Chapter Text
Zoro has been thinking about it for the past few days—fantasizing about it, really—but hearing Sanji ask him to kill him doesn’t feel like he wants it to.
To put it plainly, it feels gross. To actually articulate it, Zoro is terrified. He’s never been more scared in his life. He’d agreed because he knew he’d be the only one able to do it and that’s not just because he’s the only other person, besides Luffy, who’d actually have a shot at it. The fight with King is already hard before Sanji asks this impossible task of him. Sanji couldn’t have picked a worse time to drop this on him. What’s that, curly? Fight you to the death after getting bodied by Big Mom and Kaido and this new asshole, King? Oh sure, he’ll get right on that. Not like he’s fighting for his life or anything like that. What a selfish dickhead.
It’s easy to hide his fear with annoyance, he’s been doing that for years, but the terror still manages to find cracks to bleed through anyway. He’d spent so long trying to hate Sanji, he never bothered to imagine what it would feel like if he lost him and now that he’s locked in battle with this dark angel jackass, he can’t stop thinking about it. They’d have to find a new cook, for starters, but that’s far from the only thing Zoro’s imagining. He doesn’t want to give himself the chance to think about it too hard. It hurts too much and Zoro’s whole body already hurts from a night of beatings.
It seems his brain, however, is a glutton for punishment and goes ahead and supplies him with as many images of Sanji’s mangled corpse as it can muster. Which happens to be quite a lot. A disturbing amount, actually. But the fight with King can’t really take a back burner. Zoro’s already running on fumes. He can’t afford distraction.
So he blocks it out. Focuses on the present. The feel of the leather wrap around the hilts of his swords in his hands and between his teeth. The scent of blood and smoke that lingers like ghosts. King smells like sulfur. Zoro lets the acrid scent fill his lungs. His eyes are gritty and it kind of hurts to blink but it’s better if he doesn’t. He can’t afford to miss a moment. There’s nothing else but the battle. Nothing but steel grinding against steel. Blood slick and warm sliding down his temple. Stuttered breaths huffing past his locked jaw.
He thinks of his training. Patience. Focus. Resilience. He lets it flow over him like a second skin. Being present is all that matters. Sanji and his death wish can wait. He hopes the cook knows how evil it is to ask this of him, hopes he knows how unwilling he really is to do it. Even after everything, after the heartbreak and the cold words and colder shoulders, Zoro desperately needs Sanji knows that the last thing he wants is his death. Whatever the cook’s going through, whatever nonsense got drilled into his head to make him think he needed to die, he’ll get through. Zoro will drag him kicking and screaming through it if he needs to. As long as they’re both on the Sunny after this, Zoro will be happy. Even if what they had before will never be the same again. Even if he’s so mad at Sanji his fucking teeth hurt.
He needs Sanji to be okay. He needs him alive, if nothing else.
Zoro had no idea what he was doing. This was a stupid idea. So stupid. The cook wouldn’t even care.
He was doing it anyway.
He squatted in front of rows of nail polish, the colors nearly blinding him as his gaze flitted over each bottle. He got the stupid idea a while ago that he should get Sanji something and once he heard the cook was leaving, he figured it was now or never. He had consulted Robin on it and she, predictably, said he should make him something but no way was Zoro going to do that. He’d leave that shit to Usopp and Franky. Besides, he didn’t have time. He wasn’t even really sure why he decided to do this but he thought about Sanji’s fingers, chewed to bits, and imagined it’d make sense to get him nail polish. He hadn’t seen that stupid bottle of blue nail polish in a while and he half assumed Sanji had thrown it out but Zoro knew the cook would rather crucify himself than throw away a gift from Nami. Even if it had been over two years ago since he’d last seen it.
He finally picked out a bottle of green polish and paid for it. The cashier said something dumb about him buying a gift for his girlfriend like Zoro didn’t look gayer than seven dudes blowing eight dudes but he ignored her and mumbled thanks anyway. He felt stupider and stupider with every step he took away from the beauty shop as his grip tightened around the paper bag until it ripped under his fingers. Great. Now he’d be giving Sanji this pathetic, mangled gift like a loser. He didn’t even know where the love cook had run off to. They were supposed to meet up before Sanji left but the dumbass had probably gotten distracted by the first pair of tits he saw. Zoro didn’t know why he bothered. This was a bad idea to begin with. It wasn’t like what they had meant anything to Sanji. He was probably just-
“Moss? That you?”
Great.
Sanji was walking towards him. He had a cigarette held loosely in his long fingers. Zoro stared at the cook’s hands, thankful for the sunglasses covering his eye. He liked Sanji’s hands, almost as much as he liked Sanji’s legs. His legs were his weapons, so obviously Zoro was gonna feel some type of way about them but his hands were his treasure which meant they fell under the category of things Zoro needed to protect with his life. So, he liked those too.
“Been looking for you,” Sanji said, like they hadn’t planned this, and stopped in front of him. If Zoro didn’t know any better, he’d say Sanji looked nervous. But who was saying Zoro knew better?
“Same,” Zoro murmured and looked over his shoulder. “Let’s… Not here.”
Sanji nodded and the two of them slipped down the most abandoned alley they could find. After deeming the place sufficiently empty, Sanji pulled that ugly fake beard off his face and let it hang around his neck like a hairy necklace.
“You look stupid like-”
Sanji pushed up against him and pressed his mouth to Zoro’s, cigarette falling to the ground and getting smushed under his boot heel. Zoro didn’t have time to feel shocked because the cook was pulling away just as fast and yanking the sunglasses and fake mustache off Zoro’s face.
“I like you better hairless,” he huffed and moved back in to crowd Zoro against the smooth brick behind him.
Zoro eased Sanji off and the cook made a noise like a kicked puppy. Zoro didn’t even bother stifling the laugh that burst out of him and the cook glared. Before Sanji could add an extra hole in his head, Zoro pushed the glasses the cook was wearing up until they were sitting on his head like a crown, holding his hair out of his eyes for once.
“I like you better when I can see your whole face.”
“Don’t get used to it,” Sanji breathed, cheeks red, and surged forward again to lick into Zoro’s mouth.
Zoro liked this. He liked being able to rile the cook up in this way. It was different from their usual song and dance but held the same energy. Somehow it felt richer, not that sparring wasn’t just as fulfilling for Zoro but making out with Sanji in enemy territory, warm hands on his cheeks, the slick feel of Sanji’s tongue… He didn’t know how to describe it. Zoro never had been good with words. He’d leave the poetics to Sanji. He was better at it.
Sanji’s suit jacket creaked around Zoro’s knuckles as he held on like he’d never get the chance to kiss the cook again. Sanji’s nimble fingers slipped into his hair and tugged, angling Zoro’s face and slotting a thigh between Zoro’s. He huffed out a grunt into Sanji’s mouth as the cook’s knee pressed up against his dick. He slipped his arms around Sanji’s shoulders as his lips listed and he mouthed wet kisses to the tan slope of Zoro’s neck. Zoro’s hands didn’t often shake but as they carded through Sanji’s golden hair, you’d think he had Parkinson’s. Sanji nipped at his throat, hot tongue gliding over his pulse point as he pushed Zoro further into the wall until they were flat against each other and he could feel every ragged breath that stuttered out of the cook’s chest.
When Sanji pulled away, Zoro chased his mouth, pressing one last greedy kiss that the cook laughed into before he pushed at his shoulders to look at him. Both of those sea colored eyes pinned him in place and Zoro couldn’t imagine a prettier sight. Sanji stared, gaze flitting about Zoro’s face, an anxious strain in his jaw. Sanji was injured, having just gone toe-to-toe with Doflamingo, but he hid it well. The only real evidence being a bandage taped to his cheek and a sliver of wraps peaking out near his collar. Only then did Zoro remember the nail polish. He bent to pick up the dropped bag, hoping the bottle hadn’t broken.
“I got you something,” he started, voice low like it was a secret. “Something to, uh, remind you of… me. I guess.”
Sanji stared down at the smushed paper bag in his hands, pink coloring his pale face as he chewed his bottom lip. Zoro opened the bag and Sanji gripped his wrist.
“Put that away. Stop it,” he murmured. He smiled even as his fingers trembled against Zoro’s pulse point. “Just… No. This isn’t goodbye. I’m not going to war, mosshead.”
“Promise?” Zoro didn’t recognize the desperation in his own voice. He didn’t know he could sound like that.
Sanji laughed like Zoro had said something stupid but it broke into pieces when he met his eye. Zoro didn’t know what he saw there but it softened Sanji’s expression.
“Where is this coming from? What’s got you so worked up?” Sanji asked, his smile was nervous and he tangled his fingers with Zoro’s.
“Sanji,” Zoro stressed and ran his thumb over the cook’s knuckles. He didn't know why he was so anxious. “Promise me.”
“Promise,” Sanji said with quiet conviction. “I’ll wait for you, okay? So don’t worry. Stupid marimo.”
Zoro crushed his mouth to Sanji’s again but it wasn’t as hurried as before and held all the words he couldn’t articulate. He hoped the cook understood. He didn’t have the vocabulary of Robin or the wit of Usopp or the charm of Nami. He wasn’t brazen like Franky or delicate like Chopper. He wasn’t wise like Brook or endless like Luffy. But he was loyal and he was patient. He bled it in fountains. He hoped Sanji could feel how it radiated off him in waves. He hoped Sanji could hear what he wasn’t sure how to say. He hoped he could taste the want on his tongue. Most of all, he hoped the cook would keep his promise.
Zoro wasn’t sure what he’d do if he didn’t.
Turns out Sanji doesn’t need killing after all and Zoro had spent half his big battle freaking out over nothing. If Zoro isn’t so relieved he could choke, he’d be killing Sanji for making him worry like that over nothing.
Wano is saved. Kaido and Big Mom are nine miles under. Luffy and Zoro were, predictably, on death’s door. Zoro was pretty sure he saw the actual grim reaper. He’s still banged up and aching all over but things are good now. There’s food and booze and music and laughing and a hot bath Zoro didn’t realize would feel so good. Hiyori’s been thanking him profusely and Sanji’s been melting into a puddle with barely restrained anger. Zoro can’t help feeling smug about it even if Hiyori is the last thing he wants.
It’s a while before Zoro and Sanji actually find themselves alone. Zoro is sitting on the balcony drinking sake straight from the bottle and staring out at the fireworks that shimmer in the night sky, their reflections turning the water to glitter when Sanji sits beside him. He’s got bandages tied around his head and is wearing a sky blue kimono. It looks much better than that horrid yellow one he’d had on while undercover in the Flower Capital. Zoro keeps his thoughts to himself and tips his bottle back, relishing in the burn the alcohol brings. Sanji’s sitting to Zoro’s right so they can see each other and Zoro can’t stand how his heart spazzes out in his chest over it.
“Now can we talk about it?” Sanji asks and lights a cigarette with that gaudy golden lighter.
Zoro grunts, shrugs, and takes another drink. Sanji scoffs.
“How long are you gonna act like this?” He bites. Zoro can see his fingers trembling, trying not to crush the cigarette he's holding. “Does no one else get to have problems? God forbid someone struggles with something. God forbid someone make the wrong choice.”
“‘Wrong choice?’ You mutilated our captain.” Zoro’s tone is dangerous as he levels a glare at the cook. He knows ‘mutilated’ is a bit of a stretch but he feels the need to hammer the point home. “Do you really think I’ll forget that?”
Sanji stares at him, brow drawn low and scowl still managing to be pretty around his already crumpled cigarette.
“You weren’t there. You don’t understand what happened. My family, they-”
“Yeah, I don’t understand and I don’t care either. Luffy has a fucking gold tooth now because of you. You terrified Nami and nearly beat our captain to death because both of you are fucking idiots.” The sake tastes sour in his mouth and he spits over the side of the balcony. “That isn’t fucking allowed.”
Even as anger ripples through him, Zoro can’t find it in himself to leave. He has more to say even if every one of his baked-in instincts begs him to stay quiet.
“I came back.”
“You betrayed us.”
“I didn’t want to.”
“You did it anyway.”
Zoro can hear Sanji’s teeth grinding. He hopes he cracks one.
“I didn’t want anyone to get hurt because of me.” Sanji’s voice is quiet but it isn’t soft.
“You put the others in danger anyway.” Zoro doesn’t look at him. He can’t bear it. “Selflessness has no place in this crew. You should know that by now. We’re in this together.”
“You don’t get it,” Sanji huffs. “Big Mom… My family… My family was going to kill-”
“You left me!” Zoro finally roars. The sound is nearly broken. “You made me a promise and then you left me.” A big firework pops over the water and the festival below cheers. “I don’t care who they were going to kill. We would’ve stopped them. We. Us. You didn’t even give us the chance.”
“Zoro, you don’t fucking get it-”
“I don’t have to. You need to get that we would die for you. You don’t get to do this alone. Look around!” Zoro throws a hand up like there’s anything to gesture to. “This is your fucking family. Not some dickheads from the North Blue. Us and the Baratie. We are your family.” More quiet, then, hushed, “And you’re mine.”
Zoro takes another pull from his bottle. Anger and grief battle each other in his chest like hyenas fighting over something dead. There’s silence, interrupted only by fireworks and chatter from below.
“I hate myself.” Sanji sounds tired. Zoro looks over at him. Sanji’s head is down. He’s rolling the ashy filter of his extinguished half cigarette between his fingers. “I hate what I’ve done. I hate where I come from and what I am and I hate that I left you. You hate me and I missed you every day.”
Zoro sighs and sets his bottle down to turn to the cook.
“Look at me, curly.” Sanji continues to stare at the smooth wooden floor. “Sanji. Fuckin’ look at me.”
Sanji turns like it hurts and his face is nearly blank but Zoro can see fear in his eye.
“I don’t hate you. You piss me off to no end and what you did was so goddamn stupid it’s ridiculous but I don’t hate you,” Zoro huffs and looks out at the festival. “I tried to but I couldn’t. So, stop being mean to yourself. If you need to be mean, be mean to me.”
“I’m sorry,” he says and he sounds mad even as he gets that quiver in his jaw like he’s about to cry. “I’m sorry I didn’t wait. I’m sorry I didn’t trust you. I’m sorry I was scared.”
This is what he’s been waiting to hear, as much as he hates hearing it. Zoro doesn’t want excuses, he wants regret. His hand flexes on his knee once before he reaches out and tangles his fingers with Sanji’s.
“I was scared too. Don’t… Don’t ever do that shit again. Or I’ll kill you for real.”
Sanji doesn’t sob but one sharp hiccup bubbles out of him as tears slide down his face and he grips his hair with his free hand.
“I haven’t cried this much in years,” he croaks and wipes at his face. “I’m a fucking mess.”
Zoro sighs and he tugs Sanji into him. The cook falls willingly, body putty as Zoro leans down to kiss the crown of his head and murmurs;
“A mess I’d wear with pride.”
“How can you stand me? How can you forgive me?” Sanji whispers, cheek smashed against Zoro’s chest. Zoro sweeps his hair back from his eyes and Sanji looks up at him through tears. “You should hate me. Why don’t you?”
Zoro sighs and pulls Sanji further into his lap.
“You’re right, I should. You fuckin’ suck,” he gripes and a wet laugh drips out of Sanji. He can feel Sanji’s tears soaking into the shoulder of his kimono. Zoro sucks in a breath, stealing himself. “But I… I love you more.”
“Don’t bullshit me.” Sanji sits up to look at him and when his hair flops into his face, Zoro combs it back again.
“I wish I was.” Zoro frowns. “You think I like loving your spazzy ass?”
Sanji scoffs and its disbelief, shock, affection, and a laugh all at once. “Fuck you.”
They stare at each other and Zoro doesn’t miss the way Sanji’s gaze flits down to his mouth when he licks his lips.
“Will you kiss my spazzy ass?” He asks, voice uncharacteristically uncertain.
“Do you have to ask?” But he’s already leaning in and pressing his lips to Sanji’s. When they part, Zoro levels him with a glare. “This doesn’t change anything. I’m still mad at you.”
Sanji smiles. “What else is new?”
Zoro cradles the back of Sanji’s head and kisses him again. He’s still mad. He’s still ready to kick the cook’s ass at a moment’s notice, but he hasn’t felt this secure in weeks. Kissing Sanji, holding Sanji, it feels like coming home. It feels right. Like pieces of a puzzle. Like a hand in a glove. He’s got a ways to go before he forgives Sanji, if he ever does, but he wouldn’t trade the jackass for anything in the world.
And, for once, the feeling isn’t scary.