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Sanji feels love. He feels it in the way Zeff doted on him. So rough was he with his words but the heart at the core of them were gentle and filled with so much more than he could ever comprehend. Much more than anyone had given Sanji before.
Little eggplant, that shitty old man called him.
Sanji huffs on his cigarette, recrossing his legs. Their shadow elongated along the full cast of the moon shining through the paned windows before it’s swallowed by the dark corners of the crow’s nest.
He could feel it but he doesn’t understand. Why? Why him?
Sanji sees it too. He sees it in how Luffy’s face lights up when he enters the galley merely after a night apart because he spots Sanji first and holds him in a rubber embrace. Not a moment later and the idiot captain is begging for food, all sunshine when a morning snack is already placed before him.
He witnesses it from the crew too. The way Nami looks at him with a contemplative frown, her gaze all knowing, and decides to add extra Beli’s to his allowance when they dock at the next island; not without charging interest of course. Or in how Chopper worries over everyone, the small doctor scolding him softly but visibly relieved and tears already welling in his eyes when Sanji wakes up in the infirmary time and time again. And when Robin’s sprouted limbs catch his attention and greet him with a wave to let him know that she’s always willing to give him her time and company should he ever need anything.
Franky occasionally bugs him about his latest creative endeavors, and even manages to get Sanji to reveal what recipes he’s currently working on. And Brook and Usopp sit with him in the galley to chat over tea; the two are surprisingly wonderful company in the evenings. These are things that are apparent to Sanji, the outward display of genuine love and care the entire crew shows him.
“Took you long enough,” He snaps at the approaching figure but does not turn to look, the heavy thuds from those muddied boots tell him all he needs to know. He continues to stare at the dark waves slamming against the Sunny below.
He could see it but it doesn’t make sense to him. Do they mean it? Do they really care? How could they?
Sanji is loved. He knows it. It’s hard not to when Zoro takes the hand that Sanji has buried in his blonde hair and holds it in his own. And leans in to tell him so.
“I love you.” he breathes across Sanji’s lips.
It’s not for the first time either and Zoro gives him all the time he needs to take it in. Allowing Sanji to decide where they will go from there, and when he’s certain that Sanji wants him to stay, he’s there to wipe the tear that hugs his reddened cheeks.
He knows Zoro loves him but he doesn’t know why. When he feels brave enough he asks Zoro, who often replies wordlessly. But, there are times when he knows words are what Sanji needs. He could feel it, and see it, and hear it, and touch it, and taste it, but he doesn’t believe it. He can’t.
Sanji gives love. I love you. His eyes cry for his family at the Baratie when he promises to return one day. I love you. His hands say when they pour their adoration into the food he makes for his crew. I love you. His deadly kicks proclaim every time he uses them to protect his Nakama.
“I love you.” Sanji blurts.
There’s nothing between them but the sweat that coats their skin. Zoro smiles at him like he’s always known, and he probably has. The sheets on the wood floor bunches beneath the other’s massive figure as he nears.
He holds the cook’s face and gives him an exaggerated smooch on his damp forehead. Chuckling without restraint when he interrupts Sanji’s curses to pull the other man to his chest and keep him there.
“Go to sleep, shit brow.”
Sanji eventually does but not without a hearty amount of grumbling. He thinks the marimo has to be a mind reader because Zoro gives him exactly what he needs every time. He soothes his hands over Sanji’s back and whispers sleepy words into the air around them. Zoro wraps his arms over his body, secure but never suffocating, the option to leave always available to him.
Sanji doesn’t know why he’s loved. Or how it’s possible that such a beautiful thing can exist for him, but he’s willing to accept that it’s there. Waiting patiently for whenever he’s ready to welcome it in.