ml12oh
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“You’re not—” He pauses for a moment. “You’re not looking at me. Zoro. Can you…”
Oh. Shit.
“I can’t see.” Now that he’s noticed, it’s very obvious.
Zoro loses his eyesight to a devil fruit user. He thinks it's all right. Sanji, for some reason, doesn't.
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A nightmare. A hug. A craving Sanji doesn’t dare name—and a silence that threatens to last forever.
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Train passes by outside. She conjures up the image of its shadows covering him in darkness whenever he is there, lying next to her. He always looks that much more real when the train is finally out of sight, and she can see his face once more.
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“—arrangements have already been made. There's no need for anyone to be harmed here. Your father has—”
“He's not my father.”
There’s no mistaking the sound of the cook's voice, but Zoro’s eyes narrow at the unfamiliar tone in it.
His hand is still on Wado.
“No way in hell,” Nami's voice rings out. “He’s not going anywhere, he's spoken for.”
This gives Bege pause, surprise flashing on his face before returning to a practised neutrality.
“Spoken for? As in—”
“As in, you can't have him,” Zoro should have let his Captain speak first, but his mouth opens almost on instinct, speaking over the big man as they join their crewmates.
“As in, fuck off.’ -
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Sanji gives him a brief once-over, making an exasperated noise. “Hey. What the hell are you doing? And why’s there dirt on my precious kitchen floor?”
“Uhh, flowers?” Zoro replies as if he doesn’t know either.
“Yeah, I can see that-“
“No. I mean you- for you. Yeah.” He stammers and then ends the sentence like he’d just given an understandable explanation.
In which Sanji finds himself at the center of Zoro's unusual flower giving.