoro's shoulder to land behind him, forcing the swordsman to whirl around.

He just so manages to block the following kick.

The surprised grunt that escapes him spurs Sanji on further, and he rushes forward again, smoke trailing after him, after Zoro's last parry had sent him sliding across the deck.

Zoro tries to meet him halfway with another swing of his swords but Sanji ducks beneath it again with a show of flexibility that is entirely unnecessary and decidedly doesn't have Zoro tighten his grip on his blades.

He intercepts the kick that the cook aims at his chest next with his swords, and it brings them face to face.

Sanji looks at him between the cross of his blades, his eyes flashing.

The smoke he blows into Zoro's face smells just as aromatic and sweet as it always does.

It has him falter for a second, his hold on his swords growing weak for only a moment before he catches himself.

It's long enough for Sanji to notice though, the minuscule shift in the tension in his arms a tell as obvious as a sign that reads “Attack now!” dangling in front of his face.

In one swift movement, the cook pulls his leg back, hooks his foot around Zoro's knee and pulls.

Zoro can do nothing but grab at the ankle of the cook's still-extended leg as he goes down, pulling him to the ground with him.

He hits the deck with a grunt and immediately twists beneath the cook's weight, who had landed on top of him, to reach for Enma who he'd had to drop as he was falling to avoid cutting himself on her blade as he went down.

Sanji, who still has his leg hooked around his knee, pulls him back with as much force as he can muster in this position.

Enma now out of reach, Zoro decides to resort to his least favorite trick during a physical fight in an attempt to regain the upper hand: verbal confrontation.

“Why didn't you stay to eat with us?” His irritation with how the cook still seems to prefer to stew over his issues alone instead of consulting any of the members of their crew slips into his voice unbidden.

Zoro doesn't think the other notices though; he's too busy wrapping his other leg around the swordsman's torso as soon as he notices Zoro opening his mouth, effectively forcing his captured leg to bend at the knee as he folds it towards his upper body in the process.

A little startled by the sudden question, Sanji's hold loosens for a moment, but not enough for Zoro to slip free – and he definitely tries. “Maybe I needed a break from you.” The deflection comes easy to him.

Zoro lets him get away with it. What he doesn't want to say with his words, he'd practically spelled out during their fight anyway: his frustration with himself had made it impossible for him to bear staying with everyone else back in the galley, and, he was glad that he'd gotten this opportunity to show that there was no need to treat him any differently than normally, no need to assume he couldn't be relied on like any other time.

So, for once, Zoro decides to play along instead of pushing back. “Specifically? I feel honored.”, he grumbles in reply, wriggling around in the cook's hold.

Sanji reacts immediately to his movement by flipping him around so that the lands on his back with a huff, and pins his left arm to his side when he fully wraps his legs around Zoro's torso.

“You better.”, he mutters as he comes to sit almost in his lap, and pulls one of his hands from his pockets to take his cigarette from his mouth. The smoke he blows up towards the sky while closing his eyes blends in with the clouds above.

Kitetsu rolls out of Zoro's hand, his grip on her loosened by the pressure the cook puts on his arm with his thigh.

When Sanji opens his eyes again a moment later, he looks down at Zoro who is already watching him.

He doesn't break eye contact even as he takes another drag from his cigarette, the smoke curling around his face.

Zoro tries to slip out of his hold again but it is futile, the cook has him pinned firmly to the ground. And even if he didn't, the way the muscles in his thighs shift as he adjusts his position to keep the upper hand has Zoro stopping his attempts at trying to break free immediately.

Looking for an opening, Zoro studies the other man's face. He gets distracted by how much more relaxed he now seems though; the tension in his shoulders has lessened, his gaze is steady and calm.

Not even his fingers shake as he lifts his cigarette to his mouth again, the warm scent of the tobacco coming to envelop them both as he breathes out a cloud of smoke between his slightly parted lips.

He watches it thin between them, then disappear.

The sudden flick to his nose startles Zoro out of his reverie.

“I hope you didn't kill off the singular brain cell floating around in your head with that fall.” Sanji's tone is mocking but the frown on his face – concerned this time and half-disappearing behind his hair – far exceeds it in sincerity.

Zoro looks at it a while longer, following the line between his brows with his eye, before he turns his gaze towards the sky above instead and taps the cook on his thigh with his free hand in surrender.

Sanji sighs, but doesn't move.

The clouds almost seem to be circling each other, spurred on by the wind as they race on.

Zoro pats the cook on his thigh again, more insistent this time.

“Did you suddenly unlearn how to speak?”

“Didn't think that statement required an answer.”, he huffs out, his hand now resting on the cook's leg. “Now get off of me, I haven't finished my tea yet.”

The reasoning sounds flimsy even to his own ears, and the tremble he notices in his voice feels embarrassing. But he doesn't know what else he could have said or done, so he sticks with his decision, staying silent as he keeps his gaze firmly trained on the sky up above.

After taking one last look at him that Zoro only notices from the corner of his eye, Sanji untangles himself from the swordsman and gets up.

As Zoro finally gets to extend his leg again, he immediately notices the soreness that'd made itself at home there.

He would be feeling this for days.

The next thing that registers with him is the hand the cook holds outstretched towards him.

He takes it without hesitation, letting the other man pull him back to his feet.

“Come back inside; Chopper wants to talk to you about the cocoa you made him.”

The cook smiles that almost bashful smile of his and says: “I'm sure. Took me long enough to hunt down that recipe.” He flicks the butt of his cigarette into the sea before he continues, his smile turning wicked fast: “At least someone here values the work I do on this ship.”

“Oh, shut up. You know I noticed those pastries.”

“Yeah, I know.”

For an island this small, the bar near the harbor is surprisingly full.

Then again, the town it is located in is knows as a place where pirates can meet up undisturbed by the World Government; it's fairly hard to reach and well-defended on top of that, so the Marines haven't bothered to check up on it in a long time, their attention needed elsewhere more urgently.

Maybe it's only logical then that the pirates from all over the world that have gathered here would be seeking out the few pubs the place has to offer, finally getting to celebrate without the threat of any pesky Marines infiltrating whatever establishment they're drinking the night away in looming over their heads.

Generally speaking, Zoro doesn't have a problem with full bars; if anything, he finds the anonymity that big crowds provide calming, in a way. Not even the smell of the patrons' sweat mixing with that of spilled alcohol normally bothers him.

But tonight, he still feels strange, off-kilter somehow, and his surroundings do nothing to raise his mood.

His evening hadn't started out that way, at first: upon entering, Luffy had immediately spotted a booth that he'd decided he wanted to sit at. It was occupied, of course, but Brook – more than happy to humor his captain – had strolled over and had scared away the group of impressionable deck-hands sitting in it with a story about him being a demon straight from hell who just simply needed this exact table for his nefarious plans. They'd darted away as soon as the skeleton had finished talking, apologizing for their insolence as they went.

It'd amused Zoro to watch them react to Brook in that way, who, really, mostly looks a little silly and entirely harmless in his feather boa and his glitter pants.

During the first round of drinks, delivered to them by a huffing Franky, he'd still been feeling fine as well. The beer with which he'd touched glasses with the others might not have been the best he's ever had, but its staleness could never have changed his mood in such a way. Especially not when he was surrounded by his crew, every single one of them happy, safe, and chattering and joking across the round table in their middle.

Not even some of the Straw Hats leaving the booth after three more rounds of drinks and two rounds of food to occupy themselves in other ways had managed to affect his state of mind:

First, Jinbe had gotten up, leaving the booth to join a group of pirates that was playing some card game in a secluded corner far away from the bar's door; Luffy had joined him enthusiastically once he was done licking every last plate currently stacked up on his side of their table clean.

Whenever Zoro looks over in their direction now, Luffy is laughing raucously despite the fact that the heap of chips stacked up in front of him keeps growing smaller and smaller. Not that it matters much; whatever Luffy looses to the other pirates when he throws cards into the middle of the table seemingly at random, Jinbe wins back from them twofold, causing them to look more and more distraught the longer their game goes on.

Nami would be proud of him, Zoro thinks. She'd been teaching him some tricks over the past couple of months, and it seems her training is paying of; the way he cleans these pirates out is impressive.

The navigator in question was actually the next one to leave their booth. However, after heading out to the sitting area-turned-dance floor in the middle of the room alone for a song or two, she'd returned to drag Usopp, who had already been pretty drunk at that point, up and away to join her. The sharpshooter, too sloshed to properly argue with her, had simply been forced to follow her into the crowd.

Now, Zoro can occasionally spot them jumping and spinning around between the bodies of the other dancing patrons, the both of them looking sweaty but happy.

The next song that the small band by the bar plays has both Nami and Usopp out on the dance floor as well as Chopper in his seat at Zoro's right smiling brightly, the former immediately getting back to their wild dancing while the latter begins swaying along to the familiar and beloved melody.

It doesn't do much to raise Zoro's spirits though. And neither does the swig of beer he takes from his once again almost-empty bottle in an attempt to chase away both the thoughts looming at the back of his mind, and Brook's chattering that is, if anything, only worsening his mood.

Normally, Chopper would already be begging the skeleton to play this song for them more often at this point, and would thereby be saving Zoro (at least partly).

But the reindeer is too busy listening to the musician discuss the love lives of Franky and Robin, gesturing in the general direction of their two crew members as he talks, to even think about interrupting.

The pair in question had left the booth around the same time as Jinbe did to stand at the bar instead of staying seated at their table, and, according to Brook's far too vivid descriptions, they're basically eyefucking as they're talking among themselves now, the drinks in front of them long forgotten.

Once the skeleton starts to detail the way Franky blushes when Robin places her hand on his elbow, Zoro decides to try and tune him out for the sake of his own sanity, his eye wandering between his crew mates spread out over the whole room, and the cluttered table in front of him.

If he is staunchly avoiding looking into the direction of the bar, no one has to know.

Only Chopper's occasional confused questions about what the skeleton means when he says they're practically “undressing each other with their eyes” – not a phrase Zoro has ever wanted to hear out of the reindeer's mouth –, and about how human weddings work, exactly, have him interrupting his staring match with the empty glasses across the table to shoot Brook a warning glace as a reminder to not get too graphic with his descriptions or else.

Truthfully, Zoro would feel a lot better about this whole situation if the uncomfortable topic of conversation was the sole reason for his bad mood. But, much to his chagrin, this strange emotion had started to flare up inside him much earlier than the moment when Brook had kicked of their current discussion by asking both Chopper and Zoro himself if they thought Robin and Franky were already dating or if they were still – to quote the skeleton – in the weird foreplay stage of their relationship.

When Chopper accidentally pokes him in the side as he moves to point towards the couple, asking the two men at the table to explain Brook's last remark that Zoro had, frankly, deliberately overheard, he instinctively looks over to the bar despite his best attempts throughout the night to stop himself from doing just that, too trusting of the doctor to think better of fulfilling his request:

Robin and Franky are standing towards the end of the long counter, and are, indeed, looking into each other's eyes, though Zoro cannot figure out why Brook would describe what they're doing as eyefucking. The expressions on their faces seem a little intense, sure, but he fails to see what is supposed to be so different about how they're interacting compared to a normal conversation.

Not a moment after he's made this observation, his eye wanders further towards the middle of the bar, unbidden and entirely involuntarily.

It's where the cook is sitting on one of the tall bar stools. He's got one of his elbows propped up and his head turned towards an older woman that he's talking to. The way they're pointing to different bottles stacked up behind the bar intermittently has Zoro thinking they're probably discussing alcohol.

From time to time, Zoro catches a glimpse of his profile. The expression on his face matches his posture, both relaxed and calm but poised.

It suits him, just like the occasional smile that finds its way onto his face whenever the woman he's conversing with says something witty.

Zoro had done his best to avoid looking in his direction for most of the night, keeping busy with watching over everyone else instead once the cook had done what had doomed Zoro to a night spent feeling annoyed with himself: sitting across from him in the booth, he'd taken a cigarette out of his case, lighting it as he'd complimented Nami on her dress with a dazzling smile. It hadn't taken the smoke long to reach him from across the table, but by the time he'd breathed in its familiar scent, his mood had already soured.

Now that he's glanced over at him though, he can't seem to tear his eyes away anymore: the drink the blond man has in front of him glows amber in the light of the lamp to his left. He takes a sip from it whenever he doesn't have yet another cigarette between his lips, isn't breathing out smoke that, in the bar's still air, hangs around his head like a perfectly white veil for quite some time before ultimately dissipating. The patterns it softly twists and curls into with the cook's breathing almost remind Zoro of lace.

By now, he's somewhat managed to come to terms with the fact that he finds it weirdly hot when the other man smokes, even though it still annoys him to no end whenever he is has to sit through a situation that forces him to face that truth.

There's something about him in those moments when he quietly sits somewhere, a cigarette in his hand or between his lips, that makes him seem just a little unknowable, just a little too lost in his own world, the emotions on his face, normally easy to provoke out of him and just as easy to understand, becoming harder to parse.

It's fascinating in its own special kind of way.

That doesn't mean he has to be happy about it though.

And he certainly isn't now, watching on as the cook turns towards a young man, tall and dark-haired, who had approached him from behind and then tapped him on the shoulder in a bid for his attention.

He's pointing to the cigarette in Sanji's hand with one of his fingers as he speaks, an open smile on his lips.

He gets an equally bright smile in return, the cook reaching deftly into the inside pocket of his dark blue pinstriped jacket as he says something in return that he ends with an appreciative nod.

The silver case he pulls out reflects the lamp's warm light in Zoro's general direction almost as if it wanted to mock him.

As the man picks out a cigarette, inspecting them all carefully with a steady gaze before making his choice, he asks the cook a question.

The following answer is long; the blond is wearing an expression that he normally reserves for talking about different types of fish and how to best prepare them.

And tobacco, apparently; not that Zoro has ever had the opportunity to hear him talk about it.

The man puts the cigarette between his lips, looking at the cook intently as he pats down his jacket pockets while he listens.

The innocent smile he directs at him next, his empty palms turned up towards the ceiling as he utters another request, almost has Zoro scoff. As if.

The cook just laughs lightly in response, reaching into the front pocket of his pants with one hand as he pats the man on the shoulder in commiseration with the one that is holding his own cigarette, and says something back that has the man in front of him laughing as well.

His ears turn red as he leans towards Sanji who has just lit his lighter with a showy flick of its lid, the cigarette coming closer and closer to its flame as he continues looking at the cook through his dark fringe.

As if, Zoro thinks again, only this time it is directed at himself. Is this making him angry?

No, not angry, it comes to him unbidden when he follows the path of the cook's ring-clad hand as he raises it up to shield the quivering flame against wind that isn't there.

It's making him jealous.

Nami and Usopp choose this moment to return to the booth.

They fall back into their seats at Zoro's side, laughing and chattering between taking sips from some bottle they've brought with them.

Usopp scoots closer to Zoro on the bench, his big hazy eyes looking up at him only vaguely at first but they become clearer as he says, a sing-songy melody to his voice: “What're you looking at so angrily?”

“Nothing”, Zoro replies immediately, his shoulders growing even tenser with discomfort.

But he can't tear his eyes away from the bar where the man is now sitting next to the cook, the both of them enveloped in the same smokey white veil as they're talking and looking at each other intensely.

Eyefucking, Brook's voice supplies unhelpfully in his mind.

Usopp follows the path of his gaze, tilting his head in consideration.

A minute later he goes: “Man, what the fuck, are you jealous or something?”

Zoro finally manages to drag his eye away as he whips his head around in the sharpshooter's direction, a glare directed at the other man that would have greater pirates quivering in their boots.

Usopp is too drunk to feel intimidated though, but he still has the decency to flush as he says: “Hey, don't worry about it! I bet there's plenty of guys in this bar who're dying to get with you. I mean, sure, Sanji's pretty great, but look at you! I'm sure you'll find someone too!”

Zoro glances over at the pair by the bar one last time before grabbing his bottle as he mutters: “That's not what this is about.”

He tries to drown out his response by taking a swig from his beer, his eye firmly trained on the uneven wood of the table in front of him.

It doesn't seem to work; after looking at him for a while, the gears in his head turning, Usopp squeaks “Wait, you're not gay?!”

At Usopp's left, Nami laughs gleefully, a challenge in her eyes as if daring Zoro to stop her as she leans over to Usopp to whisper something in his ear.

To his right, Chopper tugs at his sleeve and asks what the other two are going into a huddle about.

Zoro turns red immediately.

He doesn't slam his head on the table but it's a close thing.

At this time of the evening, Zoro would usually be out on deck, now that every single pot and pan is stored away safely in whatever drawers and cupboards the cook has decided they belong into. He'd be sitting with his back against the wall by the galley's door, looking out over the sea and sipping on the sake Sanji serves him as thanks for his help with the dishes after dinner as the cook himself stands by the railing, smoking his final cigarette of the day.

Today, the strong snowfall that'd set in in the late afternoon keeps them inside though; they'd entered a winter island's climate zone shortly before that they're set to arrive at come morning.

Zoro himself is sitting at the dining table now, the cup in front of him still half-full. He toys with it, swirling the liquid inside around as he watches snowflakes press themselves against one of the windows and then melt in the warmth emanating from the galley.

Sometimes, when Sanji moves around in the kitchen, pulling tins and packets from cupboards, and placing bowls next to the kitchen balance, his eyes are drawn to the reflection of the room in the window instead, that allows him to see the other work away.

He's preparing the dough for some kind of bread he plans to bake in the morning before they arrive.

The cook had explained the details to him as Zoro was drying one of his precious filleting knives, its blade sharp and well taken care off, but he hadn't really understood any of it; just that it'd have to rest over night so he had to get to work right away once they were done with putting all the dishes away.

It's kind of nice, he's found, to listen to the other plan out their meals. He has a tendency to do so while tidying up, usually speaking in a low voice then that floats through the air alongside the sounds of water splashing and plates clinking quietly. Sometimes, he even interrupts his work to take some notes in one of his recipe books, leaving Zoro to watch him bend over one of the kitchen counters as he writes, his looping script filling the lined paper.

At some point, he must have grown used to spending his evenings like this; whenever someone else volunteers to help with the post-dinner clean-up, Zoro's notices he actually feels a little disappointed.

He doesn't think he can still continue to tell himself that it's only because he isn't served sake on such days.

Behind the counter, Sanji has now started measuring out the different ingredients; Zoro watches him pour and weigh via the murky reflection. The way he shifts back and forth resembles the snowflakes' winding paths down from the cloudy night sky up above.

He turns his head back towards the kitchen as the cook is combining some of the ingredients in the biggest bowl on the counter, a small cloud of flour rising from it that has the cook cursing under his breath.

Zoro looks to the sake moving in a steady spiral in his cup to distract himself. It slows into even waves before it stills completely.

As he takes a sip from his drink, his gaze still moves to the cook immediately though, his face mostly hidden by his hand and the cup in it.

He can't help but study the man behind the counter as he drinks: the sleeves of his white dress shirt are rolled up neatly, revealing his forearms and the way the muscles in them move and flex as he works. He can't see his eyes, they're hidden by his pale hair that is hanging into his face, but he can envision the determined glint in them, the concentrated furrow to his brows.

The sound of Zoro setting the cup back down on the table is muffled by the striped table cloth that covers it.

Sanji still seems to hear it though, his shoulders jump with a slight flinch before he halts for a moment, staring down into his half-kneaded dough.

Then, he whips his head up, and looks Zoro right in the eye. “Hey, can you help me real quick?”, he says, the tone of his voice carefully even.

There's a faint redness to his cheeks – because of the exertion, Zoro's sure – as he regards the swordsman, his head tilted slightly to the right. He chews on his bottom lip for a handful of seconds then stops.

Zoro just nods in response, and then has to force his eye to stay on Sanji's face instead of zeroing in on the way the cook's fingers twitch a little as he raises his arms into the air, leaving them hanging close to his face, bent at the elbows.

“Could you get me a cigarette? I'm kind of unable to do it myself.”, he asks, and emphasizes his request by waving his dough-covered hands around jerkily.

“Sure.”, Zoro replies just a second too late, glad to finally have a reason to look away from the other man before he turns red himself that doesn't feel like a defeat.

He feels the burn in his thighs that his workout this afternoon had left behind as he gets up, and he decides to focus on it as he walks over to the chair that the cook had hung his suit jacket over once dinner was over and everyone except for them had left the galley.

He does his best to ignore the strange anticipation that stirs in his chest as he comes closer, but fails to suppress the thought that accompanies it: normally, Sanji doesn't let any of them, except for maybe Nami or Robin, touch his clothes; they're all too boorish to know how to handle his things, he always says whenever someone attempts to help him with his laundry or tries to move the pieces he hangs up on the handles of the wardrobe.

Now, Zoro lifts up his jacket by its collar though, and turns its front towards himself before he lets his hand slip into the pocket hidden in its silky lining: that's where he knows the cook always keeps his cigarette case, and it's where he finds it now, too, its surface cool to the touch.

He quickly pulls it out and then opens it after draping the jacket over one of his arms.

The half-depleted row of cigarettes he's met with has him hesitate for a moment as he frets over which one to pick; every single one is perfectly white and evenly shaped, to his eye, there's not a single difference between them.

After looking at them for a while he decides to pick one at random. It's what he usually sees the cook do, and, for once, he'll follow his lead without question; he's completely out of his depth here.

Zoro feels glad, secretly, to be able to place the jacket back where it'd been hanging the entire evening once he's put the case back where he'd taken it from. The way the piece of clothing had smelled of a mixture of today's dinner, tobacco and the cook's perfume haunts him as he walks over to the kitchen counter. He's pretty sure it'll continue to do so even in his dreams tonight.

He comes to a stop across from Sanji, the only thing now separating them the counter between them.

The cook had gone back to kneading the dough, his hands moving deftly, but he stops and lifts his head the second he notices Zoro's shadow appearing in his field of vision.

He looks at the cigarette, first, firmly in Zoro's outstretched hand, before his eyes wander up to regard him.

There's a challenge in his gaze, a determination to the way he raises his eyebrows as he lifts his arms up again, wriggling his fingers around for a moment before he lowers his hands back down to let them hang at his sides.

Zoro has no trouble figuring out what he is daring him to do.

Chickening out is not part of his vocabulary, especially not when it comes to the cook, so he doesn't hesitate to extend his arm further towards the other man, letting the cigarette's end with the filter point in the general direction of his face as he braces himself on the counter with his free hand.

Sanji leans forward in turn, pushing the bowl with the dough to the side with his elbow. He looks into Zoro's eyes as he takes the cigarette between his lips.

Zoro retracts his arm immediately. The knuckles of the hand with which he holds on to the counter turn white while Sanji leans back again, breathing out through his nose.

Both of them stand still now; Zoro watches the cook watch him, the concentrated furrow back between his brow as he moves the cigarette from one side of his mouth to the other.

“Actually, can you do something else for me as well?”, he says after a while, still half in thought.

Zoro had surrendered himself to this surreal situation the second he'd felt the suit jacket's soft fabric beneath his fingers. “Yeah. What do you need?”, he asks, his voice a little hoarse.

The distracted sheen that'd come over Sanji's eyes for a bit is gone again as he musters Zoro for what feels like an eternity, the full force of his attention directed at him.

“Could you get my lighter out of my pants pocket for me? I don't want to ruin my suit.” His voice sounds almost unnaturally composed, as if he were trying to keep his cards as close to his chest as he can for as long as he doesn't know which ones Zoro is holding.

Zoro doesn't like it one bit, the way he seems so unsure then in his put-on calmness, seems to almost shy away from the challenge he'd issued himself, like he's doubting himself more with every second that passes.

Like he fears he's misunderstood something despite the fact that it is right in front of him, out in the open for everyone to see.

He rounds the counter immediately, coming to stand in front of the blond before he speaks: “Which one?”

“Front left.” There's a slight tremble to his voice now as his eyes flit over Zoro's face, endlessly blue and searching. It could be caused by the cigarette between his lips.

(It isn't. He really hopes it isn't.)

Zoro leans forward a little at first but falters a moment later, his right hand hanging half-outstretched between them: they're usually only this close when they're fighting or one of them is almost dying; he's not used to looking at the other man like this, without any cursing and without any blood.

The furrow between the cook's brows becomes deeper then, more pronounced. It makes the faint freckles by the inner corners of his eyes almost disappear as the skin close to the bridge of his nose scrunches up with the movement.

Fuck it; if he hesitates now it's over.

His fingers brush against the cook's leather belt before they disappear in his pants pocket, his thumb coming to rest above a sharp hip bone as he fishes out the lighter, its outline faintly visible through the fabric of his pants.

He lets it lay in the palm of his outstretched hand, skin-warm and still just as heavy as he remembers.

When he stops following the wave pattern engraved into its hull to look back up at Sanji, he finds he is already looking back at him.

“Can you light it for me?” The cigarette dances as he speaks, decisiveness back in his voice, exactly where it belongs.

Zoro forces himself to stop watching the way it moves to look back down at the lighter instead.

It reflects the lamp's light as he fumbles with its lid, and, then, fumbles to light it.

His free hand shakes so he balls it into a fist.

After three tries, it sparks to life. The small flame dances in what little space is left between them.

Before Zoro can lift it up to Sanji's mouth, the cook leans down, his arms still slightly bent at the elbows to keep his hands away from either of them. His hair takes on a golden hue in the fire's glow.

He brings his face closer, pursing his lips to keep the cigarette in place. Once it comes in contact with the flame, it begins to burn immediately.

Zoro's hands tremble as he lets the lighter go out again before closing its lid with a click.

He forces his gaze wander to the ceiling above in an attempt to calm himself down as he places it on the counter next to him.

When Sanji comes back up, straightening his back to stand at his full height, he breathes out.

Smoke hangs in the air between them now, cloying and sweet. Zoro can't help but breathe it in. Once the scent registers with him, his eye involuntarily snaps back to the man in front of him again.

He watches closely as Sanji breathes out a second time, the smoke drifting from his mouth in irregular spirals. It obscures his face in waves, covering some parts of it one second and then revealing others the next, forcing Zoro to focus on something new with every time he blinks.

The cook peers at him steadily through the smoke, following the movement of his eye.

His voice pierces through the quiet: “Can you...?” Sanji doesn't finish his question, just nods his head once as he looks down to his cigarette.

Zoro doesn't miss a single twitch of the muscles in his faces, and doesn't need to hear the rest of his request to understand what the other man means.

He leans forward a little, lifts his hand to Sanji's lips, and takes the cigarette between his pointer and his middle finger. He can feel the cook's breath ghost over them.

Zoro stands still, unmoving except for how he rolls the cigarette between his fingers while he watches Sanji's throat move as he swallows.

When he notices the man look to the cigarette again, he instinctively raises it back up to his mouth.

There's something intense swimming in Sanji's eyes as he regards him while taking another drag that he cannot decipher no matter how much he tries.

It burns in the back of his mind as watches the way his lips part slightly when he breathes out more smoke.

Zoro flicks the cigarette towards the sink. It goes out with a hiss as it lands in a glass half-full with water.

Sanji's brows furrow, a displeased tilt to them.

Before he can utter a single word of complaint, Zoro rushes forward to press his lips to the corner of his mouth, quick and chaste.

It stuns the cook into silence.

They both study the other quietly for a moment, analyzing and considering as they would during one of their sparring matches.

Sanji moves first, raising his hands up towards Zoro's face and neck, but then thinks better of it as he sees the dough on them.

He seems irritated for a bit; Zoro watches his every move.

When he kisses him regardless, keeping his hands at his side, Zoro notices none of that anymore. Instead, he's pretty sure he can feel him smile for a moment before he licks his bottom lip.

Zoro responds in kind and gets Sanji to stumble towards him by placing one of his hands on his waist while putting the other one in his hair.

The cook hums in surprise at the sudden movement but lets himself be pulled closer as he deepens the kiss, licking over Zoro's teeth.

Zoro can't stop a smile of his own from appearing on his lips, and he almost starts to laugh.

The way Sanji's tongue slides against his own wipes the grin right off his face though, and Zoro messes up the other man's carefully combed locks further as he tangles his fingers into them in response.

When he moves his other hand from the cook's waist to his chest to start undoing the buttons of his dress shirt, he can feel him nip his tongue playfully.

He seems a little distracted though, not reacting as quickly to Zoro's movements as he would have expected. For a moment, uncertainty takes hold of him, and he his about to move away before the way Sanji leans forward while keeping his arms rigidly at his side clues him in on what is going on: the cook is preoccupied with focusing on keeping his dough-covered hands from touching him, and it prevents him from taking this as seriously as he should.

Zoro can't stand it, he needs his full attention on him.

Leaning back a little, he interrupts their kiss, and moves his hand from the other's hair to his neck.

Sanji chases after him for a moment but stops himself not much later.

Before Zoro has to look at the perfectly distracting expression on his flushed face any longer, all determination and softness, he shuts his own eye again as he grumbles: “Go wash your hands already.”

Sanji immediately twists out of his hold and crosses the distance to the sink in quick, hasty strides.

Zoro watches him lather his hands with the white bar of soap that he keeps by the tap, its clean, flowery scent spreading through the room.

The other man must notice his intent gaze; his neck flushes pink as he rinses off the bubbles, cleaning out the dough under his nails as he goes.

His had movements seemed hurried at first, but there's a hesitation to how he drags out drying his hands with one of the dish towels now, meticulous despite the tension in his shoulders.

When Zoro notices him squint his eyes at the sink, surely working hard at thinking up a complaint about the cigarette he must have spotted there in an attempt at stalling this, at giving him an easy out, he decides he's had enough of his consideration.

He walks over to the blond, and hooks a finger into one of the belt loops on his pants in order to pull him towards him, making him come face to face with him again while he presses a kiss to the spot where his jaw and his neck connect.

The sharp intake of breath he manages to elicit from Sanji with the action is reward in and on itself.

Better yet is the sight of his blushing face though, that makes the irritation he must feel at being bossed around like this that is obvious in the somewhat displeased tilt of his mouth seem almost harmless.

Zoro knows better than to underestimate his moods though, so he's only mildly surprised when he, finally, feels the cook's still somewhat wet hands in his hair as he his tugged forward. Their lips meet with a soft clicking of their teeth.

He can't allow himself to be outdone so he maneuvers the both of them towards the counter, and presses the cook against it as he reaches around him with his arms to cage him in, one of his legs now between the other's.

The moment his back collides with the counter-top's edge, Sanji huffs in surprise and tightens his grip on Zoro's hair to reprimand him.

It only serves to spur him on further, and he lifts one of his arms up to tug the cook's button up out of his pants at his back so he can slide his hand underneath it.

Sanji licks the back of his teeth, then lets both of his water-cool hands wander away from Zoro's head and down and underneath his coat. One come to grip his waist while the other brushes over his stomach.

His breathing becomes heavier at that and he feels his muscles twitch under the careful touch. Zoro is left with no choice, then, but to try to bully him up on the counter, moving the hand not currently pressed to the warm skin of the cook's back to grab at his thigh.

When he starts to leave small kisses on the other's cheeks and under his jaw in an attempt to catch his breath without having to lose contact, Sanji immediately uses the opportunity to speak between hurried gasps for air: “I cook there, moss-for-brains!”

Zoro stops his ministrations to look up at him from under his eyelashes, studying the elated sheen in the other man's eyes that matches the half-laugh he hears in his voice. It makes the statement seem more like a final attempt at level-headedness instead of a genuine reprimand.

The eyebrow he raises in question, mocking and sure, has the cook scoff before he lifts himself up on the counter on his own, his still bare forearms straining visibly with the effort. He doesn't pass up on the opportunity to lightly kick Zoro in the side as he goes.

Wrapping his legs around his back, he pulls the swordsman forward as he looks down at him and grins, victorious and bold.

They're kissing again, Sanji leaning down a little and petting his hair as Zoro braces himself on the counter next to his thighs.

The cook's heels dig into the small of Zoro's back at a mean swipe of his tongue.

Zoro's hands wander from the counter-top to his ass then, the action bringing them impossibly closer.

Sanji still finds a way to let his fingers stray down to his chest though, and he appreciatively strokes them over the flushed skin there while humming into the kiss before curling them just so that his nails end up scratching over his sternum and then digging into one of his pecs.

Zoro's hands immediately move up to where he'd stopped fiddling with the cook's shirt buttons before he'd sent him to go wash his hands, and he lowers his head to kiss down his throat. It smells like his perfume and fresh sweat.

He gets three of them undone before the door slams open, freezing air and snowflakes rushing in as Luffy stands in the doorway and demands Sanji make him a snack before he goes to sleep.

His ears and nose are red from the cold, and so are his hands. He chatters on about the snow-Franky he'd build with Usopp and Chopper, completely ignoring the state his two crew mates are in who, upon his arrival, had rushed apart, and are now attempting to smooth out their rumpled clothing hastily.

Well, Sanji is, tucking his shirt back into his pants and righting its collar. Zoro just leans against the counter across from the cook as he immediately goes back to watching him move, his eye on the considerable strip of bare skin now visible thanks to his half-open shirt once he's determined that there's no imminent threat to anyone's safety except to that of their provisions.

Luffy plops down on the bench by the table and rattles off his order.

Zoro doesn't listen to him, just follows the cook around the kitchen with his gaze as he takes out some bread from the bread box and a variety of cold cuts from the fridge once he's managed to school his face into an expression that doesn't scream mortification.

It'd be amusing, in a way, if it weren't also so frustrating.

Sanji's for once messy hair swishes from one side to the other as he walks over to their captain to let him pick out what he wants to eat, clearly intent on fulfilling every single one of Luffy's wishes in an attempt to get him to forget about what he must have just seen.

He plucks out a cigarette from his jacket as he listens, and puts it between his lips as he nods, too distracted to argue with Luffy about his choices.

The tips of his ears are still pink, though Zoro cannot tell if it's because of the embarrassment or something else.

Definitely something else, he thinks to himself when their eyes meet as the cook returns to the breadboard and he flushes an even deeper shade all the way down to his chest.

It draws his eye to the hickey that is starting to form by his clavicle, tender and red.

Before Sanji can reach for his lighter, the shaking in his fingers betraying what he somehow manages to keep off his face – how uncomfortable he feels, and how badly he needs a smoke right now to calm down his racing heart – Zoro pulls the object towards himself and walks up to the other man with it in his outstretched hand.

A flame flickers to life between them, and Zoro lifts it up to the cigarette between the cook's lips.

They both raise their hands to shield the fire, their pinkies touching lightly as Sanji bows his head towards it.