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"C'mon, Marimo, you promised me one ride of my choice."
"I didn't think you were gonna pick something so boring. Why waste time on that when we could be doing something, you know, thrilling?"
"Thrilling!?" Sanji practically choked. "That's what you call be dangled by your ankles over a lake at breakneck speed?"
"You were wearing a harness like everybody else - "
"Or that fucking fun house?"
"I told you, I didn't fucking know you were afraid of clowns - "
"I'm not afraid of clowns, I object strenuously to laughing weirdos in facepaint getting in my face and calling me by cutesy nicknames!"
"That's weirdly specific, you know."
"LOOK YOU'LL GET THE FULL STORY ONE DAY BUT IN THE MEANTIME I'M HAVING A HEART ATTACK AND I CAN'T GET A COMB THROUGH MY DAMN HAIR GIVE ME THIS ONE THING!"
Zoro held his hands up in front of him, placating. "Whoa, okay, okay, fine. Geez. Look - hold still a second."
"I'm not holding still, it's almost midnight, we've gotta get in line before they start closing down rides for the fireworks - "
"Shut up for thirty seconds and hand me the comb, asshole."
Sanji blinked. Lowered his hands from the veritable rat's nest one side of his hair had become, gave the mosshead a suspicious, withering look, and handed him the comb. "If you tear my hair I swear to god, Marimo -"
"Quit. Your. Yapping."
A few months ago, Sanji would not have dared let the bastard anywhere near tangles in his hair. Especially not in the dark, in the middle of a carnival, with bustling crowds on all sides. The big, blunt, bullish buffoon of a barbarian? Hell no.
But then, a few months ago, Sanji hadn't paid near as much attention to the skill behind all that barbarism. To the finesse in the crash of too many swords. To the detail orientation that allowed the same hands to cut through steel without damaging his own blades, furl half the weight of wet sails himself in high winds, pluck every last grain of rice off his plate as though the chopsticks were an extension of his fingers, adjust the spring in the galley clock with fine tweezers and enough nuance not to break the steel, pick every burr from poor Chopper's fur without more than a single yelp, and make the cook see stars almost without undressing him.
A few months ago, Sanji would never have expected that those thick, callused hands could spin his comb easily between teeth and pick, tease individual strands of hair apart, and release the knot high on his head without a single tug to his scalp. The teeth ran gently through the separated strands, smoothing them back down with the rest, and Sanji couldn't suppress a shiver. The whole thing took less than thirty seconds.
"Here." The cook felt a tap on his shoulder. Blinked back to reality and took the comb in his hand. Met those steely eyes, full of reflections of the night's stars and the festival's lights, set above a cranky frown that didn't meet their depths, and tugged the bastard in by the collar to kiss him full on the mouth, in full view of god and everyone, hangups and hindsight be damned. The swordsman took only a moment to catch up, to tilt his head and run fingers into the hair he'd just untangled.
Sanji had to take a breath once they'd parted. "...One ride," he managed before having to clear his throat with a swallow. "Just one."
"...Yeah. Just giving you a hard time, Curlybrow."
"You sure know how to do that," Sanji snorted. And then... deep breath... laced his fingers with the other's. Tugged gently, ignoring that the bastard's mouth fell open before he fell into step, and led the clever dumbass to the center of the park.
They made it just as the operator was checking his watch, one hand on the gate. Sanji handed him their tickets - a different color than the others they'd been using all evening, something Zoro was thankfully looking the other way from because he would definitely have noticed - and held a finger to his lips to hush the operator before the man could do more than grin. They stepped into car number 1, Sanji holding the door and pulling a full bow for the swordsman, who muttered under his breath (flushed almost invisibly in the dim) before sliding in. The car was big enough for two, just so, putting them shoulder to shoulder, knee to knee. Hip to hip, once Sanji took a deep breath and lifted the other man's arm like a hatch door, sliding up against his side and draping that muscled arm over his own shoulders. Zoro stared at him, silent, with lips parted and true surprise in those grey eyes, for a long second. Finally, slowly, relaxed his frame, wrapped his fingers around the other's arm, and nestled the cook up against his side.
Sanji could smell the pride and pleasure rolling up off the other man, the dizzy joy swelling in the omega's chest. He was allowed to be bigger, to be what he was. The cook was happy - nervous, still, but happy - to be smaller, slighter, to fit into the nooks of Zoro's body rather than the other way around. To be held. To let the swordsman hold.
"...I guess this isn't so bad," Zoro murmured, as the lights went on and the ferris wheel began to turn.
"Mhmm," Sanji crooned, leaning his head on Zoro's shoulder, nestling into him, and breathing deep of the omega's scent as that pride welled up, as the wary tension Zoro wore in public eased out. Here, it was just the two of them, close enough for their scents to mingle, no prying eyes, no other bodies brushing by too-close. "It's romantic."
"I guess," Zoro hummed, watching the ground fall away, the lights of the festival twinkle as they got smaller and further afield. "I mean... yeah. I guess so."
Sanji wouldn't have needed the clarification. He could scent out what the other meant. Like this, when a little of that guard was down, and Zoro allowed himself to smell like much at all.
The wheel went around a few times, slow and smooth, giving them the highest views of the park. Letting them sit close, murmur about nothing. Lace fingers, carefully, in their laps. Their fingers were different sizes. Different shades. They had calluses in different places: a quill callus on Sanji's third finger; barbell calluses in the creases of Zoro's palms. Sanji's had a couple smooth-shiny spots from minor burns; Zoro's had thicker nails and cuticles from repetitive force. But they both had blade handle calluses on the finger knobs on their palms; both had little cuts here and there from their different lines of work. Both were strong and tightly wound with muscle and sinew: it was just that Zoro's bulged and Sanji's roped.
The ride clanked to a stop. Zoro looked up, around. Their car was at the very top of the wheel. Below, with loud thumps of throwing breakers, the festival lights began to shut down, one street at a time, leaving only enough for safety and ambience. The swordsman looked sidelong at the cook, quizzically; the chef only grinned.
A loud bang sounded overhead, and the night sky filled with dancing green and blue. Another, this time dancing red sparks among the white stars. Cheers and laughter rang out from below, in the starry dark that mirrored the sky, as fireworks continued to burst above them. They had nearly a front row seat. The view was perfection. Those knotted fingers squeezed tightly to skinny ones. "Romantic cook," the swordsman grumbled, pressing a kiss into blond hair.
"Always," Sanji grinned, nuzzling himself deeper into the other's broad side, nosing at his partner's jaw. Zoro met him in the middle, pressed into a kiss that lasted through several booms and flashes of sparks.
"You're gonna miss it," Sanji breathed at last, pulling back the barest, most reluctant distance he needed to make space for the words.
"They're not as good as Usopp's anyway," Zoro murmured, trying to close the distance, but the cook dodged to press a kiss to the other's jaw instead.
"No, I mean it - you have to watch."
Something in the alpha's voice gave Zoro pause. He pressed another kiss to the tip of the cook's nose, then turned to watch the display, holding the other man tightly to himself, as though afraid the cook would run away into the sky if given half the chance.
Sanji would do no such thing.
Sure, his nerves were hammering his heart in his chest, but that wasn't from trepidation. It was excitement. It was anticipation. It was holding both of Zoro's hands in his, leaning close together and watching the festival go all-out in beautiful flashes of sparks and swirls and smoke, waiting for the finale. It was feeling the other man go slack beside him, smelling the rush of emotion as Zoro fumbled his hold on his scent entirely. It was seeing the wonder and bald disbelief fill that handsome face as green and blue fireworks filled the night sky with his request.
MARRY ME, MARIMO
Finally, that so-often stoic face turned to him, still painted with total stupefaction. Sanji grinned what felt like the biggest smile of his damn life.
"So what do you say, mossball?"
Fingers wrenched from his, and he had no time to wonder or startle or even panic, because in the next instant they were hot on his face, twined into his hair and around his ears, yanking him almost completely into the swordsman's lap so the omega could kiss him until he saw stars to rival all the ones in the sky, both those far overhead and those still dancing in the final fireworks sent up from cannons to sparkle over the fair.
Sanji was dizzy when Zoro finally broke the kiss. Found himself holding onto the other's hands for dear life, breathing the other's breath from short distance, their foreheads pressed flush and their noses mushed together.
"I say yes, you romantic dartboard."
Sanji wouldn't have needed him to clarify that, either.