Chapter Text
The harbor was too still.
Not empty—there were ships moored, nets drying, gulls pecking at fish guts—but the air held itself like it was waiting for something to finish breathing.
The Thousand Sunny eased into dock with a low groan of wood against timber. Salt hung heavy. Beneath it—something sweet. Not fruit-sweet. Not floral.
Rotting-sweet.
Sanji stepped onto the dock first, one hand in his pocket, the other lifting a cigarette to his mouth. He inhaled, then exhaled a slow ribbon of smoke into the humidity.
“Charming little place,” he murmured. “Smells like someone tried to perfume a corpse.”
Nami wrinkled her nose. “I hate when you’re right.”
Usopp squinted at the narrow street leading inland. “It’s too quiet. This is how horror stories start.”
Luffy jumped down beside them and stretched, sandals slapping wood. “Smells like food!”
“That’s because you think everything smells like food,” Nami snapped.
Robin descended the gangplank more slowly. Her eyes lingered on the buildings—low stone structures, wooden shutters, faded murals barely visible under grime.
“There’s something old here,” she said lightly. “Not ruins. Not quite. But… a pattern.”
Sanji turned immediately, heart-eyed. “Robin-chwaaan, if this island dares hold secrets, I shall personally interrogate them for you—gently.”
Zoro stepped off last.
He didn’t comment on the smell.
He didn’t look at the crew.
His gaze moved upward—rooflines, shadowed windows, gaps between buildings. He adjusted the weight of his swords at his hip.
Sanji glanced at him sideways.
“Try not to get lost before lunch, marimo.”
Zoro didn’t look down. “Try not to trip over your own eyebrows, ero-cook.”
Sanji clicked his tongue. “Original.”
“Effective.”
“Predictable.”
“You’re predictable.”
“Only to idiots.”
Nami sighed. “Can we not start before we’ve even robbed the place?”
They moved inland as a loose cluster.
The cobblestones were damp though no rain had fallen. The sweet-rot scent thickened between buildings. Somewhere in the distance, a shutter slammed.
Usopp flinched.
“That’s wind,” Zoro said flatly.
“There is no wind,” Usopp hissed.
Sanji exhaled smoke and stepped slightly ahead of Robin without seeming to. Not blocking. Not obvious. Just near enough.
Zoro noticed.
He always did.
A turn of the street revealed a small square. Crates stacked unevenly. A fountain dry and stained dark.
And waiting there—
A man in a long coat the color of spoiled wine.
He smiled too wide.
“Well,” he said, voice syrup-thick. “Straw Hat pirates. How convenient.”
Luffy brightened. “Oh! You know us?”
“Everyone knows you.”
The man tapped his chest. “I collect things.”
Usopp whispered, “I don’t like collectors.”
Sanji flicked ash aside. “We’re not interested in buying.”
The man’s smile stretched further.
“I don’t collect objects.”
He lifted one hand.
Translucent shards bloomed around his fingers like drifting petals. Glassy. Pale.
“I collect regrets.”
The air shifted.
Zoro’s hand settled on Wado Ichimonji.
Robin’s eyes narrowed—not in fear. In calculation.
Sanji rolled his shoulders once.
“Great,” he muttered. “Another dramatic one.”
The first shard moved.
The shard didn’t cut the air.
It drifted.
Soft as a falling petal.
Until it wasn’t.
It accelerated mid-flight—silent, precise.
Robin stepped back—
Sanji was already moving.
His arm wrapped around her waist, pivoting her out of line with fluid ease. The shard struck him square in the chest.
There was no sound.
No blood.
No impact.
It passed through cloth—and vanished.
Sanji blinked.
The man in the wine-colored coat tilted his head. “Ah.”
Zoro’s swords were drawn before the syllable finished forming.
“What did you do?” Zoro demanded.
Sanji patted his own chest. Then his ribs. He frowned.
“…That tickled.”
Luffy grinned. “My turn!”
The square erupted.
More shards scattered like a glass storm. Zoro sliced two in half—they dissolved into mist. Nami ducked behind a crate. Usopp screamed something about spiritual warfare.
Robin’s hands bloomed along the surrounding walls, snapping necks of lesser pirates before they reached her.
The man laughed as shards swirled.
“They take what you cannot bear to carry!”
“Yeah?” Sanji said, igniting Diable Jambe in a spiral flare. “Then you should’ve aimed higher.”
He vanished.
Reappeared behind the man.
His kick connected cleanly—heat and force exploding against ribs. The man crashed into the dry fountain, coughing.
Luffy landed on him a heartbeat later.
“Gomu Gomu no—”
The punch ended it.
Silence rushed back in.
The sweet-rot smell returned.
Sanji exhaled smoke, rolling his shoulder once. “Pathetic.”
Zoro watched him.
“You sure you’re fine?”
Sanji shot him a look. “What, worried?”
“No.”
“Good. I’d hate to think you were getting sentimental.”
Zoro snorted and sheathed one blade.
Robin studied the unconscious captain thoughtfully. “His ability was unusual.”
“Did it do anything?” Chopper asked, already circling Sanji.
Sanji crouched so Chopper could poke his chest. “Nothing. I’m heartbreak-proof.”
“That’s not how anatomy works!” Chopper shouted.
Luffy leaned down and poked Sanji’s forehead. “You feel normal.”
“I am normal.”
“Debatable,” Nami muttered.
Sanji stood, dusting off his jacket.
“Let’s get back to the Sunny. This place smells like expired dessert.”
Zoro’s gaze lingered half a second longer than necessary.
Then he turned.
The harbor felt lighter once they returned.
Or maybe it was just distance.
Sunny rocked gently against the dock as they boarded. Usopp immediately launched into a dramatic retelling of the battle.
“And then the glass demon tried to steal my tragic backstory—”
“No one wants that,” Nami said.
Sanji moved into the galley automatically. The rhythm of knives against cutting board resumed like nothing had interrupted it.
Oil hissed. Garlic cracked in heat. The ship filled with scent that erased the island’s rot entirely.
Zoro leaned against the wall near the doorway, arms crossed.
“You’re hovering,” Sanji said without looking up.
“I’m standing.”
“In my kitchen.”
“It’s not yours.”
Sanji glanced at him.
A beat.
“…Since when do you complain about free food?”
Zoro frowned slightly.
“I’m not.”
Sanji blinked once.
Then smirked. “Good. Wouldn’t want to think you’d grown standards.”
The exchange landed.
But slightly off.
Like a rhythm half a step delayed.
Zoro’s brow creased faintly.
Then he dismissed it.
By the time Sunny cleared the harbor and caught open sea wind, the sky had begun to turn amber.
Sanji lined bottles along the counter.
He reached automatically for one—
Paused.
His fingers hovered.
He frowned slightly at the labels.
“…Oi, mosshead, you still drink—”
His voice cut off.
Zoro looked up from polishing a blade.
“Drink what?”
Sanji stared at the bottles like they’d rearranged themselves.
“…Nothing.”
He grabbed one at random and set it aside.
Zoro’s eyes lingered.
Dinner exploded across the deck in typical fashion.
Luffy devoured three plates in seconds.
Usopp embellished his own bravery.
Brook requested wine and someone’s panties in the same breath.
Sanji moved through them fluidly, delivering plates, adjusting portions without looking.
He set one down in front of Zoro.
Zoro took a bite.
Chewed.
Paused.
“…Since when do you tone it down?”
Sanji blinked. “Tone what down?”
“The spice.”
Sanji stared at the plate.
“…It’s the same.”
“It’s not.”
Sanji frowned faintly.
“Since when do you hate spice?”
Zoro looked at him evenly.
“Since never.”
A pause stretched—thin as wire.
Sanji laughed it off. “You’re imagining things.”
Maybe he was.
The wind shifted.
Sanji glanced at Zoro again.
Not annoyed.
Not sharp.
Just… briefly assessing.
As if recalculating something he’d always known.
Then he turned away.
And the moment dissolved into noise.
--
Sanji stood in the galley with his sleeves rolled neatly to the elbow, cigarette angled from his lips, sunlight cutting across the steel counters in long gold bands.
Oil shimmered in the pan.
He moved automatically—eggs cracked one-handed, bacon turned at the exact second before crisp, bread sliced diagonally because Luffy ate faster that way.
Routine.
Reliable.
Safe.
He reached for the spice rack without looking.
His hand stopped.
Hovered.
There were seven small glass jars.
He stared at them.
“…Huh.”
The cigarette ash lengthened.
Behind him, Luffy’s voice echoed from the deck. “FOOOOOD?”
“Five minutes!” Sanji called back automatically.
He picked up a jar.
Put it down.
Picked another.
Something felt misaligned—not wrong, just… uncertain. He uncorked one, sniffed it.
Too sweet.
He grabbed a different one and added a careful shake over a plate already assembled.
He plated the dishes in order. Muscle memory. No thought required.
Nami’s fruit arranged precisely.
Robin’s tea steeped exactly two minutes.
Luffy’s meat piled high.
Usopp’s portion generous enough to avoid complaint but not wasteful.
He reached the final plate.
Paused.
“…What did he—”
He blinked.
Who?
His hand hovered over the spice jars again.
A faint irritation flickered in his chest.
“Oi, cook!” Zoro’s voice cut in from the deck. “If you burn it, I’m not eating it.”
Sanji snapped back automatically, “Then starve, mar—”
The word stalled.
His mouth stayed open a fraction too long.
Zoro stepped into the doorway, towel slung over one shoulder from training, skin still faintly sheened with sweat. “What?”
Sanji’s brows drew together.
“…Nothing.”
Zoro leaned against the frame. “You were saying something.”
Sanji frowned at the plate.
“…Do you prefer more heat in the morning?”
Zoro stared at him.
“What?”
“The spice. Do you—” He gestured vaguely at the plate. “Prefer more?”
Zoro’s expression flattened. “Since when do you ask?”
Sanji exhaled through his nose. “Just answer.”
“Yes.”
A beat.
“More.”
Sanji nodded once, reached for the jar he’d hesitated over earlier, and added a heavier shake.
Zoro watched him.
“You feeling off?”
Sanji scoffed. “You wish.”
“Did that idiot on the island actually hit you?”
“It passed through me.”
“That’s not reassuring.”
Sanji slid the finished plate into Zoro’s hands without looking at him. “Eat.”
Zoro didn’t move immediately.
Sanji glanced up, irritation ready—
Their eyes met.
There was no spark.
No flare of familiar friction.
Just neutral acknowledgement.
Zoro felt it before he understood it.
Like stepping where a stair should be.
He took the plate slowly.
“Don’t undercook it next time,” he muttered, testing.
Sanji shrugged.
“If you’re alive to complain, it’s cooked fine.”
The tone was right.
The cadence was right.
But something underneath it was missing.
Zoro stepped back onto the deck.
Breakfast dissolved into chaos as usual—Luffy inhaling, Usopp complaining about portion size, Nami threatening bodily harm over crumbs.
Sanji moved through them with effortless grace.
Refilled cups.
Adjusted plates.
Lit another cigarette.
Zoro watched him from the corner of his eye between bites.
“Oi,” Zoro said suddenly, “remember that time on—”
He stopped himself.
Which one?
There were dozens.
He picked one at random.
“—that giant island. You nearly got eaten.”
Sanji glanced over his shoulder. “I nearly get eaten weekly.”
“By dinosaurs.”
Sanji blinked once.
“…We fought dinosaurs?”
Usopp froze mid-gesture. “YOU DON’T REMEMBER THE DINOSAURS?”
Sanji stared at him. “Why would there be dinosaurs?”
Luffy looked up, mouth full. “Because there were.”
Sanji frowned faintly.
He searched his memory.
There was an island.
There were giants.
There was—
The image fuzzed.
Like ink in water.
“…Huh.”
He shook his head lightly. “Must’ve been one of those fever dreams.”
“It wasn’t,” Usopp insisted. “You kicked a brachiosaurus in the face!”
“That sounds like me,” Sanji replied easily.
Zoro’s jaw tightened.
“You don’t remember it.”
Sanji exhaled smoke. “I remember fighting big idiots. Details blur.”
“That wasn’t—”
“Zoro,” Nami cut in sharply, “why are you interrogating him over breakfast?”
Zoro’s mouth clicked shut.
Sanji took a drag, eyes flicking briefly toward Zoro again.
Not irritated.
Not amused.
Just assessing.
Later, as plates were cleared and the crew scattered into their usual patterns, Zoro found himself in the training area with more force than necessary.
Steel rang.
He swung harder than usual.
Not anger.
Something else.
The deck shifted slightly underfoot as Sunny caught a larger swell.
Footsteps approached.
Zoro didn’t turn.
A cup touched down on the crate near him with a soft clink.
He stilled.
The scent hit him first.
Coffee.
Strong.
Black.
Exactly how he drank it.
Zoro glanced sideways.
Sanji stood there, hands in pockets, gaze directed out at sea instead of at him.
“Don’t want you collapsing before lunch,” Sanji said casually.
Zoro stared at the cup.
“You remembered.”
Sanji frowned faintly.
“Remembered what?”
“How I take it.”
Sanji looked at the cup as if seeing it for the first time.
“…Black?”
Zoro’s grip tightened slightly on his sword hilt.
“You always—”
He stopped.
Sanji’s brows knit together.
“Always what?”
Zoro held his gaze.
Sanji held it back.
There was no flicker of shared understanding.
No familiar smirk.
Just polite confusion.
Sanji looked down at the cup again.
“I make everyone’s how they like it,” he said, tone light but slightly slower than usual. “Not that complicated.”
Zoro picked up the cup.
Took a sip.
It was perfect.
Heat rolled down his throat.
He lowered it carefully.
“Yeah,” he said after a moment. “Not complicated.”
Sanji nodded once and turned to leave.
He took two steps.
Stopped.
A faint crease appeared between his brows.
He glanced back at Zoro.
“…Have we trained together long?”
Zoro didn’t answer immediately.
“Why?”
“You move like I know your rhythm,” Sanji said slowly. “Feels automatic.”
Zoro’s pulse thudded once, heavy.
“We’ve been on the same ship for years.”
“Right.”
Sanji nodded.
As if filing it away.
He started to turn again—
Paused.
His gaze lingered on Zoro’s face.
Longer this time.
Searching.
Zoro felt something cold thread down his spine.
Sanji’s expression didn’t shift into recognition.
Didn’t sharpen into rivalry.
Didn’t soften.
It just… stalled.
“I’m sorry,” Sanji said finally.
“For what?”
Sanji’s mouth parted slightly.
His voice lowered—not dramatic, not loud. Just honest.
“I don’t think I remember you.”
The deck seemed to tilt.
Behind them, somewhere near the railing, Luffy laughed at something Usopp said.
The sea rolled on.
Zoro stared at him.
“What.”
Sanji looked uncomfortable—not guilty. Not panicked. Just puzzled.
“I know you’re crew,” he said carefully. “Obviously. But when I try to place—”
He gestured vaguely between them.
“There’s nothing.”
Zoro took one step forward.
“What do you mean nothing?”
“No fights. No arguments. No—” He frowned, as if reaching for something just beyond grasp. “No shape.”
Zoro’s voice dropped.
“You’re joking.”
Sanji’s eyes flicked up sharply.
“I don’t joke about this kind of thing.”
“What kind of thing?”
Sanji hesitated.
“…Important ones.”
The word landed heavy between them.
Zoro’s throat felt tight.
“You remember everyone else.”
“Yes.”
“Meathead?”
“Yes.”
“Nami.”
“Yes.”
“Robin.”
“Yes.”
“Me.”
Sanji looked at him.
Really looked.
There was no heat.
No irritation.
No fondness hidden under insult.
Just absence.
“…I don’t remember you,” he said quietly.
And the sea kept moving as if nothing at all had changed.
--
The sea did not pause for revelations.
It kept rolling under the Sunny in long, indifferent swells, wood groaning softly with each shift. Somewhere forward, Luffy was still laughing. Usopp was still mid-story.
Zoro and Sanji stood on the training deck, the space between them suddenly wider than the ocean.
“…Say that again,” Zoro said.
Sanji didn’t flinch. He didn’t smirk either.
“I don’t remember you.”
Zoro took another step forward. Close enough now that he could see the faint crease between Sanji’s brows—the real one, not the exaggerated annoyance he usually wore.
“What’s my name?” Zoro asked.
Sanji answered immediately. “Roronoa Zoro.”
The formality scraped.
“And?”
“You’re the combatant. Swordsman. Second strongest after the captain.” A slight tilt of the head. “You get lost easily.”
“That’s what you remember?”
Sanji hesitated.
“That’s… information.”
Zoro’s jaw tightened. “And what am I to you?”
Sanji blinked.
The question seemed to genuinely confuse him.
“You’re crew,” he said after a moment. “Important. Obviously.”
“Obviously.”
“Yes.”
Zoro searched his face for even a flicker—an edge of rivalry, irritation, heat.
There was none.
Sanji’s gaze was steady. Neutral. Assessing.
Like he was trying to memorize a stranger’s features out of politeness.
Zoro’s stomach dropped.
“Oi!” Usopp’s voice cut across the deck. “Are you two fighting without me? That’s rude!”
The rest of the crew filtered closer, drawn by the tension.
Nami crossed her arms. “What’s going on?”
Sanji exhaled slowly. “Apparently I’m missing something.”
“Missing what?” Chopper asked, already scrambling up onto the railing to get closer.
Sanji glanced at Zoro, then back to the others.
“I don’t remember him.”
Silence spread outward in rings.
Usopp laughed first.
“Ohhh, good one. You had me.”
Sanji didn’t laugh.
Robin’s eyes sharpened almost imperceptibly.
Nami’s expression hardened. “Define don’t remember.”
“I know who he is,” Sanji said evenly. “Logically. But when I try to recall anything specific between us—there’s nothing there.”
“Nothing?” Usopp repeated faintly.
“No arguments. No shared fights. No…” He trailed off again, jaw tightening slightly in frustration. “No weight.”
Zoro felt something in his chest twist.
“No weight,” he repeated flatly.
Chopper jumped down and ran to Sanji’s side. “Did you hit your head? Turn around, let me check!”
“I didn’t hit my head.”
“Something hit you,” Zoro snapped. “On the island.”
“That glass thing?” Usopp squeaked.
Sanji rolled his eyes. “It passed through me.”
“And you just didn’t think to mention you’re losing pieces of your memory?” Nami demanded.
“I’m not losing pieces,” Sanji said sharply. Then faltered. “I don’t think.”
Robin stepped forward at last, voice calm. “Do you remember the island itself?”
“Yes.”
“The battle?”
“Yes.”
“The captain’s ability?”
Sanji’s expression shifted—subtle. Thoughtful.
“He said something about collecting regrets.”
Zoro’s fingers curled slightly.
“And do you regret me?” Zoro asked.
The question landed harder than he intended.
Sanji stared at him.
“I don’t know you well enough to regret you,” he said.
The deck seemed to go very still.
Luffy, who had been watching quietly, tilted his head.
“That’s weird,” he said.
No one laughed.
Zoro’s voice lowered dangerously. “You’re messing with me.”
Sanji’s eyes flashed faint irritation. “Why would I waste time doing that?”
“Because you’re an idiot.”
“Charming.”
Zoro stepped closer again, crowding into his space deliberately.
Sanji did not react.
No defensive flare.
No instinctive insult.
He just stood there, mildly uncomfortable but not charged.
Zoro’s stomach dropped further.
“Call me something,” Zoro demanded.
Sanji frowned. “What?”
“You always do.”
A beat.
Sanji studied him.
“…Roronoa?”
The name was clean. Unembellished.
Zoro felt it like a slap.
“Not that.”
Sanji’s brows pulled together. “Is there something else?”
The air pressed heavier.
Usopp swallowed audibly.
“Okay,” Nami said tightly, “this is officially not funny.”
Sanji stepped back half a pace—not retreating, just creating space.
“I don’t understand why you’re reacting like this,” he said to Zoro. “If we had some kind of rivalry, I’m sure it’ll come back.”
Rivalry.
Zoro let out a short, humorless breath.
“Yeah,” he muttered. “That’s what it was.”
Sanji’s eyes flicked over him again.
Searching.
There was something there—something almost like frustration. Not at Zoro.
At himself.
“I feel like I should remember,” Sanji admitted quietly. “But when I try, it’s blank.”
Blank.
Zoro had the sudden, vivid memory of Sanji shoving a plate of food into his hands after a battle on Wano, muttering, “Eat before you bleed out somewhere inconvenient.”
He remembered the cigarette glow in the dark after Thriller Bark.
He remembered the quiet way Sanji had stood at his back during the raid, not looking at him, just… there.
Blank.
“You don’t forget fights,” Zoro said.
Sanji’s jaw tightened faintly. “Then why can’t I see one with you?”
That one landed.
Zoro had no answer.
Chopper tugged at Sanji’s sleeve. “Come to the infirmary. I’ll check everything.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine!” Usopp burst out. “You forgot the mar—”
He clamped his mouth shut abruptly.
Zoro’s gaze snapped to him.
“The what?”
“Nothing!” Usopp squeaked.
Sanji looked between them.
“…The what?”
Nami pinched the bridge of her nose.
“Sanji,” she said carefully, “what did you call him yesterday?”
Sanji frowned.
“Yesterday?”
“Yes.”
Sanji tried.
His brow furrowed deeper.
“…Zoro.”
“And before that?”
“…Zoro-san?”
Zoro’s pulse hammered once, hard.
“Say it,” he demanded.
Sanji looked irritated now. “Say what?”
“What you usually call me.”
Silence stretched.
Sanji’s lips parted.
Nothing came out.
He blinked once.
Twice.
His hand lifted slightly as if to gesture, then stilled midair.
“…I don’t know,” he said finally.
Not defensive.
Not joking.
Just honest.
Something inside Zoro dropped clean through his ribs.
Luffy stepped closer, looking up at Sanji with open curiosity.
“Do you still trust him?” Luffy asked.
Sanji didn’t hesitate.
“Yes.”
The answer came immediate.
Firm.
Zoro’s head snapped toward him.
Sanji seemed almost surprised by his own certainty.
“I do,” he said more slowly. “I don’t know why. But I do.”
Robin’s eyes softened slightly.
Zoro felt the edge of that statement cut both ways.
Trust.
Without memory.
Without weight.
Just instinct.
Sanji shifted his stance slightly, unconsciously angling himself so his shoulder aligned with Zoro’s—back-to-back orientation.
It was automatic.
Neither of them commented on it.
Zoro noticed.
Sanji did not.
“…This is irritating,” Sanji muttered under his breath.
“What is?” Nami asked.
Sanji pressed fingers briefly to his temple.
“It feels like something is missing.”
Zoro’s throat tightened.
“What?”
Sanji looked at him again.
And for a flicker of a second—
There was something.
A shadow of recognition.
A pull.
Then it faded.
“I don’t know,” Sanji admitted.
The distance between them felt wider than before.
Not hostile.
Not sharp.
Just empty.
Zoro sheathed his swords slowly.
“Fine,” he said.
The word came out rougher than intended.
“If you don’t remember,” he continued, voice flat, “we’ll make new ones.”
Sanji tilted his head slightly.
“That sounds inefficient.”
A faint, brittle laugh escaped Usopp.
Zoro held his gaze.
There was no fire in it.
No rivalry waiting to spark.
Just polite distance.
And somehow that hurt worse than being hated.
--
Steel cut air in clean, brutal arcs.
The training deck trembled with each impact as Zoro’s blade met the weighted post again and again, wood splintering in shallow crescents. The rhythm was wrong. Too sharp. Too fast.
He adjusted his footing and struck harder.
The post cracked down the center.
Below deck, laughter filtered up faintly—Usopp embellishing something, Luffy shouting agreement, Nami yelling about broken plates.
Normal.
Everything was normal.
Zoro swung again.
His shoulder burned. He welcomed it.
Sweat slid down his spine. The salt stung an old scar across his chest.
He remembered another burn.
Not from training.
From a cigarette ember pressed lightly against skin.
“Hold still, idiot,” Sanji had muttered once, crouched too close, one knee braced against Zoro’s thigh to steady him while disinfecting a cut. “You fight like you’ve got three lives.”
Zoro had grunted. “I’ve got one.”
Sanji’s mouth had twitched.
“Then try acting like it.”
The memory arrived fully formed.
Warm.
Specific.
Heavy.
Zoro’s blade faltered mid-swing.
He lowered it slowly.
The deck creaked.
Footsteps approached from behind—light, measured.
Zoro didn’t turn.
“Dinner will be ready in an hour,” Sanji said.
The tone was smooth. Professional.
Not annoyed.
Not sharp.
Zoro glanced over his shoulder.
Sanji stood at the top of the steps, hands in his pockets. Wind pushed his hair slightly across one eye.
He looked… fine.
Whole.
Untouched.
“I’m not hungry,” Zoro said.
“You will be.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
Sanji tilted his head faintly. “Then what did you mean?”
Zoro studied him.
There was no flicker of anticipation. No irritation waiting to spark into insult.
Just neutral curiosity.
Zoro wiped sweat from his brow with the back of his wrist.
“You always bring coffee,” he said.
Sanji blinked.
“I did.”
“At night.”
A pause.
Sanji frowned slightly, searching.
“…Did I?”
Zoro’s jaw tightened.
“Yeah.”
“For everyone?”
“No.”
Silence stretched.
Sanji’s gaze shifted, just slightly—like a door that wouldn’t open all the way.
“If I did,” he said carefully, “I’m sure I had a reason.”
Zoro let out a short breath through his nose.
“You don’t remember it.”
Sanji didn’t answer immediately.
“…No.”
The wind shifted.
For a second, the only sound was canvas snapping above them.
Zoro looked away first.
“Forget it.”
Sanji lingered another moment, as if trying to decide whether to push further.
He didn’t.
He turned and descended the steps.
Zoro remained where he was.
The absence had weight.
It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t violent.
It was structural.
Like a beam removed from inside a wall—everything still standing, but strained.
He sheathed his sword and headed below deck.
The corridor smelled like citrus and simmering stock.
He paused outside the galley.
Normally, he would lean against the frame and watch.
Normally, Sanji would complain about him breathing too close to the food.
He stepped inside.
Sanji stood at the stove, sleeves rolled, stirring something slow and deliberate. Steam rose around him.
He didn’t look up immediately.
“You tracking mud across my floor again?” he asked absently.
Zoro didn’t answer.
Sanji glanced over his shoulder.
“Oh. It’s you.”
It’s you.
Not mosshead.
Not idiot.
Not anything sharp.
Just you.
Zoro crossed his arms. “Yeah.”
Sanji turned back to the pot.
There was a small cut across Zoro’s knuckles from earlier training. Not deep. Barely worth noting.
Sanji didn’t notice.
He always noticed.
Zoro leaned his weight into one hip.
“You used to hover,” he said flatly.
“Hover?”
“When I was injured.”
Sanji’s hand stilled briefly over the spoon.
Then resumed.
“That doesn’t sound efficient.”
Zoro barked a short laugh. It wasn’t amused.
“You’re telling me.”
Sanji’s jaw tightened faintly.
“I don’t know what you want me to say.”
Zoro studied his back.
The line of his shoulders.
The precise movements.
The absence of tension that used to exist only around him.
“I want you to be irritated,” Zoro said.
Sanji turned slowly.
“That’s easy enough.”
“No,” Zoro said. “Not like that.”
Sanji’s eyes narrowed slightly.
“You’re being vague.”
“You used to glare at me like I personally offended your ancestors.”
“That sounds exhausting.”
“It wasn’t.”
Sanji’s lips pressed thin.
“If we had some dynamic you’re attached to, I’m sorry. I can’t manufacture it.”
Zoro felt the words hit harder than any blade.
Manufacture it.
Like it had been artificial.
Like it hadn’t been carved over years of near-death and stubborn loyalty.
“You didn’t manufacture it,” Zoro said quietly.
Sanji held his gaze.
“Then what was it?”
Zoro opened his mouth.
Closed it.
The kitchen filled with the soft pop of simmering broth.
Sanji turned back to the stove.
“You’re staring,” he said after a moment.
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
Zoro’s voice was low.
“Because I’m trying to see what’s missing.”
Sanji’s shoulders went still.
“I told you,” he said, quieter now. “It feels like something is.”
Zoro stepped closer.
Close enough to feel heat from the stove.
“Then look,” he said.
Sanji turned again.
They stood barely a foot apart.
Sanji’s eyes searched his face.
Forehead.
Scar over left eye.
Set of his jaw.
He was trying.
Zoro could see that much.
Trying to fit a shape into a space that refused to hold it.
Sanji’s breath shifted slightly.
“…Nothing,” he said at last.
Zoro felt it land in his ribs.
Nothing.
He stepped back first this time.
“Dinner in an hour,” Sanji repeated.
Professional.
Polite.
Zoro left the galley.
The corridor felt narrower.
He climbed back to the deck and stopped near the railing, staring out at the sea.
Memory rose unbidden.
Sanji leaning against this exact railing, cigarette ember bright against night.
“You’ll get lost without me,” he’d said once, smirking sideways.
Zoro had snorted. “I always find my way.”
Sanji had looked at him differently then. Softer. Almost tired.
“Yeah,” he’d said. “You do.”
Zoro gripped the railing now until wood pressed into his palms.
He hadn’t understood the weight in that tone.
He had understood the love.
He had just… left it there.
Ignored it like a bruise that didn’t affect movement.
Below deck, a burst of laughter rose again.
Life continued.
Sanji moved somewhere inside the ship, preparing food, adjusting flame, tasting broth.
Not once did he glance up toward the deck to check if Zoro was still there.
That was new.
That was the shape of it.
The absence wasn’t loud.
It was the lack of small, constant gravity.
Zoro closed his eye.
For the first time since the island, the possibility settled fully in his chest.
This wasn’t a joke.
It wasn’t temporary confusion.
Something had been taken.
And whatever it was—
It had been part of him too.
--
Night settled over the Thousand Sunny in deep blue layers, the kind that made the sea look endless and close at the same time. Lantern light swayed gently along the deck. The others had drifted into their usual rhythms—Usopp arguing with Franky about something mechanical, Nami counting coins with the intensity of a general planning war, Brook humming something faintly inappropriate.
Sanji stood alone near the bow.
A cigarette burned between his fingers, ember bright against the dark. The wind tugged at his shirt, loosened hair falling slightly across one eye. He exhaled slowly and watched the smoke tear apart in the breeze.
There was a tightness in his chest he couldn’t place.
Not pain.
Not illness.
Absence.
Behind him, soft footsteps approached—bare, careless, unhurried.
Luffy leaned on the railing beside him without invitation.
“You’re not asleep,” Luffy observed.
Sanji snorted lightly. “You say that like it’s unusual.”
Luffy tilted his head. “You’re thinking.”
“Terrifying, isn’t it?”
Luffy didn’t grin this time.
The silence between them wasn’t uncomfortable. Just wide.
Sanji flicked ash over the edge of the ship.
“Oi, Captain,” he said after a moment.
“Mm?”
“Ever feel like you lost something, but you don’t know what it is?”
Luffy didn’t answer immediately.
The sea rolled.
Lantern light swayed.
“Yeah,” Luffy said finally.
Sanji glanced sideways at him.
Luffy was staring straight ahead, chin resting on his crossed arms.
“When?” Sanji asked.
“Sometimes,” Luffy said. “When someone leaves.”
Sanji’s fingers tightened slightly around the cigarette.
“Leaves like… dies?” he asked quietly.
Luffy shook his head.
“Not always.”
Sanji studied him carefully.
There was something different in Luffy’s voice—less bounce, less careless elasticity.
“What’s it feel like?” Sanji asked.
Luffy thought about it seriously.
“It’s like being hungry,” he said.
Sanji blinked.
“…Hungry.”
“Yeah.” Luffy nodded once. “But not food hungry.”
Sanji huffed faintly. “That sounds fake.”
Luffy ignored him.
“It hurts,” he continued. “But if you don’t have it, it hurts worse.”
Sanji watched him.
The words were simple.
But they weren’t careless.
“Love’s weird,” Luffy added.
Sanji’s breath caught slightly—barely noticeable.
“Weird how?”
“It makes you stupid,” Luffy said. “And brave. And annoying.”
Sanji barked a short laugh. “You just described half the crew.”
Luffy smiled faintly, but it faded quickly.
“You can’t fight right if you’re starving,” he went on. “Even if you pretend you’re fine.”
Sanji stared out at the horizon.
Something in his chest shifted.
“What if you don’t remember what you’re hungry for?” he asked quietly.
Luffy turned his head and looked at him fully now.
“Then you figure it out,” he said simply.
“How?”
Luffy shrugged. “By wanting it.”
Sanji was silent for a long moment.
The wind picked up slightly, pushing his cigarette smoke back toward them.
He studied Luffy’s profile.
“You sound experienced,” Sanji said lightly.
Luffy blinked. “Huh?”
Sanji smirked slowly.
“So tell me, Captain… should I start preparing a wedding cake?”
Luffy stared at him.
“For who?”
Sanji’s grin widened just slightly.
“You and that surgeon.”
Luffy blinked again. “Law?”
“Tall. Grumpy. Wears a hat like he lost a bet with fashion.”
“He’s not grumpy.”
Sanji raised a brow. “He looks at you like you’re an unsolved equation.”
Luffy tilted his head. “What’s an equation?”
Sanji exhaled smoke, amused despite himself.
“You’re hopeless.”
“He’s weird,” Luffy said after a moment.
“So are you.”
They stood there quietly again.
Sanji flicked the cigarette overboard and turned slightly toward him.
“Give me advance notice,” he said casually. “Three tiers minimum. I don’t do rushed ceremonies.”
Luffy squinted at him.
“I’m not marrying Law.”
Sanji shrugged. “Shame. I had design ideas.”
A faint smile tugged at Luffy’s mouth.
Then he looked at Sanji again—serious, steady.
“You’ll figure it out,” Luffy said.
Sanji’s expression softened almost imperceptibly.
“Yeah,” he murmured. “Maybe.”
Footsteps shifted somewhere behind them.
Neither turned.
But Zoro stood near the stairwell, half in shadow.
He had come up for air.
He had heard enough.
“…Love’s weird.”
“…If you don’t have it, you’re hungry.”
“…You’ll figure it out.”
Zoro’s jaw tightened.
Sanji could still speak about love.
Still joke about it.
Still tease someone else toward confession.
But when it came to him—
Nothing.
Zoro stepped forward slightly, boots scraping faintly against wood.
Sanji turned at the sound.
“Oh. Roronoa.”
The name landed flat.
Not sharp.
Not affectionate.
Just identification.
Zoro’s stomach twisted.
Luffy glanced between them, then stretched.
“I’m gonna sleep,” he announced abruptly. “Don’t fall overboard.”
He wandered off without ceremony.
Sanji leaned back against the railing again.
“You were listening?” he asked.
Zoro didn’t deny it.
“You’re giving advice now?”
Sanji shrugged. “It’s free.”
“You don’t remember loving anyone?” Zoro asked bluntly.
Sanji went still.
The wind filled the space between them.
“…That’s direct.”
“Answer.”
Sanji looked out at the sea instead of at him.
“I remember loving,” he said slowly. “In general.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
A faint crease formed between Sanji’s brows.
“When I try to focus on specifics,” he admitted, “it’s like reaching into fog.”
Zoro stepped closer.
“And that doesn’t bother you?”
“It does,” Sanji snapped suddenly.
The edge was real.
Finally.
“It’s irritating,” he continued, voice tight. “I feel like there’s something important just out of reach. Like I misplaced something valuable and don’t know what it was.”
Zoro’s pulse thudded once.
“What does it feel like?” he asked quietly.
Sanji’s jaw flexed.
“…Heavy,” he said after a moment. “But empty at the same time.”
Hungry.
Zoro swallowed.
“And when you look at me?” he asked.
Sanji hesitated.
He turned slowly.
Lantern light caught the gold in his eyes.
He studied Zoro carefully.
Measured.
Searching.
Zoro held still.
“…I feel like I should remember something,” Sanji said.
A flicker of something passed through his expression—frustration, maybe.
“But I don’t.”
Zoro nodded once.
A tight, controlled motion.
“Right.”
Sanji tilted his head faintly.
“You’re taking this personally.”
Zoro huffed a short breath. “Should I not?”
Sanji opened his mouth—
Stopped.
Closed it.
“…I don’t know,” he admitted.
The honesty cut cleaner than any insult.
The distance between them remained.
Not hostile.
Not sharp.
Just polite.
And that was worse.
Sanji pushed off the railing.
“I need to check on the late-night dough,” he said lightly. “Try not to get lost.”
He walked past Zoro.
Close enough that their shoulders almost brushed.
He didn’t slow.
Didn’t linger.
Didn’t hover.
Zoro stood still as Sanji descended the steps.
The lantern light swayed again.
The sea kept moving.
And for the first time in years, Zoro felt unbalanced on his own ship.
--
Morning broke sharp and bright, sunlight spilling across the deck in blinding gold. The air was clear, the sea calm.
Too calm.
Sanji moved through the galley with clipped precision, tying his apron tighter than necessary. The rhythm was still there—knife, flame, plate—but the pauses had grown longer.
He reached for the salt.
Stopped.
Shook his head faintly and continued.
On deck, Nami leaned against the railing beside Robin, watching through the open galley window.
“He’s quieter,” Nami murmured.
“He is thinking,” Robin replied.
“That’s not what worries me.”
Inside, Zoro stood in the doorway.
He didn’t lean.
He didn’t pretend disinterest.
He just stood there.
Sanji felt it.
“…You’re blocking light,” he said without turning.
Zoro didn’t move.
“Good morning,” he said.
Sanji paused mid-slice.
Slowly, he turned.
“…Good morning,” he replied cautiously.
Nami choked faintly outside.
Zoro stepped fully into the galley.
Sanji straightened.
“Are you lost?”
“No.”
“That’s suspicious.”
Zoro ignored that.
“What are you making?”
Sanji blinked.
“…Breakfast.”
Zoro’s eye twitched faintly.
“I can see that.”
“Then why ask?”
Zoro inhaled once, steadying himself.
“You used to make miso with extra heat,” he said.
Sanji stared at him.
“For you,” Zoro finished.
A beat.
Sanji looked down at the pot.
“…Did I?”
“Yes.”
Silence stretched.
Sanji reached for the spice jar slowly and added more.
“There,” he said evenly. “Problem solved.”
Zoro stepped closer.
“Thank you.”
The word dropped between them.
Sanji’s head snapped up slightly.
“…You’re welcome?”
Outside the window, Usopp grabbed Nami’s arm.
“Did you hear that?”
“Hear what?”
“He said thank you.”
Robin smiled faintly.
Inside, Sanji recovered first.
“You don’t need to thank me for basic competence.”
“I’m not,” Zoro said.
Sanji frowned slightly.
“Then what are you thanking me for?”
Zoro held his gaze.
“For cooking.”
The air shifted.
Sanji looked almost… unsettled.
“That’s my job.”
“You don’t have to be this good at it.”
A faint flush crept up Sanji’s neck before he could stop it.
“That’s—” He cleared his throat. “That’s ridiculous.”
Zoro stepped closer still.
Close enough now that the heat from the stove wasn’t the only warmth in the room.
“You used to overwork,” Zoro said.
Sanji stiffened slightly.
“I still do.”
“Don’t.”
The word was firm.
Not commanding.
Concerned.
Sanji stared at him.
“…Why?”
Zoro opened his mouth.
Closed it.
Because you stayed up waiting for me to stop training.
Because you noticed every cut before I did.
Because you hovered.
Because you loved me in plain sight.
Instead he said:
“You don’t need to.”
Sanji’s brows knit together.
“That doesn’t answer anything.”
Zoro’s jaw tightened faintly.
Outside, Usopp pressed his ear closer to the window.
Nami smacked the back of his head.
Inside, Sanji plated breakfast and slid a bowl toward Zoro.
Zoro didn’t leave.
Sanji stared at him.
“Are you planning to eat it here?”
“Yes.”
“You never eat in the kitchen.”
“I am today.”
Sanji’s eyes narrowed.
“You’re being strange.”
“So are you.”
“That’s different.”
“How?”
Sanji opened his mouth.
Stopped.
His expression shifted faintly—frustration flickering behind his composure.
“I don’t know,” he admitted.
Zoro watched that carefully.
Good.
Feel something.
He took a spoonful of miso.
It was perfect.
He set the bowl down deliberately.
“It’s good.”
Sanji blinked.
“…Obviously.”
Zoro held his gaze.
“I mean it.”
Silence.
Outside, Usopp whispered loudly, “IS THE WORLD ENDING?”
“Shut up,” Nami hissed.
Sanji exhaled slowly through his nose.
“You don’t have to—”
“I know.”
Sanji’s throat moved slightly as he swallowed.
Something in his pulse had quickened.
He didn’t understand why.
He turned away abruptly, reaching for another pan.
“You’re hovering now,” he muttered.
Zoro didn’t deny it.
“Yes.”
Sanji froze.
“…Why?”
Zoro stepped forward until he was directly behind him.
Not touching.
Close.
“Because I want to.”
The honesty hung heavy.
Sanji’s fingers tightened around the pan handle.
His heart thudded once—harder than expected.
That annoyed him.
“Is this some kind of experiment?” he asked quietly.
“No.”
“Then what?”
Zoro didn’t hesitate this time.
“I’m courting you.”
The pan slipped.
Clattered against the stove.
Outside, something crashed—Usopp falling backward off the barrel he’d been standing on.
“You’re what?” Sanji asked flatly.
“Courting.”
Sanji turned slowly.
His face was flushed now, irritation and something else mixing.
“You don’t even like me,” he said.
Zoro’s brow furrowed.
“Who told you that?”
“You barely tolerate me.”
Zoro stared at him like he’d just spoken nonsense.
“I tolerated you because I liked you.”
Sanji’s breath caught slightly.
“That makes no sense.”
“It does to me.”
Sanji searched his face.
There was no mockery.
No smirk.
Just blunt certainty.
His chest tightened unexpectedly.
“That’s not fair,” Sanji said under his breath.
“What isn’t?”
“You acting like there’s history I can’t see.”
“There is.”
“Then show me,” Sanji snapped.
The challenge hung between them.
Zoro stepped even closer.
Close enough that Sanji could feel the warmth of him, the solid steadiness.
“I am,” Zoro said quietly.
Sanji’s pulse spiked again.
Annoying.
Confusing.
He didn’t remember wanting this.
Didn’t remember earning it.
Didn’t remember offering anything that would justify it.
And yet—
Something in his chest twisted.
“Stop looking at me like that,” Sanji muttered.
“Like what?”
“Like I’m…” He faltered.
“Like you’re what?” Zoro pressed.
Sanji shook his head sharply.
“I don’t know.”
That was the problem.
He didn’t know.
Outside, Nami straightened from her eavesdropping position.
“He’s serious,” she murmured.
Robin’s eyes gleamed slightly.
“Yes,” she said softly. “He is.”
Inside the galley, Zoro reached past Sanji to adjust the flame lower under the pan.
Their arms brushed.
Sanji inhaled sharply.
The contact felt—
Familiar.
His body reacted before his mind did.
Zoro felt it too.
He didn’t pull away.
“I’m not doing this as a joke,” Zoro said quietly.
Sanji swallowed.
“…Why now?”
Zoro held his gaze.
“Because I should have before.”
Sanji stared at him.
And for the first time since the island—
There was something in his eyes that wasn’t empty.
It wasn’t recognition.
Not yet.
But it wasn’t nothing either.
And that scared him more than the blankness had.
The galley door slid shut with a soft thud behind Zoro.
Sanji remained where he was, one hand braced on the counter, the other still hovering near the stove knob Zoro had just adjusted.
Courting.
The word lingered in the air like smoke that refused to disperse.
Outside, boots scraped against deck planks.
Whispers.
Poorly disguised ones.
Sanji closed his eyes briefly and inhaled.
“Eavesdropping is unbecoming, Nami-san,” he called flatly.
There was a loud shuffle.
“We weren’t eavesdropping,” Usopp’s voice squeaked.
“You fell off a barrel.”
“That was unrelated!”
Sanji exhaled slowly, rolled his shoulders back into composure, and stepped out onto the deck.
Everyone except Luffy was pretending to be engaged in unrelated tasks within a very small radius.
Zoro stood near the railing, arms crossed, gaze fixed on the horizon like he hadn’t just detonated something in the kitchen.
Sanji eyed him.
Then the others.
“…Did I miss a meeting?” he asked dryly.
Nami straightened. “We’re concerned.”
“About?”
“You,” Chopper blurted.
Sanji blinked.
“I’m fine.”
“You forgot a person,” Usopp said.
Sanji’s jaw tightened faintly.
“I did not forget a person. I forgot specific shared context.”
“That’s worse!” Usopp flailed.
Robin stepped forward, hands folded lightly before her.
“Sanji,” she said gently, “may I ask you something?”
He softened immediately. “Of course, Robin-chan.”
“When you try to remember Zoro,” she said evenly, “what happens?”
Sanji hesitated.
The wind brushed across the deck, lifting the edge of his shirt.
“It’s like…” He frowned, searching for the shape. “Like opening a door and finding a wall behind it.”
“A wall,” Robin repeated softly.
“Yes.”
“And how do you feel in that moment?”
Sanji’s expression shifted.
“Annoyed,” he said first.
Then, quieter—
“…Uneasy.”
Zoro’s fingers curled slightly against his arms.
Robin’s gaze flicked toward him briefly before returning to Sanji.
“Do you feel nothing toward him?” she asked.
Sanji turned his head slowly toward Zoro.
He studied him again—carefully, analytically.
“…No,” he said.
Zoro’s jaw tightened.
Sanji continued before the silence could sharpen.
“I feel something,” he corrected. “I just don’t know what it is.”
The deck went still.
“What kind of something?” Nami pressed.
Sanji hesitated.
His brows drew together.
“It’s like…” He pressed two fingers briefly against his chest. “Like I misplaced something important, and he’s standing where it should be.”
Zoro inhaled slowly.
Robin’s eyes gleamed faintly.
“Interesting,” she murmured.
Usopp threw his hands up. “Interesting? That’s terrifying!”
Robin ignored him.
“On the island,” she said calmly, “the pirate captain described his ability as collecting regrets.”
Sanji nodded once. “Yes.”
“Devil Fruits often manifest around emotional extremes,” Robin continued. “Desires. Fears. Longings.”
Zoro’s eye narrowed slightly.
“Get to it,” he said.
Robin inclined her head.
“If the ability removes what one cannot bear to carry,” she said, “it may target two poles of the same emotional axis.”
Sanji blinked.
“…Speak cook,” he muttered.
Robin smiled faintly.
“It may remove both the most painful thing in your heart,” she clarified gently, “and the most beloved.”
The words settled heavy in the air.
Sanji stared at her.
Zoro felt something cold slide down his spine.
“The most painful,” Sanji repeated slowly.
“And the most beloved,” Robin confirmed.
Usopp’s eyes widened dramatically.
“So he lost—”
Nami elbowed him sharply.
Sanji’s gaze drifted again toward Zoro.
His chest tightened unexpectedly.
Painful.
Beloved.
Something in his pulse reacted to those words.
“That’s ridiculous,” he said lightly.
“Is it?” Robin asked softly.
Sanji opened his mouth—
Closed it.
Zoro stepped forward.
“If that’s true,” he said evenly, “then what fixes it?”
Robin’s eyes met his.
“The same axis,” she said.
“Meaning?”
“The emotion must spike again,” she explained. “Both ends of it.”
Sanji looked between them, irritation rising.
“You’re talking about me like I’m not here.”
Robin’s expression softened.
“I apologize. This concerns you most of all.”
“Spike how?” Zoro asked.
Robin held his gaze deliberately.
“The pain must return,” she said quietly. “And the love.”
Silence.
The word love hung uncomfortably in open air.
Usopp made a strangled noise.
Nami pinched the bridge of her nose.
Sanji stared at the deck planks.
Love.
The word felt like pressing on a bruise he couldn’t see.
“That’s convenient,” Sanji muttered. “Just feel things harder.”
“It would require confrontation,” Robin continued calmly. “Of what was lost.”
Zoro didn’t look away from her.
“And if he refuses?” he asked.
Sanji’s head snapped up.
“Refuses what?”
Zoro turned toward him now.
“To hear it.”
The air shifted.
Sanji’s pulse kicked once.
“You’re assuming a lot,” he said evenly.
“Am I?”
Sanji held his gaze.
There was tension there now.
Not rivalry.
Not yet.
But friction.
“I don’t like being cornered,” Sanji said quietly.
“I’m not cornering you.”
“It feels like it.”
Zoro stepped closer.
The crew instinctively drifted back a fraction, forming a loose ring.
“Do you trust me?” Zoro asked.
Sanji answered immediately.
“Yes.”
“Then listen.”
Sanji’s jaw tightened.
Robin watched them both carefully.
This was the spike beginning.
The wind pressed harder against the sails.
“I don’t know what you expect me to hear,” Sanji said.
Zoro’s voice dropped lower.
“I expect you to hear the truth.”
Sanji’s breath shifted.
Something inside his chest tightened again—harder this time.
Not blank.
Not empty.
Pressure.
“I don’t remember wanting it,” Sanji said quietly.
Zoro didn’t hesitate.
“You did.”
Sanji’s eyes flashed.
“Don’t tell me what I felt.”
“I’m not guessing.”
“Then prove it.”
The challenge was sharp now.
Real.
Robin’s fingers tightened slightly against her arm.
Careful, her eyes warned.
Too fast would break him.
Zoro’s voice was steady.
“I will.”
Sanji swallowed.
There was fear in that reaction now.
Not of Zoro.
Of what might surface.
The deck creaked beneath them.
Usopp whispered, “This is worse than ghosts.”
Nami elbowed him again.
Sanji looked away first.
He dragged a hand through his hair, frustrated.
“I need air,” he muttered.
“You’re outside,” Usopp said automatically.
Sanji shot him a look.
Then he moved toward the bow again, boots striking wood with sharper rhythm.
Zoro started after him.
Robin’s voice stopped him.
“Not yet.”
Zoro turned.
Her expression was calm—but deliberate.
“If you push too hard, he will retreat,” she said quietly.
“I don’t have time to be gentle,” Zoro replied.
Robin’s gaze softened.
“You have already lost him once,” she said. “Do not lose him again by force.”
Zoro’s jaw flexed.
He looked toward the bow, where Sanji stood rigid against the wind.
The space between them felt stretched thin.
“The pain must return,” Robin said softly behind him. “And the love.”
Zoro exhaled slowly.
Then stepped forward anyway.
The galley door slid shut with a soft thud behind Zoro.
Sanji remained where he was, one hand braced on the counter, the other still hovering near the stove knob Zoro had just adjusted.
Courting.
The word lingered in the air like smoke that refused to disperse.
Outside, boots scraped against deck planks.
Whispers.
Poorly disguised ones.
Sanji closed his eyes briefly and inhaled.
“Eavesdropping is unbecoming, Nami-san,” he called flatly.
There was a loud shuffle.
“We weren’t eavesdropping,” Usopp’s voice squeaked.
“You fell off a barrel.”
“That was unrelated!”
Sanji exhaled slowly, rolled his shoulders back into composure, and stepped out onto the deck.
Everyone except Luffy was pretending to be engaged in unrelated tasks within a very small radius.
Zoro stood near the railing, arms crossed, gaze fixed on the horizon like he hadn’t just detonated something in the kitchen.
Sanji eyed him.
Then the others.
“…Did I miss a meeting?” he asked dryly.
Nami straightened. “We’re concerned.”
“About?”
“You,” Chopper blurted.
Sanji blinked.
“I’m fine.”
“You forgot a person,” Usopp said.
Sanji’s jaw tightened faintly.
“I did not forget a person. I forgot specific shared context.”
“That’s worse!” Usopp flailed.
Robin stepped forward, hands folded lightly before her.
“Sanji,” she said gently, “may I ask you something?”
He softened immediately. “Of course, Robin-chan.”
“When you try to remember Zoro,” she said evenly, “what happens?”
Sanji hesitated.
The wind brushed across the deck, lifting the edge of his shirt.
“It’s like…” He frowned, searching for the shape. “Like opening a door and finding a wall behind it.”
“A wall,” Robin repeated softly.
“Yes.”
“And how do you feel in that moment?”
Sanji’s expression shifted.
“Annoyed,” he said first.
Then, quieter—
“…Uneasy.”
Zoro’s fingers curled slightly against his arms.
Robin’s gaze flicked toward him briefly before returning to Sanji.
“Do you feel nothing toward him?” she asked.
Sanji turned his head slowly toward Zoro.
He studied him again—carefully, analytically.
“…No,” he said.
Zoro’s jaw tightened.
Sanji continued before the silence could sharpen.
“I feel something,” he corrected. “I just don’t know what it is.”
The deck went still.
“What kind of something?” Nami pressed.
Sanji hesitated.
His brows drew together.
“It’s like…” He pressed two fingers briefly against his chest. “Like I misplaced something important, and he’s standing where it should be.”
Zoro inhaled slowly.
Robin’s eyes gleamed faintly.
“Interesting,” she murmured.
Usopp threw his hands up. “Interesting? That’s terrifying!”
Robin ignored him.
“On the island,” she said calmly, “the pirate captain described his ability as collecting regrets.”
Sanji nodded once. “Yes.”
“Devil Fruits often manifest around emotional extremes,” Robin continued. “Desires. Fears. Longings.”
Zoro’s eye narrowed slightly.
“Get to it,” he said.
Robin inclined her head.
“If the ability removes what one cannot bear to carry,” she said, “it may target two poles of the same emotional axis.”
Sanji blinked.
“…Speak cook,” he muttered.
Robin smiled faintly.
“It may remove both the most painful thing in your heart,” she clarified gently, “and the most beloved.”
The words settled heavy in the air.
Sanji stared at her.
Zoro felt something cold slide down his spine.
“The most painful,” Sanji repeated slowly.
“And the most beloved,” Robin confirmed.
Usopp’s eyes widened dramatically.
“So he lost—”
Nami elbowed him sharply.
Sanji’s gaze drifted again toward Zoro.
His chest tightened unexpectedly.
Painful.
Beloved.
Something in his pulse reacted to those words.
“That’s ridiculous,” he said lightly.
“Is it?” Robin asked softly.
Sanji opened his mouth—
Closed it.
Zoro stepped forward.
“If that’s true,” he said evenly, “then what fixes it?”
Robin’s eyes met his.
“The same axis,” she said.
“Meaning?”
“The emotion must spike again,” she explained. “Both ends of it.”
Sanji looked between them, irritation rising.
“You’re talking about me like I’m not here.”
Robin’s expression softened.
“I apologize. This concerns you most of all.”
“Spike how?” Zoro asked.
Robin held his gaze deliberately.
“The pain must return,” she said quietly. “And the love.”
Silence.
The word love hung uncomfortably in open air.
Usopp made a strangled noise.
Nami pinched the bridge of her nose.
Sanji stared at the deck planks.
Love.
The word felt like pressing on a bruise he couldn’t see.
“That’s convenient,” Sanji muttered. “Just feel things harder.”
“It would require confrontation,” Robin continued calmly. “Of what was lost.”
Zoro didn’t look away from her.
“And if he refuses?” he asked.
Sanji’s head snapped up.
“Refuses what?”
Zoro turned toward him now.
“To hear it.”
The air shifted.
Sanji’s pulse kicked once.
“You’re assuming a lot,” he said evenly.
“Am I?”
Sanji held his gaze.
There was tension there now.
Not rivalry.
Not yet.
But friction.
“I don’t like being cornered,” Sanji said quietly.
“I’m not cornering you.”
“It feels like it.”
Zoro stepped closer.
The crew instinctively drifted back a fraction, forming a loose ring.
“Do you trust me?” Zoro asked.
Sanji answered immediately.
“Yes.”
“Then listen.”
Sanji’s jaw tightened.
Robin watched them both carefully.
This was the spike beginning.
The wind pressed harder against the sails.
“I don’t know what you expect me to hear,” Sanji said.
Zoro’s voice dropped lower.
“I expect you to hear the truth.”
Sanji’s breath shifted.
Something inside his chest tightened again—harder this time.
Not blank.
Not empty.
Pressure.
“I don’t remember wanting it,” Sanji said quietly.
Zoro didn’t hesitate.
“You did.”
Sanji’s eyes flashed.
“Don’t tell me what I felt.”
“I’m not guessing.”
“Then prove it.”
The challenge was sharp now.
Real.
Robin’s fingers tightened slightly against her arm.
Careful, her eyes warned.
Too fast would break him.
Zoro’s voice was steady.
“I will.”
Sanji swallowed.
There was fear in that reaction now.
Not of Zoro.
Of what might surface.
The deck creaked beneath them.
Usopp whispered, “This is worse than ghosts.”
Nami elbowed him again.
Sanji looked away first.
He dragged a hand through his hair, frustrated.
“I need air,” he muttered.
“You’re outside,” Usopp said automatically.
Sanji shot him a look.
Then he moved toward the bow again, boots striking wood with sharper rhythm.
Zoro started after him.
Robin’s voice stopped him.
“Not yet.”
Zoro turned.
Her expression was calm—but deliberate.
“If you push too hard, he will retreat,” she said quietly.
“I don’t have time to be gentle,” Zoro replied.
Robin’s gaze softened.
“You have already lost him once,” she said. “Do not lose him again by force.”
Zoro’s jaw flexed.
He looked toward the bow, where Sanji stood rigid against the wind.
The space between them felt stretched thin.
“The pain must return,” Robin said softly behind him. “And the love.”
Zoro exhaled slowly.
Then stepped forward anyway.