Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Sanji wakes with an already pounding headache, such that the first sliver of light when he cracks his eyes open sends a sharp stab of pain searing through his skull. Against his will, he lets out a ragged groan before he can stop himself.

He hears a scraping sound off to the side - a chair being shoved along the floor, his brain distantly registers - and then the light is blocked by a blurry body leaning into his space.

“Cook?” A gravelly voice asks. “You finally back with us?”

“Hngh,” says Sanji, his parched throat rasping when he tries to speak.

“Shit, hang on,” the voice says. There’s a scrabbling sound for a few seconds and then something is shoved in his face.

Needing a moment to focus, Sanji dimly realizes that the item is a cup with a straw peeking out. Once he clues in, he allows it to be guided to his mouth, taking a grateful sip of cool water. This time when he groans, it’s more out of relief than anything else.

“Take it slow. You’ll only make it worse if you try to go too hard at once.”

Sanji nods, recognizing the logic behind this statement. He takes a few more cautious sips, and only when he’s sure doing so won’t make him choke, does he drain the cup for real. Collapsing back against the pillow with a relieved sigh, he works his throat until he’s satisfied he can successfully get a full sentence out.

“What the fuck happened?”

“You forgot how to duck, dumbass.”

Sanji frowns, only now cluing into the fact that he’s in the Sunny’s infirmary, and the last person in the world he would have expected is apparently keeping him company. Narrowing his eyes, he gives Zoro a look.

“Why the hell are you here?”

Zoro’s good eye widens, like he’s genuinely surprised by the question, and he tilts his head to the side, making him look not unlike a particularly stupid dog that’s just heard a strange noise. “You’ve been unconscious,” he says slowly, “for almost three days.”

“Huh,” Sanji says. “Well that explains why I feel like death warmed over, but it still tells me jack shit about the company. Answer me, would you? Why are you here?”

“The fuck-?” Zoro starts. “I just did. Three days, cook. Three. Days . Where the fuck else do you think I’d be?”

“I don’t know,” Sanji shoots back, his jaw clenching irritably. He’s in pain and exhausted, and he sure as hell doesn’t need a storm of confusion added to that mix. “Did you lose a bet? Or maybe you and the others have been taking turns watching over me? Sorry you got the short straw if that’s the case.”

“Oh what in the hell ?” Zoro snarls, but before Sanji can prod at him some more, he pushes away from the wall he’s been leaning against and marches over to the infirmary door. Throwing it open, he cranes his neck around while standing in the entranceway until he spots whatever it is he’s after.

“ Chopper !” He bellows, the muscles in his neck and shoulders visibly tensing. “You need to get in here now !”

Distantly, Sanji hears the familiar clatter of Chopper’s hooves on the deck, the sound growing louder until the doctor himself becomes visible behind Zoro. 

“Sanji!” He exclaims excitedly, making his way into the room. “You’re awake. That’s great. Although, Zoro,” he adds, turning to give the man in question an admonishing look, “you should have come to get me right away. In fact, you promised you would, so -,”

“Something’s wrong with him,” Zoro says, effectively cutting off Chopper’s rambling diatribe. “I don’t know what, but it’s … something.”

“Huh?” His eyes widening in alarm, Chopper scurries the rest of the way over to the bed, grabbing a stool along the way so he can climb up and get a closer look. “Sanji? How do you feel?”

“Like a mountain fell on me,” Sanji admits, “but it’s fine. No worse than usual after a fight. All I asked was why Mosshead there was watching over me while I was out. I’m not sure why he thinks that’s such a weird question.”

“Um?” Chopper chuckles nervously, glancing over his shoulder at Zoro for a second before returning his gaze to Sanji. “I mean,” he says slowly. “Why wouldn’t he be?”

Sanji blinks, thrown by the response. Later, he’ll blame that on why his brain to mouth filter chooses this exact moment to shut down, and he blurts out, “I don’t know. Maybe because he’s barely talked to me since Whole Cake Island?”

Zoro sucks in a sharp breath, but after that the infirmary goes quiet enough you could hear a pin drop. Faintly, Sanji thinks he can make out the sound of waves moving from outside, but maybe that’s his ears playing tricks on him.

Eventually, Chopper straightens on his stool, one hand already reaching for a tray of medical implements resting not far out of reach. “Sanji,” he says very, very carefully. “What’s the last thing you remember?”

*****

A few hours later, Sanji continues to have a throbbing headache, but now he has a shiny new diagnosis of amnesia and a strong need for a cigarette to go along with it. He’s achy, confused, and tired from being poked and prodded within an inch of his life.

More than anything though, he wants Zoro to stop fucking staring at him.

“Would you quit it?” He finally demands, having decided that enough is enough. The other man’s been tucked into a corner of the infirmary the whole time now, curled in on himself and with his arms crossed over his chest like he’s the one who’s suffering here. “God, what is wrong with you?”

“I’d tell you,” Zoro grits out, “but there’s no point since you don’t fuckin’ remember.”

“Zoro,” Chopper says sharply, his head jerking up from where he’s busy scribbling in a notebook. “That’s not going to help.”

“Why is he still even here?” Sanji asks the room at large.

To his shock, Zoro flinches. Then he looks at Chopper with an expression that’s halfway to pleading twisting his features. “How do we fix this?”

“I’ll run some tests,” Chopper replies, “but most likely the only thing that will help is time and maybe exposing him to familiar surroundings. If it makes you feel any better, there’s no reason on the surface at least as to why the memories shouldn’t come back.”

“That’s not the same as saying they definitely will though,” Zoro points out, and Chopper ducks his head.

“No,” he admits quietly. “It isn’t.”

Irritated, Sanji snaps his fingers to get their attention. “Hi, yes, remember me?” He demands when they both turn to look at him. “The actually injured party in the room? Is there any chance you two might like to stop talking like I’m not even here?”

“Sorry, Sanji,” Chopper says, ducking his head. “As I was saying, though, your prognosis isn’t terrible. Physically, you’re going to be fine once the bruises heal, and there really is no reason to believe the memories won’t resurface.”

“Great. Wonderful,” Sanji grumbles. “Can I go then?”

Zoro and Chopper share a look , clearly having some kind of silent debate using nothing but facial expressions. Finally, Chopper sighs. “I’d really rather you stay here for at least one more night, just in case anything else unexpected happens.”

“You just said I’m physically fine,” Sanji points out in the most reasonable tone he can muster. “And I don’t see how keeping me locked up here is going to help with the whole memory thing.”

“Damn, cook,” Zoro mutters. “Nobody’s locking you up anywhere. Chopper just wants to make sure there’s nothing more fucked up with your head than the obvious. What if you keel over and die because you push yourself too hard too fast?”

Sanji gapes at him. “Okay, you ,” he says once he manages to find his voice, “do not get to lecture me about following sound medical advice. Good god.”

Zoro’s face flushes a shade of red that would normally precede the opening stages of a fight. Before he can respond, however, Chopper cuts them both off with a raised hoof.

“You probably are okay to go back to your own room,” he decides, “but I draw the line at you doing anything physical for at least the rest of the day. If you agree to stay here for a little longer so I can keep an eye on you, and then go straight to your own bed, I’ll allow it.”

That sounds like a crap deal to Sanji, especially since it means exiling him from his beloved kitchen for another day. “What about supper?” He demands. “Who’s going to take care of that?”

“We’ve had a roster going the whole time you’ve been out,” Chopper replies. “Whoever’s on supper duty tonight can go ahead as scheduled. Don’t worry,” he adds, “we banned Luffy from taking a turn.”

Given that no one appears to be suffering from food poisoning, Sanji figures that much is obvious. He considers protesting some more, but Chopper’s got a look in his eye that suggests he means business. Between that and the way Zoro’s scowling over the little reindeer’s shoulder, he imagines this is the best offer he’s going to get.

“Fine,” he says grudgingly. “But if any of you fuck up my galley there will be hell to pay.”

“Put another record on,” Zoro snorts. “Like we don’t all know that already.”

Sanji glares at him. “Chopper,” he says through gritted teeth, “since I’m awake now and don’t need a babysitter, can you please kick this idiot out? His presence isn’t exactly helping me stay calm.”

Chopper lets out a nervous giggle. “Um, well, you see …” he starts, only for Zoro to cut him off with a choppy wave of his hand.

“Don’t even go there,” the swordsman says, his tone grim. “It won’t help while he’s like this. Someone should update the others anyway. I can do that while you stay in here with him.”

“Oh, okay.” Chopper says, his eyes narrowing slightly. “If you’re sure. Um, what exactly are you going to tell them?”

Zoro’s mouth twists into something with far too many teeth to be called a smile. “The truth.”

Chopper eyes the swordsman’s retreating back as he marches for the exit, clearly wanting to say something and equally clearly not sure that he should. “What a mess,” he says, as the door opens and closes around the other man.

“You’re telling me,” Sanji grunts. “How long until I can get out of here again?”

Chopper sighs.

*****

Sanji feels multiple pairs of eyes on him when he enters the men’s bunk room. Unsurprised, he sighs, but opts not to push the matter. Instead, he crosses over to his locker and starts rooting around for a change of clothes.

“Alright,” he says, coming up with a worn t-shirt and his most comfortable sleep pants. “Who wants to to be the first to start with the stupid questions?”

Luffy, because he’s Luffy , laughs. “Who says we’re gonna ask stupid questions?” He asks rocking back and forth with his arms crossed behind his head.

Sanji gives him a look. “That’s a stupid question in and of itself, dumbass.”

“How many times are we going to repeat the phrase ‘stupid questions’?” Usopp wants to know, yelping when Zoro throws a balled up pair of socks at his head. “Oh, gross!”

Luffy laughs again, making like he’s going to start flinging his own things about, and Sanji’s quick to cuff him on the back of the head. “Just once,” he says tiredly, “I’d like to see a nighttime routine that doesn’t devolve into foolishness. Although maybe I should be happy nothing seems to have changed, I don’t know.”

Luffy does give him a curious look at that. “So you really don’t remember the last couple years?” He asks, not sounding overly concerned by the notion. In fact, now that Sanji’s cut off his avenue of play, he’s already climbing into his bed, his rubbery limbs flopping all over the place. “That’s so weird.”

“Yeah, try living it,” Sanji mutters. “I don’t feel like I’ve forgotten anything, but then I say something and whoever I’m talking to looks at me like I’ve got three heads. And speaking of things I’m missing,” he says, glancing around suddenly, “Where’s Franky?” 

Chopper has the watch, so that explains his absence, and Luffy’s now gone and made himself comfortable in his bunk while the rest of them are still getting ready for bed. Aside from Sanji himself, however, Zoro, Usopp, and Brook are the only ones present.

Usopp and Brook both freeze. On the other side of the room, Zoro ignores them all in favour of stripping down to his underwear and kicking his dirty clothes into a pile by the wall. Then he grunts and climbs into one of the bottom bunks with an annoyed huff.

The others watch him until he rolls over, effectively placing his back to them all, after which Usopp finally glances back at Sanji.

“Um,” he says carefully, “Franky doesn’t sleep in here anymore.”

Sanji frowns, wondering what the hell that’s supposed to mean. “Was there some kind of fight?”

There’s a scoffing sound from Zoro’s bunk, and Brook lets out a soft chuckle. “No,” he says, settling into his own bunk next to Luffy’s and above Chopper’s empty one. “Our very lucky cyborg friend is simply now sharing a room with the lovely Robin.”

“…oh.” Sanji says weakly. He’d always suspected there was something going on between the two, but the thought that he’d missed it, or worse, that he hadn’t and simply couldn’t remember was like another kick to the gut. “That’s … nice.”

“Right, yeah,” Usopp says, his head bobbing up and down the way it does when he’s about to start nervously babbling. “Sorry we didn’t - I mean, no one thought to tell you, but we really should have. It’s just that this whole situation -,”

“It’s fine, Usopp.” Sanji raises a hand to stop any more word vomit in its tracks. “I was only asking. Although,” he adds, feeling his features twist in a frown as another thought occurs to him, “where the hell are they sleeping? Surely they’re not in his workshop.”

Usopp snorts. “No, they’ve got the captain’s quarters.”

“The captain’s - oh.” Belatedly, Sanji remembers that Sunny had technically been built with private quarters for both her captain and first mate. Because Luffy and Zoro had always bunked with the rest of them, though, they’d only ever been used for extra storage. “I guess that works.”

“Right?” Usopp says. “I mean, it’s not like Luffy cares, so the space was there.”

“Of course.” Pulling on his pair of sleep pants, Sanji distantly notes that his locker is not as stringently organized as he normally keeps it. He’ll have to tidy it up when he has a chance. He changes and then moves to climb into his own bunk under Luffy’s and next to Zoro’s. 

His mattress feels stiff, probably because it hasn’t been slept in for days, and he punches his pillow a few times in quick succession to try and force it into a more comfortable arrangement. Once he’s satisfied it’s as good as it’s going to get, he flops down on his stomach with a quiet huff.

Above him, he hears the sounds of Usopp climbing into his own bed and moving around to get comfortable. The sniper’s breathing doesn’t take long to even out, and Brook’s quiet snores have long since added to the cacaphony that is their captain’s. Out of all of the usual suspects only Zoro’s appear to be missing.

“Can’t sleep, Mosshead?” He asks, at least slightly against his better judgement.

Enough time passes that he’s almost given up on getting an answer, but then to his surprise he sees Zoro roll over in the darkness, shifting so they’re facing each other.

“No,” the swordsman says. A simple, quiet admission set free into the night. 

“You worried?” Sanji asks, again against his better judgement.

“…yeah,” Zoro admits, and Sanji feels his eyebrows lift in surprise.

“…well,” he says uncertainly, “…don’t be. Chopper says the memories should return, and even if they don’t I’m physically fine. This isn’t going to kill me, and I can live with losing a couple years if I have to.”

“…right.”

That’s it. Zoro doesn’t say anything else, instead opting to roll back around as quickly as he had the first time. Meanwhile, Sanji is left staring at the broad expanse of his back, feeling like he’s somehow seriously dropped the ball on something.

It’s a thought that keeps him awake far into the night.

*****

Since Chopper hadn’t directed otherwise, Sanji climbs out of bed at his usual time the next morning, intent on getting back into his kitchen and everyday routine. No one else rouses as he dresses and leaves, meaning at least that much hasn’t changed.

The same can thankfully be said for the kitchen as well. All his tools and utensils are exactly where they should be, and his ingredients are as stocked as ever. There are maybe a few items that are more full or empty than he remembers, but that makes sense given that literal years have passed.

Sanji shies away from that thought as soon as it enters his mind. For all that he’d claimed last night that he’d be able to carry on if his memories didn’t return, he really doesn’t want to. Already prodding at the empty spaces leaves him feeling flat footed and uncomfortable. The last thing he wants is for that feeling to remain indefinitely.

Figuring he should be mindful of Chopper’s request that he not over exert himself, he goes with a simple meal for the morning, deciding that one can never go wrong with the staple of bacon, eggs, and toast. He also slices up various fruits, arranging them on a plate in the centre of the table, and sets out an assortment of juices while putting the kettle on.

“Smells good.”

His soul very nearly exiting his body, Sanji whirls around from where he’s been in the process of plating toast onto a tray. He manages not to send the whole thing flying in surprise, but admittedly only barely.

“Damnit, Mosshead,” he snaps. “What are you doing up this early?”

Running a hand through his hair - which looks even more ridiculous than usual, standing up the way it is - Zoro shrugs. “You made a lot of noise getting up this morning,” he says around a yawn. “Woke me up.”

Sanji glares at him. “I made no more noise than usual, you moron, and we both know you can sleep through anything anyway.”

“Whatever,” Zoro replies, looking unconcerned. “Is there coffee?”

“Of course there’s coffee. What do you take me for?”

“A cranky asshole,” Zoro says, already lumbering over to the machine so he can pour himself a cup. “Is your head still bothering you?”

“I’m fine,” Sanji growls, although now that it’s been pointed out, he notes that he’s still feeling the faint strains of a headache. Apparently, a full night’s sleep in his own bed hadn’t been quite enough to fix the issue.

And in all honesty it hadn’t been the greatest sleep in the world either. He’d found himself tossing and turning for much of the night, restless and unable to get comfortable. Not that Zoro needed to know that, of course.

Although judging from the suspicious glance he gives him over the rim of his coffee mug, Sanji suspects he might be aware anyway. There’s a strange glint in the swordsman’s eye that suggests he knows more than he’s letting on.

“Stop staring at me,” Sanji snaps because just like yesterday he finds it unnerving. “And sit down if you insist on being in here. You’re getting underfoot.”

“Wouldn’t want that now would we,” Zoro drawls, barely shifting in time to miss the kick Sanji aims at his shins. “Tch! Couple days malingering in a hospital bed and your reflexes get shot to shit.”

It’s only the fact that they’re in the sacred ground of the galley that stops Sanji from caving the idiot’s skull in. “Don’t push me, moss for brains,” he snaps, waving a spatula for emphasis. “I’m more than willing to take this outside and hand you your own ass if that’s what you want.”

Fully expecting Zoro to take him up on this, Sanji’s therefore surprised when the other man raises his hands in a placating gesture. “I’m not trying to cause a fight,” he says, bizarrely sincere. “And I don’t need Chopper on my case for messing with you right now.”

Sanji blinks, thrown. Not wanting to appear as such though, he turns away under the guise of needing to check on the food. He knows intellectually that enough time has passed between now and what he remembers for their relationship to have changed - maybe mellowed, even - but the Zoro he remembers from all of 24 hours ago had been terse at best and outwardly angry with him at worst. Trying to superimpose him overtop of the version currently posted up at the table, slurping happily from his coffee mug, is difficult to say the least.

It hits him, arguably for the first time, that he really is missing a significant chunk of his life. To him it feels like he’d fled Totto Land all of a week ago, and he keeps expecting the crew to act like that’s the case as well. Instead, they’re not, and it’s left him feeling seriously off kilter.

“You okay there, Curly?” Zoro’s voice cuts through Sanji’s musings as easily as his swords slice through enemies, both his eyebrows raised when Sanji shifts to look at him. “You look like you’re lost in your own head.”

That’s close enough to the truth that Sanji feels his mask of cool indifference start to slip. Sternly reminding himself how unacceptable that is, he schools it back into place and shrugs. “I’m fine.”

Zoro’s brow furrows, and his mouth works like he wants to say something. He must decide against it, however, because instead he sighs and takes another sip from his mug. “How long before breakfast is ready?”

“As long as it takes,” Sanji replies, and he’ll never admit it but he’s grateful for the out. “Longer still if you keep badgering me.”

“Whatever,” Zoro grunts.

He stays where he is as Sanji once again returns his attention to the food, not saying anything more for several minutes until the smell of bacon starts permeating the room. Then he shifts, his chair emitting a groaning sound no doubt thanks to his weight. “You want a hand with setting the table?”

Sanji very nearly dumps the entire pan of bacon onto the floor. “Come again?” He asks dumbly. “What did you say?”

Zoro looks at him like he’s sprouted a second head. “I asked,” he says slowly, speaking as if Sanji’s the one being ridiculous, “if you wanted some help with the table.”

“That’s what I thought,” Sanji replies, baffled by the very idea. “Since when do you help in the kitchen? Or even offer for that matter?” He jabs the same spatula from earlier in the other man’s direction. “This better not be you taking pity on me because you think I’m injured or some shit.”

Zoro throws his hands up in exasperation. “For fuck’s sake, cook. You really are the worst, you know that?”

“Um?” Says a new voice, followed by the sound of someone nervously clearing their throat. Turning, Sanji sees that Usopp has just entered the galley and is now frozen in the doorway. “Is this a bad time?”

Sanji frowns. “You’re another one who’s up early today. I swear, if you’re all making a fuss over me, I’m not going to be happy.”

Usopp, bafflingly, looks at Zoro. The two of them have a conversation that consists entirely of eyebrow movements and the odd facial tic before the younger man sighs. “I guess that’s a no on your memories having returned, huh?”

“It’s a no,” Zoro confirms, and then adds petulantly, “He’s yelling at me because I offered to help set the table.”

“I thought you were banned from doing that after you broke all those plates Vivi sent from Alabasta?”

Both Sanji and Zoro turn to gape at Usopp with identical expressions of horror, albeit for very different reasons.

“He broke my what ?!”

“Asshole, why’d you have to go and remind him of that ?!”

Usopp yelps and raises his hands in a gesture of surrender as the kitchen descends into chaos. 

“Forget I said anything! And don’t start fight - aw jeez !”

*****

Once the crime against his dishes has been sorted out, Sanji goes back to making breakfast like normal. Eventually the rest of the crew trickle in, eat, and leave, all in the manner they normally would as they go about their duties.

The rest of the day passes much the same way as the morning had. Sanji goes about his usual routine, preparing meals and snacks for the crew and keeping the galley as pristine as ever. Pretty much the only unusual spot in his day is that Chopper calls him into the infirmary in the middle of the afternoon to give him a checkup.

“Are you going to do this every day until my memories come back?” Sanji asks. He’s currently perched on a stool as opposed to the examination bed, watching Chopper as he putters around with a notebook.

Almost absentmindedly, Chopper ticks something off on a chart, and then flips the entire thing closed as he looks up at Sanji. “Not every day, no,” he promises, “and the visits will become less frequent the more time passes regardless.”

“Even if my memories don’t come back?”

Chopper frowns, clearly troubled by the thought, but eventually he lets out a tired sigh. “Yes,” he says quietly. “Even then. Now, how does your head feel?”

“It’s fine,” Sanji replies, even though the residual ache he’d first woken up with has yet to fade. “Nothing I can’t handle.”

Chopper huffs out an exasperated noise. Eventually, however, he must run out of tests to run because he nods and tells Sanji he’s free to go. Not having to be told twice, Sanji makes good on his escape and hustles to the galley just in time to start on his next meal preparations.

Dinner is a quiet affair, with most of the crew being less boisterous than usual. Even Luffy doesn’t steal as much food as he normally would, which is clearly a sign of the apocalypse. Try as he might, Sanji isn’t exactly heartbroken when everyone finishes eating and he’s left to his cleanup duties.

Stacking dirty dishes together until they’re piled high enough that most people wouldn’t be able to shift them without breaking something, he carries everything over to the counter, and once there proceeds to turn on the tap and fill the sink with soapy water. Realizing he needs a dishcloth, Sanji turns to go find a fresh one and runs smack dab into a solid wall of muscle. 

“What the hell, Marimo?” Bouncing off and then away from Zoro’s ridiculous body, Sanji rubs the bridge of his nose irritably and glares at the other man through his fringe. “Supper’s over and everyone else has fled. Why are you still here?”

Zoro freezes where he has one hand extended towards the rack that holds the clean dishcloths. “I …” he says, staring at his hand for a moment before letting it drop down to his side. “Sorry,” he says gruffly. “Force of habit.”

“Say what?” Following the other man’s gaze, Sanji stares at the unassuming rack like he’ll somehow be able to find the answers to the myriad of questions currently chasing themselves around in his brain. “Don’t tell me you’ve become my dishboy when I wasn’t looking.”

“Kinda?” Zoro supplies, refusing to meet Sanji’s gaze. “I wash. You dry. We’ve done it that way for ages.”

No, they most certainly have not, at least not as far as Sanji’s concerned. According to his mind, there was the occasional rota put in place to help with kitchen clean up when they had enough downtime to allow for it, but other than that the task fell to him. 

Opening his mouth to say as much, he stops to take in Zoro’s expression first. The other man looks … lost . There’s no other way to describe it. He’s still staring at the dishcloths like they might somehow contain the secrets of the universe, and Sanji’s chest tightens in a way he most decidedly doesn’t care for.

“…fine,” he says, reaching out to grab the nearest available cloth and shove it in Zoro’s direction. “I suppose I shouldn’t be looking a gift horse in the mouth while I’ve got it.”

Zoro’s hand closes around the cloth automatically, scarred fingers briefly brushing Sanji’s as they move to grasp at the bright blue fabric. “Are you sure?”

“Don’t ask stupid questions,” Sanji retorts. “And if you break any of my dishes again I’ll have Nami take it out of your debt.”

One corner of Zoro’s mouth twists up in a faint smile. “You always say that.”

“It bears repeating,” Sanji tells him. “Get to work, you useless houseplant.”

“You always say that too.”

Sanji rolls his eyes as he pulls out a dry towel for him to use, and they start to work. Unfortunately, the ensuing silence they lapse into is anything but comfortable and Sanji finds himself needing to fill it.

“So,” he says, dragging the word out when he can’t quite figure out what he wants to say. “I don’t suppose you’d care to fill me in on everything I’m missing?”

“Thought Chopper said not to try and force anything to come back,” Zoro replies, the bulk of his attention on a heavy duty pan he’s scrubbing industriously.

Sanji watches him long enough to be satisfied he’s not going to damage it, and then returns to his own task. “Chopper told me not to try that,” he says, swiping at a plate until it gleams. “I hardly see how having someone else provide the details is the same thing.”

“Mm,” Zoro says, neither agreeing or disagreeing.

“Well?” Sanji prods when he doesn’t say anything else. “Are you going to answer me or not?”

Zoro’s quiet for long enough that Sanji figures it’s going to be a no, but then he finally finishes with the pan and catches Sanji’s eye as he’s handing it over. “What’s the last thing you remember? Whole Cake Island, right?”

“Yeah.”

“From just after you got back?”

“That’s right,” Sanji agrees. “As far as my head’s concerned, we’re barely speaking right now.”

Zoro frowns, his gaze returning to the sink. “We got over that,” he says gruffly, making Sanji snort.

“No shit,” he says, when Zoro looks at him sharply. “You’ve gone from ignoring me to hovering. It’s like you’ve done a complete one-eighty. I’ve got that much, though,” he adds pointedly. “It’s everything else I don’t remember.”

Zoro shrugs, now pulling up a handful of cutlery and beginning to wash each item individually. “There’s not much to tell. We sail, we visit islands, we get kicked off of islands, and we get into fights. Same old, same old.”

“There must be some things you can tell me though like - like Robin and Franky,” Sanji notes. “When did that happen? How did that happen? Beautiful Robin could do so much better.”

“She’s happy, cook,” Zoro says sharply, more sharply than Sanji thinks he intends if the way his shoulders tense is anything to go by. “And they were a thing before where your memories crap out, just nobody knew it yet.”

“I see,” Sanji says, speaking carefully because he now feels like he’s accidentally stumbled onto a minefield, though for the life of him he doesn’t know how. “Well. Good for them.”

“Sure.” Zoro grunts, and even though part of him wants to keep asking questions, Sanji decides enough is enough for one night. He closes his mouth and they finish the rest of the dishes in silence.

*****

Days pass, his bruises from the fight fade, and nothing else changes except that Sanji can’t shake the nagging feeling he’s forgotten something. Which - he has forgotten something, it’s true, but this is different, more pressing. In recent days, he’s become positive that the crew is hiding something from him, but he can’t put his finger on what it could be.

Aside from the fact, that is, that Zoro is definitely at the centre of the issue. Not to put too fine a point on it, but the swordsman is acting really fucking weird. If Sanji didn’t know any better he’d think Zoro was the one with a head injury. 

He keeps watching Sanji, is the thing. One moment the cook will be going about his business - bringing the ladies snacks, smoking over Sunny’s railing, doing his regular chores, etc - and the next he’ll feel the weight of a heavy stare between his shoulder blades. Then, each time he looks around, he’ll find Zoro somewhere in the vicinity, usually trying and failing to pretend like he’s asleep.

It’s almost like the other man is pouting or some shit. He’s wandering the ship like a toddler who’s had its favourite toy taken away, and Sanji cannot for the life of him figure out why.

He asks Usopp about it one afternoon while he’s hanging laundry on the line strung up on the far end of the ship. The sniper has been sitting nearby for the past several minutes, idly tinkering with a fishing pole, and Sanji figures he’s as good a source of information as any. Both because he’s got a nose for gossip that usually keeps him in the loop with everything going on around him and because his cowardly tendencies make him the most likely to cave and give up information under pressure. 

Case in point - Usopp becomes suddenly fascinated by the pole in his hands when Sanji casually mentions that Zoro’s been acting weird since he got sprung free from the infirmary. 

“Weird? What do you mean, weird? I mean,” Usopp coughs, probably trying to stall for time so he can force his voice back down to its normal register, as opposed to the shrill pitch it’s now at. “This is Zoro we’re talking about here. It’d be more weird for him not to be acting … weird. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Sanji takes a quick drag from his current cigarette before levelling the younger man with his best suspicious glare. “He’s skulking around like I poured all the booze off the ship right in front of him, and he keeps looking at me. I want to know why.”

Usopp offers him a weak shrug. “I think we’re all doing that, man. You got hurt and we can’t help but worry about you.”

“Mosshead doesn’t worry about anything,” Sanji says before he can stop himself. “Least of all me.”

Usopp makes a face. “I’m gonna guess that’s your missing memories talking there,” he says, scratching awkwardly at the base of his neck. “You’re still stuck somewhere around Whole Cake Island, aren’t you?”

“So what?” Sanji demands, not really wanting to get into it.

“So things were different back then than they are now,” Usopp says patiently. “That was over two years ago. How you remember your relationship with Zoro right now, hell, how you remember your relationships with all of us, are not the same as what we’re familiar with.”

“Not that I’m saying that’s your fault,” he hastens to add. “God no, please stop glaring at me. I’m too young to die.”

Sanji manfully wills his expression into something slightly less ferocious. “So, what you’re saying is,” he says as patiently as he can, “the idiot swordsman and I are on better terms now, but he’s the only one who remembers that.”

“Yes,” Usopp says, and he’s not a good enough actor to hide the fact that he thinks this should be obvious. “That is exactly what I’m saying.”

And yes, okay, intellectually Sanji has known this, as he is not, in fact, a complete idiot. He’s bright enough to understand that his and Zoro’s interactions have smoothed out between now and the time frame he remembers, but that does nothing to get rid of the odd itch that’s telling him there’s more to it than that.

“Zoro is acting weird,” he reiterates. “Even for him and the situation, he is not himself, and I want to know why.”

“Then you should talk to him,” Usopp says, this time with an edge to his voice that suggests he’s really not going to let himself be browbeat into giving up the answer. “I’m sorry, but I’m not getting in the middle of whatever’s going on between you two. I like my face the way it is, thanks.”

“Hmmph,” Sanji says, and goes back to moodily smoking his cigarette.

*****

Usopp’s advice - for lack of a better word - isn’t entirely off the mark, Sanji knows this. If he wants an explanation for the strange behaviour of their resident barbarian, asking the man in question is likely his best bet. The problem with that is, though, that Zoro clearly has no desire to discuss it. Their fruitless conversation that first night while doing the dishes serves as the perfect case in point.

Still, Sanji is not a man to be easily dissuaded, and since his memories have yet to have the decency to come back on their own, he figures something has to give. Hence why he corners Zoro in the crow’s nest the next time he has a free afternoon, slipping up top under the guise of delivering the last of a round of snacks.

Zoro’s meditating when Sanji arrives, sitting cross legged on one of the padded benches with his hands folded in his lap. He doesn’t move when Sanji sets a tray down next to him, so the cook feels justified in grabbing a towel off a nearby weight rack and snapping it in his face.

A grey eye snaps open, zeroing in on Sanji with a laser focus. Undaunted, Sanji snaps the towel again, hoping to himself that it’s seen the inside of the washing machine sometime within the last few months.

“Up, Mosshead,” he says firmly. “It’s hot as fuck out today, so even the local plantlife needs watering.”

Zoro’s gaze shifts to the tray now resting near his hip before moving back to Sanji. “I’m not hungry.”

Sanji bristles, a familiar flare of heat swirling up his legs even as he sternly tells it to go back down again. “It wasn’t a request,” he says then. “You know the rules about meal and snack times on this ship. There’s no way I’ve relaxed them in the last two years.”

Much to his surprise, Zoro’s face twitches like it does when he’s amused and trying not to show it. The expression doesn’t last long, however. In fact, it’s gone so quickly Sanji finds himself half wondering if he hadn’t imagined it. 

Biting back a sigh, he grabs a cigarette from his latest pack, lighting it with a quick flick of his lighter as he and Zoro continue their little stalemate. “You’re being ridiculous,” he says, only partly referring to the idiot’s stubborn refusal to eat. “And it’s getting on my nerves.”

Zoro shrugs, not looking particularly apologetic, and continues to say nothing.

“ Marimo ,” Sanji says sharply. “Eat the damn food.”

“I said I’m not hungry,” Zoro finally replies. “Leave it here and I’ll eat when I feel like it.”

Like Sanji’s going to trust that declaration in light of the swordsman’s obviously crappy mood. Knowing Zoro he’s going to conveniently ‘forget’ about the snack the second Sanji’s back is turned. He takes a long drag from his cigarette, blowing the smoke out in a steady stream.

“You can either eat it,” he says slowly, “or you can tell me why you’ve been acting weird ever since I woke up from the accident.”

Caught off guard, Zoro flinches. It’s slight, no doubt over quick enough that he hopes he can hide it, but of the two of them, Sanji’s always been the faster one. “I’m not acting weird.”

Sanji takes another drag, refusing to look away. “Yes, you are,” he says. “And it’s not just because a lot of time has passed between what I remember and now. You’re acting weird in ways that the rest of the crew isn’t.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Zoro mutters, and there’s a faint reddish tinge tinting the skin of his face that Sanji knows means he’s getting flustered, “You’re imagining things, stupid cook.”

“Alright then.” Pinching off the end of his still lit cigarette, Sanji flicks it away and plants his hands on his hips, firming up his stance to show he means business. “Spar with me.”

Zoro jerks in surprise more notably this time. “What?”

For his part, Sanji just continues to stare at him, his resolve unshaken. “I said spar with me,” he repeats. “I haven’t had a good bout since before I woke up in the infirmary, and I’m feeling an increasing urge to connect my foot with the side of your thick skull. So. Grab your damn swords.”

“No.” Zoro replies, and this time it’s Sanji who’s caught off guard because there is absolutely no room for argument in the other man’s tone. He’s as firm and resolute as Sanji’s ever heard him, pointedly not moving an inch towards the rack where his blades are currently resting.

Sanji gapes at him. “What do you mean, no?”

“I mean exactly what I say,” Zoro informs him. “I’m not sparring with you. You’ve got a fucking head injury.”

“Oh like that’s ever stopped you before,” Sanji scoffs, feeling even more off kilter than he had when Chopper had first announced his diagnosis. “Get off your ass and come at me.”

“ No .” Zoro says, even more forcefully than before. “And if you try to start something I’m just going to sit here and take it.”

Sanji stares. “What,” he starts, “the absolute, unmitigated fuck? I’m sorry, is this somehow supposed to convince me that you’re acting normal? Come on and fight me, you crap excuse for a swordsman!”

“I said no,” Zoro grits out. “I’m not going to change my mind, and to put it plainly, you literally can’t make me .”

The worst of it is, that’s entirely correct. Sanji can wail on the other man as much as he wants, but there’s no way he can physically force Zoro to fight back if he refuses. It’s just that not once in all the years they’ve known each other has that happened. Amnesia be damned, Sanji knows he’s right on this one.

“You,” he says acidly, “are not yourself at all, and you are hiding something from me. Don’t think you can cover it up by using my fucked up head as an excuse, you damn coward!”

And that more than anything should get Zoro moving. Lord knows he’s killed other men for less. All it does, though, is earn him a scowl and a narrow-eyed glare.

“You should go,” Zoro says, after what feels like a small eternity has passed between them. “I promise I’ll eat the damned food.”

Sanji matches his glare with one of his own, feeling suddenly worn out in a way he hasn’t for ages as he realizes this isn’t going to get him anywhere. “You’d better,” he replies, and promptly turns on his heel to leave.

He feels a familiar heavy stare on his back as he stalks away, but tries to ignore it.

*****

Sanji does his best to put the incident in the crow’s nest out of his mind. He’ll admit, if only to himself, that he doesn’t do a particularly good job of it, but if there’s one thing he’s always been good at it’s putting on a brave face over a mind wrought with turmoil. Therefore, he resolves to set aside all thoughts of Zoro, and go about his business.

This works for all of two days until the afternoon rolls around and he exits the galley with a tray of individually prepared snacks balanced on each hand. A quick glance towards the lawn reveals that neither of the ladies is out in the open at the moment, so he heads in the direction of the aquarium to check there first.

The room is surprisingly empty, the dimly lit tank the only thing casting any light inside. Sanji watches a few fish swim lazily about for a moment, before moving on towards his next destination.

Third time must be the charm because when he carefully nudges open the door to the library, he finds Nami hunched over her drafting desk, her lovely brow furrowed in deep concentration as she traces a line with intense precision. As always, he’s in awe of her talent.

Since both his hands are full, he can’t really knock to announce his presence, so he taps the heel of his shoe against the deck, hoping it won’t bother her too much. “Would you care for a light afternoon respite, Nami, my dear?”

“Hmm? Oh.” The bulk of her attention still focused on her map, Nami glances at him from over her shoulder, but returns to her task almost immediately. “Thanks, Sanji. That’s really sweet of you.”

“Not nearly as sweet as you,” he gushes, moving to set the tray in his right hand - this one laden with tea and a plate of carefully arranged tangerine slices - down in a spot that’s both within Nami’s reach but secure enough not to risk it tipping over. “Is there anything else I can get you?”

“No, this is fine,” she replies, not looking up from her desk this time. “I’m in the middle of a tricky part at the moment, so I don’t need anything big distracting me. A light snack is just the thing to hit the spot.”

“I’m so glad I could accommodate you,” Sanji trills, as delighted as ever by her praise. “I’ll leave the tray here and you can bring it back when you’re done. Or I can come get it. Whichever works best for you.”

“Sure sure,” Nami says absently. “That’s fine.”

Not wanting to intrude any longer, especially since she’s clearly heavily engaged in her work, Sanji turns to leave, only to have a thought occur to him right before he crosses the threshold. “You wouldn’t happen to know where Robin is, would you? She wasn’t out on deck or in the aquarium, so I figured she’d be in here.”

“I think she said something about bringing a new book to her quarters,” Nami replies distractedly. “She’s probably curled up in that little nook of hers.”

“ … right. Of course,” Sanji says, even though he has no idea what she’s talking about beyond the fact that Robin’s apparently in the room that now belongs to her and Franky. “I’ll just go check there then, thank you.”

“Mhm. No problem.” Nami waves distractedly, her hand already dropping back down to the paper as Sanji closes the door behind himself.

He takes a moment to debate whether or not it’s appropriate for him to bring Robin a snack in her private quarters, but he doesn’t like the idea of the food potentially going to waste or that of Robin thinking he hadn’t prepared anything for her. Deciding he can at least knock on the door and then leave if his presence isn’t welcome, he heads for the area that contains the captain and first mate’s rooms.

Upon arriving, he finds himself blinking at the short, squat hallway that has two identical doors facing each other. He can’t for the life of him remember which is which, and he feels an ache begin to start up at the base of his skull the longer he stands there trying to figure it out.

He’s just about to say to hell with it and pick a random room, when the door to his left clicks open and Franky lumbers out into the hallway. They stand there blinking at each other for a moment, before the cyborg lowers his sunglasses slightly, peering down at Sanji from over the rim.

“You okay there, cook-bro?” He asks, his head tilting slightly to the side. “You’re lookin’ a little lost.”

“Oh, um, sorry.” Feeling oddly caught out, Sanji shakes his head to bring himself out of the weird stupor he’s managed to fall into. “It’s nothing,” he says quickly. “I have Robin’s afternoon snack, is all, and I, uh, couldn’t remember which room was which.”

It’s a painful admission to have to make, and he’s not sure if the indulgent way Franky smiles at him makes him feel better or worse.

(That’s a lie. He knows exactly which one it is, and it’s not the former.)

Franky, however, is kind enough not to push. “No worries, bro,” he says flippantly. “You found us in the end.”

“Right, yeah.” Sanji allows himself a small laugh at his own expense, rubbing at the back of his neck with his free hand. “You had good timing, though. I was about to just pick a door, and I was going to go with the other one.”

Franky makes a weird squeaking noise, but quickly waves it away with both massive hands. “Well I’m glad I came out when I did then,” he says a little too loudly. “There’s nothing in there that needs feeding, and I definitely can’t have my girl going hungry. That would be so not super.”

“You know I’d never let that happen,” Sanji’s quick to assure him, even as he finds himself fighting down a sudden urge to crane his neck around and look at the door behind him. “No one goes hungry on this ship, least of all the ladies.”

Franky flashes him a pair of matching thumbs up, and then shifts away from the door to his room. The two of them do a kind of awkward dance as they shuffle around each other within the confines of the narrow hallway, but in the end Sanji’s standing in front of the correct door, while the other is literally hidden from view by the cyborg’s form. 

“Catch you later, cook-bro,” Franky says, and then bizarrely doesn’t move an inch.

Shaking his head at his crewmate’s antics, Sanji reaches up to rap his knuckles against the door, swiftly grabbing for the handle when a quiet voice tells him to come in.

“I promise I’m not Franky having forgotten something,” he jokes as he steps inside.

Robin looks up from where she’s comfortably ensconced in a plush armchair, a book resting open in her lap and her page marked by a few spread fingers. “No, you’re something far more pleasant in this instance,” she says with a smile, her eyes straying to the tray of tea and sandwiches in Sanji’s hands. “Are those for me?”

“Well, I certainly didn’t come here to make you watch me eat them in front of you,” he assures her. “I can’t imagine anything more vulgar.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Robin says with a laugh. Straightening slightly, she sets her book down on a nearby table and reaches out for the snack. “I’m sure you could if you really put your mind to it.”

Even though he knows it’s rude, Sanji can’t quite help but let curiosity get the better of him and glances around the room while Robin takes her tea from his tray. The few times he remembers being in here, the place was always filled with bags and boxes, detritus from previous stops that the crew didn’t know what to do with. Now it’s downright homey.

It’s not a huge room, and most of it is dominated by a large bed that’s no doubt made necessary by Franky’s massive size. One corner holds the reading nook Robin’s currently curled up in, while across from that is a standing wardrobe that he vaguely recognizes from the room she used to share with Nami.

Robin catches him staring. “It’s not much,” she says, smiling at him from over the rim of her teacup, “but it’s nice to have a space to call our own.”

His chest hurting all of a sudden, Sanji gives her a weak grin. “And you deserve nothing less, of course.”

She returns his smile with a skeptical lift of her eyebrow. “Are you alright, Sanji? You seem a little off.”

About to admit that he feels the opening strains of a headache coming on, he makes an abrupt change of course at her next words.

“Should I call Chopper?”

“Oh no, no need of that,” he says quickly, tucking the tray he’s still holding under his arm and backtracking towards the door as fast as he can without being rude. “I’m just a bit tired, is all. I’ve been on my feet all day - trying out new recipes, you know. Enjoy your snack.”

He’s out the door before she can say anything else, breathing a sigh of relief when no limbs sprout from the back of the wood panelling so she can continue the conversation. As much as he adores her, he does not need more of the crew’s oppressive concern right now.

Turning, he finds himself once again staring at the opposite end of the small hallway, coming face to face with a door identical to the one he’s just exited. It’s the first mate’s quarters, he notes, the room that technically belongs to Zoro even though he never uses it.

A sharp spike of pain in his left temple causes Sanji to wince, and he rubs absently at the spot while he continues staring at the unassuming door. Something is telling him to open it, almost as if doing so will make whatever’s going on with his brain calm down. 

Figuring it can’t hurt, he reaches out to turn the handle.

Chapter Text

Sanji had been expecting to find a room full of haphazard storage items, whereas what he actually stumbles across is entirely different. Blinking, he peers into the depths of the room, confused.

It’s a bedroom, one even more spartan than Robin and Franky’s, but a bedroom nevertheless. One side of the room is mainly dominated by a double bed that’s tucked up against the wall, an end table with a small lamp resting next to it, while the other boasts a wardrobe and small writing desk that’s littered with various papers.

They’re meal plans, he notes as he draws nearer, recognizing his own handwriting scrawled across the pages, itemized to show what ingredients he had on hand at given times. He also sees a few recipes, likely ideas he’d wanted to try and had written down so as not to forget.

Almost absently, he reaches out and picks up the sheet resting at the top of the pile. Unsurprisingly, it’s marked with the date from right before the accident, no doubt something he’d been toying with when he’d gotten hurt. His jaw tensing, Sanji sets the page back down, frustrated by the fact that he can tell this is his space, but still can’t remember it. 

Stepping away from the desk, he shifts to look at the wardrobe instead. The handle turns easily in his hand when he grabs it, and the familiar scent of his own cologne wafts out as he opens the door, accompanied by something else, something sharper that his brain shies away from.

It’s a decent sized wardrobe, definitely big enough to hold his own clothes and more. It is also, notably, completely empty, someone having gone through and cleaned up every last item, leaving it bare of even so much as a stray hangar.

Sanji tilts his head, squinting. The longer he looks at it, the more he can picture the contents it’s supposed to possess. His own clothes, he knows with sudden certainty, have always rested on the left hand side, where they typically take up more than their allotted half - encroaching on that of the room’s other occupant.

He freezes at that thought, realizing that there’s no way he’s had this place all to himself. Franky and Robin had inherited the captain’s quarters because they were together and deserved their own space. If this is his room, then that means he’s in a similar situation.

An odd sensation tickling at the base of his skull, Sanji twists until he’s looking directly at the bed, noting once again how it’s definitely big enough for two people - two decent sized ones at that. Then something catches his eye, and he wanders over for a closer look.

It’s some kind of shelving unit, he realizes, mounted directly into the far wall and containing three levels of hooks for whatever it’s meant to hold. And, oh, he knows what it’s meant to hold. It becomes painfully obvious the longer he stares.

Keeping something from him indeed.

Not sure how to react, Sanji reaches into his pocket for a cigarette, needing something to ground him. He fumbles slightly with his lighter when he brings it up too, but eventually gets the damn thing going and is able to take a quick drag.

Sitting down on the bed, he puts his lighter away and rests the serving tray he’s still holding on the end table, smoking quietly in direct contrast to the way his thoughts are going a mile a minute. In fact, he’s so caught up in his own head, he doesn’t realize he’s no longer alone until there’s another body standing in the still open doorway.

“You’re not supposed to be in here,” a strained voice says, jerking Sanji out of his quiet contemplation.

For a moment, Sanji considers getting viciously, irrevocably angry, but the feeling passes as quickly as it had come. Instead, he takes a long drag from the cigarette between his lips, and then leans over to stub it out in the ashtray resting atop the end table next to the bed.

“Why not?” He asks, his eyes locked on the filter as he grinds out the tiny flame. “It’s my room, isn’t it?”

“Or should I say ours?” He asks, finally turning around once he’s satisfied there’s nothing but ash to worry about.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Zoro says from where he’s standing ramrod straight in the doorway.

“Liar,” Sanji says. Reaching out with his other hand, he brings it to the wall and lets his fingers graze over the rack mounted at exactly the right height for someone who’s just woken up to grab whatever might be resting on it.

“Three hooks for three swords,” he notes. “And an ashtray on the opposite side. Guess I don’t have to ask who sleeps where.”

“It’s not -,” Zoro tries. “ We’re not -,”

“Oh, I think that’s quite enough of that , Mosshead,” Sanji says firmly. Dropping his hand down, he slaps it heavily against the empty space next to him on the mattress. “Get your ass over here. You’ve got some explaining to do.”

Sanji’s not sure what he’s expecting - a full on fight, maybe, if not at least some show of resistance, but that’s not what he gets. Instead, Zoro simply shuffles into the room, his head hanging low and a hangdog expression firmly in place as he sits down on the bed just out of reach, the door closing shut behind him with a definitive click.

“What do you want to know?” He asks quietly.

Sanji thinks it over. What does he want to know? Everything? Nothing? Somewhere in between? His head feels like it’s racing a mile a minute, thoughts tripping over themselves as he tries to sort out how to proceed. Finally, he settles on the question that’s at the forefront of his mind.

“How long?”

Zoro suddenly becomes fascinated with the worn quilt covering the bed, picking at a line of stitching with his fingers in a way that’s surely going to tear it if he continues. “A while,” he says evasively.

“No shit,” Sanji scoffs, having been able to figure that much out for himself. No way are they openly sharing quarters for a relationship that’s still in its early stages. “How about a little more detail there, Marimo? Or are you really going to keep being an absolute chickenshit with this?”

Zoro’s hand stalls, his fingers clenching into a tight fist in obvious irritation, but he still doesn’t look up. “After Whole Cake, Totto Land, whatever the fuck you want to call it, we weren’t in a good place. You were trying to save face by acting like nothing had happened and I … was more upset than I wanted to let on. Eventually, we fought. Things were said. Shit got sorted out.”

Sanji eyes him warily. “Whole Cake Island was years ago, or so I’m told.”

“Mhm.” Zoro says helpfully.

Sanji blows out a heavy breath he didn’t realize he was holding. “Okay,” he says carefully. “So, for all that time, we’ve been -?” Unable to say it, he flicks a hand back and forth between the two of them, hoping the gesture is enough to get his point across.

It must be because Zoro finally looks at him, and for the briefest of moments his mouth quirks up in a faint grin.

“Together?” He supplies, the grin getting even bigger when Sanji nods jerkily. “Yeah.” 

“Huh,” Sanji says, needing a moment to process that. “Are you sure?”

It’s the worst possible thing he could have said. Zoro jerks like he’s been slapped, his grin vanishing and his head ducking down to focus on the bedding again. He mumbles something like, “Pretty sure,” under his breath, and Sanji doesn’t have to be psychic to tell that he’s hurt.

“Sorry,” he blurts, more than a little appalled by his blunder. “That was … really insensitive.”

“S’fine,” Zoro says, even though it very much isn’t.

Moving purely on instinct, Sanji reaches out and curls his hand around the side of the other man’s neck, his thumb brushing over the plane of one sharp cheekbone as he uses his hold to tip Zoro’s face back up. 

“I’m sorry,” he repeats, much more seriously this time. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

Zoro’d closed his good eye when he’d broken their gazes, but now he cracks it back open to peer at Sanji through the lid. Then slowly, oh so slowly, he relaxes by increments until he’s sagging into Sanji’s grip, the side of his face practically cradled in his palm. 

Sanji stares, completely floored by this blatant show of trust. He watches as Zoro, there’s no other word for it, nuzzles into his touch, like he’d burrow his way under Sanji’s skin if he could. It can lead him to only one conclusion.

“You love me, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” Zoro replies, like it’s the easiest thing in the world, like it’s obvious . “‘Course I do.”

Except there’s nothing obvious about it for Sanji. He’s had just enough experience with real love to know what it looks like - first from his mother and then later, in his own way, from Zeff - but too little to ever imagine it being a regular occurance. The idea of finding it again with Zoro of all people is, well, it’s a lot to take in, that’s for certain.

And speaking of Zoro, he’s now eyeing him with a knowing expression. As Sanji watches, he brings his own hand up to tangle their fingers together, pulling away slightly so he can brush a kiss to the back of Sanji’s knuckles.

“I know that look,” he says darkly. “That’s a bad look. Whatever your brain is saying right now, tell it to shut the fuck up because it’s lying to you. I love you, and so does everyone else on this ship.”

“How did you - I wasn’t,” Sanji starts, and this time Zoro nips sharply at his knuckles with his teeth, before soothing the admonishing sting with another kiss.

“You were,” he says, “but I’ll cut you some slack since I know fucking Whole Cake is really close to the surface for you right now.”

Sanji can’t help it, he snorts. “How kind of you.”

Zoro shrugs. “I’m trying here, cook. And I know this is messy for you, but honestly, it is for me too.”

“Yeah,” Sanji agrees, deciding that’s fair. “I get that. Although, what I don’t get is why you didn’t just tell me. This would have been so much less confusing if you had.”

Now it’s Zoro’s turn to snort. “That argument might work on somebody else,” he says, “but it’s not going to work on me. Where your head is now, your memories, you weren’t carrying some dumb torch for me or anything. I know that. It took time for you to love me back.”

Sanji needs a moment to go over these words in his head before he can parse out what they mean. “You’re saying I wasn’t in love with you before Whole Cake,” he clarifies. Which is fair enough, he supposes as Zoro nods, he’d felt a certain fondness that at the time he’d have flatly denied if pressed, but he wouldn’t go nearly so far as to call it romantic love. 

“What about you?” He asks then. Zoro’s dropped enough hints during their conversation to make him suspect his feelings go much further back, and he suddenly needs to know if that’s true. “How long has it been for you?”

To his amazement, Zoro’s face colours, and there’s a matching flush on the back of his neck when he tries to look away. “It’s not important,” he mumbles, clearly embarrassed.

“Like hell it isn’t,” Sanji replies, a little awed by his reaction. “Do I normally know? When I have all my memories, I mean.”

“Yeah,” Zoro says, still refusing to make eye contact. “Told you when we fought. When I confessed,” he clarifies, noting Sanji’s confusion. “I told you everything. Didn’t think anything good would come from it, but you surprised me. You said you’d never thought about me that way, but it explained a lot of things.”

“Like what?”

“Dunno?” Zoro shrugs. “I was more focused on the part that came after, where you didn’t kick my ass and instead said we should see if we could have something.”

“And you just went with that?” Sanji asks, both surprised and a little concerned. “You offered me up your whole heart, and when the best I could give you back was a maybe, you still took me up on it?”

He’s not expecting Zoro to meet his gaze then, and his breath catches when that’s exactly what happens. The look on the other man’s face is intense to say the least, leaving Sanji feeling like a bug trapped under a microscope.

“It was an accident. I never planned on telling you anything,” he says. “I was sure my best case scenario was going to be a no and you telling me that we could still be crewmates. My worst case scenario involved a no and one of us having to leave. A maybe was totally outside the realm of possibility, so I grabbed it and ran.”

“Made the right call too,” he adds smugly. “We had a bit of a rocky start, but once you calmed down enough to get out of your own way things were good. Leastaways until you let a fuckin’ marine whack you upside the head and forgot about us altogether that is.”

Sanji glares at him, albeit with less heat than the man deserves. “If I may clarify, I didn’t let that marine do anything. I have it on good authority that I was preventing Usopp from being smeared into paste across the Sunny’s upper deck.”

“Self-sacrificing idiot.”

“Seriously? I have a head injury, asshole. Be nicer to me. And also,” Sanji adds, using their still joined hands to jab a finger harshly in the centre of Zoro’s chest, “if we’re on the subject of self-sacrificial bullshit, may I point out that you’re the one who opted not to tell me what we are to each other, and instead chose to suffer nobly in silence?”

Zoro shrugs. “Chopper said not to stress you out, and that things you were familiar with would be the most likely to help. There was nothing familiar to you about this.”

“So you pretended nothing had happened and dragged the rest of the crew along for the ride, you moron,” Sanji shakes his head. “I knew something was up, and trying to figure out what was only making me more confused. Not to mention pissed off.”

“Sorry,” Zoro says, and he looks contrite enough that Sanji decides to let it go. He’s got the answers he’s been missing now, and even though they’re nothing like what he expected, at least it’s something he can work with.

“It’s fine,” he says, mostly meaning it. “At least now I know, and a bunch of things make sense. No more keeping shit from me, though,” he adds warningly. “Hell, maybe getting the full story of what we’ve been up to these past couple years will help my memories come back.”

Zoro’s quiet for several long seconds, but finally he nods. “Okay, I’ll tell you what you want to know. Except,” he says, giving him a pointed look when Sanji immediately opens his mouth, “how long I wanted you before anything happened. If you want to know that you’ll just have to fucking remember it on your own.”

Closing his mouth with a snap, Sanji decides he can live with that.

*****

It’s late enough in the afternoon that Sanji has to leave soon to go start his supper preparations. Zoro let’s him go with minimal fuss, possibly sensing that he needs some time alone to process the day’s revelations. Either way, Sanji heads for the galley and the relative feeling of safety it provides.

No one comes in to bother him, which is in itself a rarity, but the entire crew piles in as soon as he shouts that it’s ready - from Luffy storming in like a hurricane all the way down to Zoro who ambles in last like usual. 

The table is already set, and Sanji lays out dish after dish the same as always, fussing over Nami and Robin to ensure they have everything they need. Then he plants his hands on his hips and fixes every man at the table with his best narrowed-eyed stare.

“For the record,” he declares, letting his gaze sweep over each of them in turn before finally jerking a thumb in Zoro’s direction, “every last one of you bastards is on notice for not telling me I lost my mind ages ago and started letting Mosshead there into my pants.”

Luffy cackles, Chopper freezes, and Usopp chokes on his drink. Zoro makes a pained face, but keeps right on chewing like he’d expected such an outburst. Sanji’s not sure how he feels about being read so well.

From his spot at the far end of the table, Brook cautiously raises one hand, shrinking backwards when Sanji pins him with a look. “In our defence, it was Zoro’s idea.”

Sanji rolls his eyes. “That was your first mistake then. We’ve all sailed together long enough for you to know better than to let the Marimo be the one to come up with a strategy.”

Several people make various noises of agreement, and Brook nods like he can see the validity of his point. Sanji watches the table for a few moments longer, before nodding. “No more hiding things from me,” he says firmly, and this time he gets a clear assent from everyone.

“Good.” His point made and the meal served, Sanji moves to take the open seat between Zoro and Chopper. The swordsman merely nods at him as he sits, but the little doctor actively shifts to look at him.

“Are you feeling any different, Sanji?” He asks, brown eyes hopeful.

Pausing in the middle of picking up his cutlery, Sanji thinks about it. “I feel better about having figured out what you all were keeping from me,” he says slowly, patting Chopper’s shoulder when he winces, “but I don’t know that I feel much different beyond that.”

“Although,” he says, spearing a piece of fish on his plate and bringing it to his mouth. He chews carefully, savouring the taste before continuing on. “Something weird did happen earlier.”

“Weird how?” Chopper asks, all traces of nervousness vanishing from his tone and being replaced by strict professionalism. “Can you describe your symptoms?”

On Sanji’s other side, Zoro has gone still, his forearm tense where it’s now resting against the table top. Without thinking, Sanji brushes their shoulders together to try and nudge him out of whatever funk he’s fallen into.

“It wasn’t anything bad,” he says, speaking to both men now. “Just when I was in, uh, my room, I guess, earlier I had this weird sense of déjà vu when I opened the closet. Like, it was empty, but I knew it wasn’t supposed to be and I could picture what should be there.”

Chopper makes a funny noise, his face scrunching up as he visibly considers how to respond. “That could be something,” he says slowly. “What were you picturing?”

“Clothes,” Sanji replies, and Chopper’s expression grows more dubious, despite his obvious attempt to hide it.

“That could just be your mind making a common sense assumption,” he starts, but Sanji’s already shaking his head before he can finish.

“Not just any clothes,” he clarifies. “ My clothes. Stuff that I recognized. And, uh, well,” he jerks a thumb in Zoro’s direction. “Stuff that clearly wasn’t mine as well.”

He turns then to focus his gaze fully on Zoro. “I’ve got the left hand side, right? And my things kind of … encroach into your space a little, don’t they?”

“More than a little,” Zoro says, his voice as dry as Sanji’s ever heard it. He’s smiling, though, a real, pleased one that makes his lone remaining eye light up. “But yeah, that’s right.”

“Okay then.” Sanji turns back to Chopper, feeling a grin of his own start tugging at his lips. “That’s got to be a good sign, doesn’t it?”

Chopper flashes an answering smile of his own. “Yes. Hopefully you start remembering more things in the coming days.”

“Meanwhile, hands up everyone who’s surprised that one of Sanji’s first memories to come back was his wardrobe ,” Usopp snickers from across the table.

A heavy thudding sound rings out, and the sniper yelps, dropping his knife and fork in favour of reaching down and rubbing frantically at his shin.

“Ouch! Zoro ! I know that was you.”

Zoro ignores him in favour of focusing on the sea king meat in front of him, but Sanji doesn’t miss the faint smirk curling at the corner of his mouth. It makes something warm stir in the pit of the cook’s stomach, and leaves him wondering what other memories will return next.

*****

When bedtime rolls around that night, Sanji is faced with a conundrum. On the one hand, nothing has really changed where his memories are concerned, so in a way it makes sense to keep sleeping in the men’s bunk room. On the other hand, he has his own space and a much bigger bed tucked away elsewhere, and there’s nothing stopping him from using either of those things. 

Having gone into the bunk room on instinct, Sanji stands in front of his locker, eyeing it warily as he considers his options. Then he marches over to it, shoves the door open, and reaches inside. “Marimo,” he calls over his shoulder. “Come here.”

The sound of footsteps echo behind him, the room having fallen silent as everyone watches him like he’s a particularly interesting specimen that’s somehow wandered onto the ship. Sanji waits until his senses tell him that Zoro’s within reach, and then hauls out an armful of clothing.

“Take these,” he says, tension causing him to treat the items with slightly less care than he normally would. “But don’t move away yet. You’re playing pack mule tonight.”

“Huh?” Zoro says, clearly as quick on the uptake as ever.

Sanji waits a moment to answer, distracting himself by dumping another armload of clothes into Zoro’s hold. “We’re going back to our quarters,” he says finally. “Chopper said familiar surroundings were a good idea, and I like the idea of having a bigger space anyway.”

“And that means I have to carry all this crap, why?”

Having pulled free most of his clothes, Sanji looks at him and doesn’t break eye contact as he sets his shaving kit on top of the pile, shoving it partly under Zoro’s chin to keep it from slipping off. “Because I want my things,” he says decisively. “And I suspect you were the one who brought them back here to begin with.”

“Technically he made me and Franky do it,” Usopp pipes up from the other side of the room.

Sanji glares at him. “Are you volunteering to do it again?” He asks icily, hoping his tone conveys what the correct answer to that question is.

It must, because Usopp squeaks and flaps the white t-shirt he’s changing into like a flag of surrender. “No no, I can see you’ve got things well in hand.”

“Glad to hear it,” Sanji replies. He eyes the rest of the men carefully, part of him daring them to comment, while at the same time desperately hoping no one else opens their mouths. When they thankfully don’t, he fists his hand around the edge of Zoro’s haramaki and turns him in the direction of the door.

“C’mon, seaweed brains. Time for bed.”

“What about my stuff?” Zoro demands as Sanji bullies him out of the room. “How come that’s not coming too?”

“You can go back for it later if you really want,” Sanji informs him, “but you and I both know that your idea of getting ready for bed is to just get progressively more naked, so it’s not like you need sleepwear.”

“Yeah, but I still need new stuff for tomorrow.”

Sanji sighs. “As pleased as I am to hear you’ve apparently embraced the basic hygiene standard of changing your clothes more than once a week, I am admittedly teetering on the brink right now and it would be helpful if you could just follow along for the time being. That okay?”

Zoro peers at him from overtop the pile of personal belongings, his expression perturbed. “I don’t know what half the stuff you just said is supposed to mean.”

Sanji makes an exasperated noise and flaps his hands in the direction of the door looming in the distance, the door that opens into their room. “Just - just humour me, please.”

“Fine,” Zoro grumbles, allowing himself to be steered into their quarters and laying Sanji’s clothes down on the bed as directed. “Are you sure this is what you want to do?”

Absolutely not, says a voice in Sanji’s head. Ignoring it, he nods instead and reaches over to pick up the closest dress shirt. All the clothes are still on their requisite hangers so it shouldn’t be that difficult to get them put away properly.

“Don’t touch,” he says, more sharply than intended when he catches Zoro moving to grab another one out of the corner of his eye. “Your job was transportation only. I’ll take care of arranging everything, thank you very much.”

Zoro quirks an eyebrow at him, but rather than rise to the bait and start a fight like he might under different circumstances, he settles himself at the head of the bed, his body angled away from the pile of clothes. “Let me know when you’re done.”

“I like to think you’ll be able to tell,” Sanji snipes in reply.

Again, Zoro doesn’t snap back, choosing instead to curl his arms behind the back of his head and recline against the pillows with his eye closed while he waits for Sanji to finish. 

It doesn’t take very long. For all that Sanji has probably the biggest wardrobe on the crew after the ladies, it’s still not too much. That plus the already strung hangers means the job is done in no time, and before he knows it he’s standing in front of the closet with nothing else to put in it. Feeling suddenly unsure of himself, he turns around slowly.

Cracking his eye open, Zoro gives him a knowing look and sits up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed so he can plant his feet on the floor. “C’mere,” he says, voice unusually gentle as he holds out his arms.

Sanji eyes him warily, chewing absently on the corner of his bottom lip as he considers the offer. He’s half expecting Zoro to start growing impatient the longer he dawdles, but the other man doesn’t move. He simply stays where he is. Waiting.

It’s that more than anything that gets Sanji moving. Shuffling at first, he then takes the few steps necessary to cross the distance and put himself within Zoro’s reach, his breath hitching when he comes to a stop between the man’s spread legs and broad hands settle on his hips.

“It’s okay,” Zoro says calmly, his voice pitched low like Sanji’s a frightened animal that’s likely to spook. “I can always go back with the others if this is too much.”

“No.” Sanji says, his hands coming up to clamp around the other man’s wrists without conscious thought. “It’s fine. I - I want you here.”

Zoro doesn’t look like he believes him, which is fair enough given that his voice hadn’t exactly been steady while speaking, but he’s kind enough not to say so. “Alright,” he says instead. “Are you gonna get changed then?”

Sanji chews at the corner of his mouth for a second and then nods. “Yeah,” he decides. “I’m just gonna, you know - bathroom.”

“Pretty sure you know where it is,” Zoro agrees, moving his hands away and shifting back onto the bed. “Unless your memory’s getting worse.”

Scowling, Sanji swats him in the shoulder right before he slides out of reach. “Don’t be stupid,” he sniffs. “And besides, nothing short of a total lobotomy would make me any worse at finding places than you.”

Rather than rise to the bait, Zoro sticks his tongue out at him. Opting to be the bigger person, Sanji merely rolls his eyes before grabbing his toiletries and pyjamas and heading in the direction of the bathroom.

He stays in there longer than he normally would, using the secluded spot as a place to calm his nerves, but eventually he needs to either leave or spend the night. Deciding that, if nothing else, sleeping on the shower tiles would be terrible for his back, he then trudges back to his room. Their room. The room he shares with Zoro.

Zoro that is, who’s tucked himself under the covers in Sanji’s absence and is now lying with his back to the wall and an arm thrown over his face, obscuring it from view. Unsure if the other man is still awake, Sanji awkwardly clears his throat in the doorway.

The arm twitches. Slowly, it drags down until Zoro’s face is revealed, his eye narrowing suspiciously. “Was starting to think you really had gotten lost, Curly,” he murmurs, something that sounds an awful lot like relief lurking in his voice.

Sanji gives him his best haughty glare. “As I told you before,” he says, shuffling far enough into the room that he can close the door behind him, “unlike you, I have a fully functional sense of direction. Plus, I know this ship like the back of my hand.”

“Mhm,” Zoro hums to himself and then reaches out to pat the empty space next to him. “Are you coming to bed anytime soon or are you just going to stare at me from the middle of the room all night?”

“I’m not staring,” Sanji denies, even though he in fact very much is. “And I have to put my things away first.”

“Fine, whatever. Make sure you turn out the light when you’re done.” Zoro mutters, turning over to face the wall.

“Relax, Mosshead,” Sanji replies, in the middle of returning his kit to where it belongs. He rubs absently at his temple where a sudden ache has just cropped up. “I know how much you hate sleeping with it on.”

The bed creaks ominously, and Sanji has a sudden sense of eyes on him. When he turns around, still rubbing his head, he finds Zoro staring at him, his neck craned uncomfortably so he can look at Sanji over his shoulder.

“What?” Sanji asks, his posture hunching defensively without conscious thought. “What’d I say?”

Zoro swallows audibly. “You remember I don’t like sleeping with the light?”

Sanji freezes. He had remembered that, hadn’t he? In fact, the memory is still there, hovering at the edge of his mind like a particularly vivid dream. Almost cautiously, he asks, “Did I not know that before?”

Zoro shakes his head.

“Well then,” Sanji replies, not sure how to respond. “Chopper did say things could start trickling back.”

Zoro nods, still watching Sanji with an unreadable expression. “Right.”

And Sanji decides that’s quite enough of that. There’s no point in dwelling over things he can’t change, and he’s been cautioned more than once about trying to force his memories to come back - cautioned and suffered through the resulting frustration upon ignoring the advice. All he can do now is take it day by day.

His mind made up, he takes the few strides necessary to put him within reach of the bed, and then carefully sits down on the mattress. Zoro is still watching him, but at Sanji’s pointed look rolls back around with an aggrieved huff.

Sanji stares at his exposed back, all too aware of the level of trust he’s being offered. Not wanting to dwell on that either though, he pulls the covers up over his legs and reaches for the light, flicking it off with an easy glide of his fingers.

The room descends into darkness, which brings with it a silence that’s not quite oppressive but isn’t exactly pleasant at the same time. Not sure what to do with himself, Sanji rolls onto his back and gazes up at the ceiling.

“This is weird, isn’t it?” 

Next to him, Zoro grunts. “No shit.”

A thought occurs to Sanji. “Do you,” he says slowly, a sudden surge of guilt twisting his stomach, “… not want to be here? I’m realizing I didn’t exactly ask you if you were okay with this, and I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

Zoro makes an irritated noise, but it’s muffled, like he’s got his face shoved in his pillow. “I don’t do things I’m not okay with, cook. Not even for you.”

“Are you sure?”

“Fuck - Sanji ,” Zoro groans, irritation now giving way to full blown exasperation. “I will deny this if you repeat it - not to mention kick your ass - but typically where I want to be is wherever you are, so yes , I am okay with being here.”

Still reeling from hearing his name come from the other man’s mouth, Sanji clenches his fingers in the bedding reflexively. “…oh.” He says lamely. “I see.”

“Good for you,” Zoro mutters. Sanji wonders how red his face is right now, and is half tempted to turn the light back on to check. “Can we sleep now?”

Sanji figures the odds are about even that sleep’s going to elude him, but he nods regardless. “Sure,” he says aloud, belatedly realizing Zoro can’t see him. “Sounds good.”

Zoro’s resulting snort is the last thing he remembers hearing before he drifts off.

*****

Sanji wakes up warm, uncomfortably so. He is distinctly overheated in a way that feels both unfamiliar and not at the same time. Groaning, he moves to rub a hand over his eyes and promptly clues in to what the problem is.

They’ve shifted during the night. No longer on his back, Sanji’s rolled over onto his side, facing out towards the centre of the room. Meanwhile, Zoro’s rearranged himself as well, and is now curled up behind Sanji with an arm flung over his waist.

It is, to put it mildly, akin to sleeping with a goddamned furnace.

“Seriously?” Sanji asks the room at large. “He’s a cuddler?”

Racking his brain to see if he remembers as much, Sanji can’t come up with anything conclusive. He’s seen Zoro nap with Chopper, he supposes, so maybe it’s not that much of a stretch?

Either way, Sanji’s internal clock is telling him it’s his usual wake up time, which means he needs to get moving so he can go start breakfast. Tentatively, he prods at the wrist that’s resting over his middle.

“Marimo,” he says quietly, and then, when that gets no reaction, a little louder, “Oi!”

Zoro grunts, but rather than loosen his hold, he tightens it. He mutters something that might be a request for five more minutes into Sanji’s shoulder, his breath warm where it gusts over his exposed skin.

“Oh, absolutely not,” Sanji declares. He doesn’t know if this is a rare occurrence or something that happens almost daily, but he is not about to neglect his duties for Roronoa Zoro of all people. “Not in a million years.”

For the sake of appearances he makes one last attempt to politely wriggle free. When that doesn’t work, he jabs an elbow sharply into Zoro’s gut, pleased when the other man jerks awake with a startled yelp.

“What the hell, cook?” 

Ignoring Zoro’s affronted glare, Sanji uses the swordsman’s momentary distraction to make his escape, scrambling free of the tangle of limbs and bedding he now finds himself enclosed in. 

“I need to get up and you weren’t letting me,” he says. Grabbing his pack of cigarettes off the end table, he pulls one free and brings it to his lips, getting it going with a quick flick of his lighter. “Unless you don’t feel like eating today.”

“Right now all I feel is one of your damn bony elbows in my stomach,” Zoro retorts, rubbing theatrically at the affected area. “You suck.”

“I am in awe of your wit,” Sanji deadpans, most of his attention focused on hauling fresh clothes for the day out of the closet. “Don’t be such a baby.”

He hears Zoro huff behind him, but elects to ignore it, choosing instead to eye the closet critically. Deciding he’s in the mood for something light today, he takes out a pale blue dress shirt and dark slacks.

Sanji has a quick yet fraught internal debate with himself as to whether or not he needs to run off to the bathroom to get changed. He’s stripped in the men’s bunk room hundreds of times over the years without thinking about it, but that was different.

On the other hand, he’s probably stripped hundreds of times in this room too. Figuring he may as well get over himself, he yanks his sleep shirt up over his head and starts getting dressed.

Zoro keeps quiet throughout the process, so much so that Sanji is half expecting him to have fallen back to sleep by the time he turns around again. He’s awake though, lying propped up on one elbow with his chin resting in his hand and an unreadable expression on his face.

“What?” Sanji asks, feeling self conscious.

“Nothin’,” is the reply, followed by a single-armed shrug and a yawn. “Just enjoying the view.”

Sanji feels his face heat. “Pervert.”

“Don’t see how,” Zoro says, and here the bastard has the audacity to wink. “Not like I’m looking at anybody else.”

Pretty sure his face is now on actual fire, Sanji picks up a pillow off the bed and whacks him with it, gaining a smug sense of satisfaction at the way the other man flails. “I’m going to go do some actual work,” he says. “You enjoy wasting time being a layabout.”

He makes it out the door just fast enough to dodge the pillow when it comes sailing after him.

*****

Time passes by and Sanji’s still not sure what to make of this whole thing he apparently has going on with the marimo, but he has to admit it’s better now that he has the context for all the weird previous behaviour. It’s nice not to have to worry about that particular itch anymore.

Not to mention, Zoro seems happier too, hell, the whole crew does. Everyone stops tiptoeing around him, and now when something comes up that he doesn’t remember, people just explain it to him without worrying about accidentally revealing something they’re not supposed to.

And as for his memories, well, most of them are still blocked by whatever the blow to the head had done to him, but a few more have slipped free since that day in his room. Most of them are minor things, hardly earth shattering, but he hordes each one like it’s something precious, because as far as he’s concerned it is.

He’s out on deck one day, for instance, heading for Robin’s flower beds to bring the woman in question a glass of chilled juice. As he climbs up the stairs and spots her picking up her watering can, he’s struck by an image of a similar day, only one where Franky had been with her, leaning over the same flower bed and listening avidly to whatever the beautiful archeologist had to say, a smitten grin plastered across his face.

In a similar vein, a climb up to the crow’s nest one evening presents him with an image of sitting on one of the benches, idly smoking a cigarette while Brook plucked away at a new melody on his violin. That one’s happened more than once, he knows, and the skeleton tells him he’s more than welcome to start the habit up again when Sanji tentatively asks him about it.

Other images appear at random times. One evening he’s jotting down recipes while everyone else is asleep and he’s suddenly gifted with an image of Luffy sound asleep, sprawled across the Sunny’s figurehead while Chopper fretted over the odds of him slipping off into the water. On another he’s just sliding the last clean dish back into a cupboard when the next thing he knows he’s seeing Nami berate Usopp for leaving his tools strewn all over the lawn again.

Then, of course, there are the memories of him with Zoro. They happen the most frequently, but even with that he still only has maybe half a dozen all told. It’s enough to convince him that the swordsman is serious about how important they are to each other, while at the same time not enough to explain how that came to be.

To his credit, Zoro makes good on his promise to answer any questions Sanji asks, and he makes it clear to the rest of the crew that they should do the same. It’s more Sanji himself who’s the problem in this case, or rather, it’s Sanji’s veritable mountain of self-worth related issues.

It’s a fact that should shock exactly no one that Sanji isn’t good at accepting affection from other people. Oh he knows he’s important to his crew, and to Zeff. For all the trouble Whole Cake Island had caused, that incident had been enough to convince him that he truly does have a family who cares for him. It had not, however, done away with his nasty habit of second guessing himself where such matters are concerned.

He tries to explain it to Zoro one night when they’re both taking it easy out on deck. Sanji’s leaning over the railing, smoking a cigarette, while Zoro’s sitting nearby with his sword cleaning kit. 

Zoro’s frustratingly quiet while Sanji stumbles his way through trying to express himself, his face impassive and all but impossible to read. Finally, Sanji gets tired of waiting for him to say something and aims a sharp kick at his shoulder, only growing more annoyed when the idiot doesn’t even bother trying to block it.

“Do you honestly have nothing to say on the matter?” He demands, chewing on the ragged end of his cigarette. “Really? Not a single comment?”

As he watches, Zoro sucks in a deep breath and let’s it out slowly, the motion not unlike when he’s about to start meditating. His eye, when he deigns you look up, is shuttered.

Sanji prods him with his foot again, albeit more gently this time.

Zoro rolls his eye and shoves him away. “It’s only,” he says finally, “you’re not telling me anything you haven’t already said in the past. We’ve been through this before, cook. You just don’t remember.”

Sanji briefly contemplates starting a real fight with him, but ultimately decides it’s not worth it, especially since Zoro’s still refusing to spar with him because of his injury. Flicking the remnants of his cigarette out into the water, he turns around and sits down with a quiet huff. “That’s exactly the problem,” he agrees after a few moments of tense silence. “The actions of everyone around me are saying one thing, but my head is telling me something entirely different.”

“Why me?” He asks finally. “What on earth made you decide to choose me?”

“Wasn’t any one thing,” Zoro says quietly, and they’re sitting close enough that Sanji can almost feel it when he shrugs. “It just sort of happened. Besides, I like how you are.”

“Thank you for that extremely helpful clarification,” Sanji says sarcastically. “As always, you are a veritable font of wisdom, Mosshead.”

Zoro barks out a laugh, shaking his head in the darkness. “That right there is exactly what I’m talking about,” he says once his snickers have faded. “You’re a complete bitch when you want to be, curly. It’s great.”

“Everything about you is appalling,” Sanji mutters, grateful for the dim light, which will hopefully hide the way he can feel his face heating. “And I’m appalled at my past self for apparently finding it endearing.”

“If you say so,” Zoro replies, not sounding overly concerned. 

And Sanji supposes he has a good reason for that. Zoro’d made it clear after their first talk in their room that his main reason for not telling Sanji what they’d become to one another was the fear that, in his current state, the truth would make him more angry than anything else. Given that in reality it had more so produced a kind of confused acceptance, he’s essentially made his peace with the situation.

For his own part, Sanji isn’t quite there yet, but he is willing to admit that the more he contemplates this little arrangement of theirs, the less bothered by it he is on his own behalf. 

Zoro is … not what Sanji would have ever pictured for himself in a romantic partner, that much is glaringly obvious. Aside from the fact that he’s a man, he’s one step away from being an absolute barbarian on a good day, and several steps past it on a bad one. He’s rude, pushy, drinks too much, bathes too little, thinks that sharp pointy objects are the be all and end all of existence, and he’s about as delicate as a sea king with a toothache. In short, he’s a disaster.

But, on the other hand, he’s been Sanji’s equal for as long as they’ve known each other, his partner in crime, even if he’s never quite been able to bring himself to admit it. They’ve had each other’s backs in more fights than he would care to name at this point, each using their own unique talents to fill any gaps the other may have. Thanks to Zoro, Sanji’s never had to put his hands in danger during a battle, and Sanji in turn would let his own back shatter before he’d see a scar mar Zoro’s. 

They compliment each other, Sanji supposes is the best way of putting it. With Zoro, he doesn’t have to bottle things up or try to play a role to maintain the carefully crafted niche he’s managed to carve out for himself. Zoro accepts all of Sanji’s many faults without so much as a by your leave, and the only thing he asks is that Sanji do the same for him in return.

Sighing, Sanji scuffs one foot in the grass on the lawn, wishing for the millionth time that he could simply will his memories back into existence. “This is,” he says aloud, “the most frustrating thing that’s ever happened to me.”

To his credit, Zoro doesn’t try to brush the words off with a stupid joke or something of that ilk. He merely rumbles out a noise of agreement, not pressing the issue.

He never presses, Sanji notes absently, at least not about this. Not once throughout this entire godforsaken endeavour has he tried to push Sanji outside of his comfort zone, and he’s always gone along at whatever pace Sanji sets. That’s just another example of who he is, though. For all his faults, Zoro is entirely devoted to those he considers his own.

Groaning, Sanji shifts so that he can sag against Zoro’s side, his chin able to dig into the other man’s shoulder in a move he’s recently remembered won’t get him shoved away no matter how much he initially expects it to every time he does it.

He just wishes there was something he could do to force his memories back. At this point, he still has no idea what triggers the return of one, as there’s no discernible pattern. The only thing he can say with confidence is that each time is always preceded by a headache, but that detail he’s been keeping to himself lest it throw the whole crew into a panic.

“You keep stressing like this and you’re gonna stroke out,” Zoro says suddenly. “I know it’s easy for me to say, but it’s not worth torturing yourself over.”

Sanji digs his chin in harder, not stopping until Zoro hisses out an irritated breath to signal he’s getting the point. “I can feel them there,” he says, frustrated. “They’re hovering just out of reach, and I want them back .”

I want us back , he thinks but doesn’t say aloud, mainly because he doesn’t know how . He feels like they’re stuck in an infuriating form of purgatory where he knows he’s managed to carve out something good for himself, but at the same time he can’t just reach out and take it because he doesn’t actually remember it happening. There’s a wall in place that’s stopping him from fully committing to what he knows is his, and that’s what he hates more than anything.

Zoro sighs. “You want me to crack you in the head and see if that knocks anything loose?”

“No!” Sanji barks. “As if you even could .”

His head bobs up and down when Zoro shrugs. “Just thought I’d offer.”

Sanji headbuts him in the shoulder to show him how highly he thinks of that plan. “You’re such an idiot,” he groans. “I’m starting to think this isn’t my only head injury, and the last one is probably what drew me to you in the first place.”

“Nami did say you got smacked around a lot in Totto Land,” Zoro says helpfully. “Might explain a few things.”

Sanji very maturely responds to this by putting him in a headlock, and the ensuing scuffle lasts until Nami herself yells at them to knock it off from up in the crow’s nest.

*****

The first time Zoro kisses him after the accident, he nearly has a heart attack.

It’s not even that big a deal, or at least it shouldn’t be, which is the worst part. They’re in the galley one evening, doing the dishes like usual, when they get into a bickering match over something so minor Sanji can’t even remember what it is. The argument devolves into silly name calling and some lighthearted shoving, finally resulting in Sanji flicking Zoro in the shoulder with the dry towel he’s holding.

Zoro catches it easily, and then in a move that’s pure reflex, uses it to drag Sanji forward until he can smack a wet, messy kiss on the corner of his mouth. It takes him all of a second, is done and over with between one blink and the next, and it is painfully obvious he doesn’t even realize what he’s done until Sanji freezes with his eyes nearly bugging out of his head.

“Oh shit,” Zoro says, realization dawning in a way that’s made evident by his face flaming a very visible shade of red. “Cook, I - shit, sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”

“It’s okay,” Sanji says quickly. Without meaning to, he brings his hand up to trace over the spot Zoro’s lips had just brushed, fingers moving in an errant circle along his own skin. “It’s … fine.”

“You don’t look fine,” Zoro replies, and when Sanji glances over he sees that the other man has started shifting away from him, having taken a couple subtle steps back to place himself almost entirely out of reach.

He looks remorseful, Sanji notes, like he thinks he’s overstepped and is expecting to be told to get out anytime now, and not to come back until he can control himself better. It’s unexpectedly painful to see.

Letting his hand fall down to his side, Sanji tosses the cloth he’s still holding in the other onto the counter and pins Zoro with a look. “I said it’s fine,” he repeats firmly, lifting his chin in a move that all but dares the other man to argue with him. “In fact, come here would you?”

“Why?” Zoro wants to know, now holding himself stiffly just out of reach.

“Because I want to see you,” Sanji declares. It’s not an entirely accurate statement given that he can see Zoro just fine, but at least it stops his unsubtle bid for the door. “Stop trying to hide from me, you big ox.”

Zoro blinks, his eye narrowing briefly at the insult, but in the end he steps forward in response to Sanji’s now beckoning hand. “What do you want?”

“I honestly don’t know,” Sanji admits, figuring honesty is the best policy. “Can I maybe just … explore? A little? Not like that!” He adds when Zoro gives him a knowing smirk. “Get your mind out of the gutter, Mosshead!”

“I didn’t say anything!” Zoro protests, the claim one that would have a lot more weight behind it if he weren’t still snickering as the words left his mouth. Feeling justified, Sanji whacks him on the shoulder.

“Asshole,” he mutters, feeling his own face heat. “Shit like this is why I still don’t get what I see in you.”

Except that’s a lie, one he can admit to at least in the privacy of his own head. The longer this goes on, the more obvious it becomes as to how they’ve come to be where they are. Even without all Sanji’s memories, it’s clear they’re a well matched set. Two halves of a whole as it were.

It’s that knowledge that spurs him onto what he does next. Rather than removing his hand once he’s done smacking Zoro with it, he instead leaves it where it is, curling his fingers around the other man’s shoulder and going so far as to let his thumb glide over the bare skin of his neck in a gentle caress. 

Zoro’s snickers cut off abruptly, but he makes no move to pull away or shove Sanji’s hand off. Instead, he merely watches him calmly, one eyebrow raised in the most simple hint of a question.

“Can I?” Sanji asks, not entirely sure himself what he’s asking.

Zoro just nods, however, an easy movement that belies the sudden seriousness of the moment. “Yeah,” he says, voice slightly ragged. “Anything you want.”

“Don’t make promises you’ll regret,” Sanji admonishes. 

Zoro doesn’t respond, at least not verbally. There’s a certain tilt to his chin that carries a hint of a dare, however, and never let it be said that Sanji isn’t a man to rise to a challenge. Before he can overthink it, he closes the distance between them and brings their mouths together.

It’s a simple kiss, cautious for all that it makes Zoro gasp against him, the other man clearly caught off guard by Sanji’s forwardness. It’s also over very quickly, with Sanji pulling away to carefully eye his companion.

“Was that okay?” He asks, wanting to make sure he hasn’t overstepped.

Much to his relief, Zoro’s nodding before the words have even fully left his mouth, the motion firm and leaving no room for argument. “Yeah,” he says. “Of course.”

Except there’s no ‘of course’ about it as far as Sanji’s concerned. Yes, they spend a lot of time together now, and obviously they share a bed every night - albeit platonically - but for all that a few memories have started to slither back in, Sanji still doesn’t remember the bulk of their relationship. Truth be told, he has no idea what is allowed and what isn’t. 

“You’re thinking too hard.”

A finger poking him in the forehead startles Sanji out of his reverie, and he finds himself going nearly cross-eyed as he attempts to glare at the offending digit. “What are you on about now?” He asks, swatting Zoro’s hand away.

Undeterred, Zoro let’s his hand drop down, but rather than leave it be, he curls it around Sanji’s waist instead, quickly joining it with the other one, so that he’s holding the cook in an easy embrace. “I said,” he repeats, “you’re thinking too hard. I know what you look like when you do that.”

“Oh you do, do you?” Sanji asks, cursing inwardly at how breathless the words sound as they leave his mouth. Wanting to save face, he brings his own arms up and loops them around Zoro’s shoulders in a move he hopes looks more casual than it feels. “You don’t know everything about me, Marimo.”

“Not everything,” Zoro agrees, graciously not calling Sanji’s bluff. “But most things.”

“Now that I have a hard time believing.” Sanji says without thinking, and at Zoro’s raised eyebrow adds, “No one who knows everything or even most things about me would ever fall in love with me like you claim to have.”

Zoro makes a pained noise, and his grip noticeably tightens. “I hate when you say things like that.”

“Sorry,” Sanji mutters. Embarrassed, he moves to pull away, but is stopped by the hold Zoro continues to maintain. “God, you are so clingy sometimes. I never would have expected that.”

“Don’t try to change the subject,” Zoro says, his eye narrowing and his voice deepening dangerously. “I love you, you swirlybrowed idiot, and it is really important to me that you know that.”

Swallowing heavily, Sanji sternly tells his stupid heart to calm the hell down where it’s suddenly started jackrabbiting in his chest. He and Zoro are pressed close enough together that the other man can probably feel it, and that’s the last kind of ammunition Sanji wants to give somebody.

Except it’s not ammunition at all, he realizes slowly. Or, if it is, Zoro’s not the type to use it against him. Instead, the other man opts to reel him in further, not stopping until their chests are pressed together and Sanji can hide his face away in one burly shoulder.

“What if I never remember?” He mumbles into the fabric of Zoro’s shirt. “What if the rest of it never does come back?”

Zoro’s quiet for a long moment, but when he speaks his voice is clear and holds no room for argument. “Then I’ll just have to make you fall in love with me a second time. I did it before. I can do it again.”

Safe within the walls of the galley, and his face still hidden where no one can see it, Sanji privately thinks that might already be happening.

*****

Sanji’s in the middle of putting together a hearty stew that will form the main course in tonight’s supper when Usopp wanders in and asks to borrow some onions. He blinks at the other man over the top of his boiling pot.

“Borrow?” He echoes, his brow furrowing. “Were you planning on returning them after you finished with them?”

“Uh, no,” Usopp says sheepishly. “But it sounded better that way in my head.”

“You’re very strange,” Sanji tells him, albeit not unkindly. “But yes, you can have a couple. Don’t take them all, though. I might still need to add a few to this.”

“Sure, no problem,” Usopp says, giving him a friendly nod as he ambles over to the bin that contains said onions. “And thanks.”

Sanji waves his thanks away with the hand that right this moment is holding his latest cigarette pinched between thumb and forefinger, while he stirs the contents of the pot with the other. “It’s fine. I’m assuming you have a good reason for wanting them, but don’t tell me if I’m wrong about that.”

“You’re not,” Usopp promises. “I had a great idea for some new attack seeds that I think might be made more potent if I incorporate onions into the mix.”

“Great,” Sanji says, absently rubbing at his temple with the palm of his hand. “Please don’t practice that anywhere near me until you’ve got whatever it is perfected.”

He’s expecting Usopp to chime in with some kind of agreement, but instead he’s met with a suddenly suspicious silence. Confused, he cranes his neck around for a better look, and finds the younger man watching him through narrowed eyes.

“What?” He asks. “Have I got something on my face?”

“No,” Usopp says slowly, “but you do kind of look like your head’s bothering you. Are you feeling alright?”

Sanji freezes, catching his hand where it’s midway up to start massaging his temple again, and forcing it back down instead. “I’m fine,” he says, wincing when the words come out sharper than intended.

Usopp’s expression gets more suspicious, not less. “Sanji,” he says, crossing his arms over his chest and looking more imposing than a man cradling a bunch of onion bulbs has any right to. “If you’re having trouble you need to tell someone. Especially, y’know, now.”

“I’m not having trouble,” Sanji assures him, meaning every word. “People get headaches sometimes. It’s fine.”

“People do get headaches sometimes,” Usopp agrees. “And sometimes it is fine. However, others it’s not. Seeing as you had a freaking serious head injury not that long ago, and are still feeling its effects, there’s a chance you could fall into the latter category. How long has this been going on?”

Sanji very pointedly refuses to answer, and Usopp plants his hands on his hips, nearly losing his onions in the process. “Since the beginning then, huh?” He says, exasperation writ large across his features. “Does Chopper know? Does Zoro ?”

A guilty silence echoing throughout the galley is all the answer Usopp needs. “Sanji,” he says tiredly. “You need to tell them.”

Sanji stops stirring his stew in favour of taking a moody drag from his cigarette, exhaling smoke in a heavy plume that drifts in Usopp’s direction. “I don’t have to do anything of the sort. It’s my body and I can do what I want.”

“Besides,” he adds, finally willing to give voice to the thought that’s been percolating in the back of his brain for about a week now. “I think it’s a good thing. Practically every time I get one some of my memories come back.”

That brings Usopp up short, but unfortunately doesn’t sway him entirely. “That could be just a coincidence,” he says after a moment. “For all you know you’ve got a brain aneurysm or something tucked away in there and it’s getting ready to burst.”

“None of that sounds like sound medical advice,” Sanji says, moving to turn back to his stew. “Seriously, I’m fine.”

“Okay, that’s it,” Usopp declares, his jaw tense and his eyes dark. “I’m getting the big guns.”

“Huh?” Sanji asks, nearly spitting out his cigarette in alarm when Usopp turns on his heel and marches towards the galley door. “No! Wait! Where are you going?”

“I just told you,” Usopp calls over his shoulder. As always, he’s deceptively fast for a man who spends most of his time in a fight looking for something to hide behind. “Don’t worry. You’ll thank me for this in the long run!”

“Like hell I will!” Sanji shouts after him. He gives serious consideration to chasing the other man down, which is no doubt why his stew pot chooses this exact moment to start bubbling over. By the time he has everything sorted out, Usopp is long gone and Sanji has to resign himself to an imminent visit from Chopper.

Except when the door opens a few minutes later, it’s not Chopper who comes in, it’s Zoro. In hindsight, Sanji’s not sure if that’s better or worse.

“I’m fine, Marimo,” he says, aiming for a preemptive strike before Zoro can say anything. “Whatever Usopp said to get you in here, he was just over-exaggerating like usual.”

Zoro frowns. “He said you had a headache,” he says tersely, “and that you’ve been getting them more often than you’ve let on.”

Sanji is going to cook Usopp’s least favourite meals for a month, if not longer. The squirrelly little bastard better enjoy tonight’s stew because it’s the last thing his tastebuds are going to agree with for the foreseeable future.

“I’m fine,” he says firmly. “Usopp has no idea what he’s talking about.”

Shockingly, this declaration does nothing to deter Zoro. He stalks further into the room, pausing only briefly to unhook his swords and rest them against the counter, before coming to a rest just outside of arm’s reach. “Usopp,” he says pointedly, “didn’t sound like he had no idea what he was talking about.”

“Well then that would be a first,” Sanji decides, focusing his attention on his stew and frowning when he stirs a little too vigorously. Annoyed, he hauls the spoon out of the mixture, slipping a finger through it for a taste test. 

It doesn’t seem ruined, he’s pleased to note, but a second opinion probably couldn’t hurt. Reaching out with his free hand, he fists it in Zoro’s coat and uses it to drag him over, holding up the spoon at the same time. “Here. Try this.”

To his credit, Zoro obediently licks the spoon, letting out a little happy noise he’d no doubt deny in the process. “S’good,” he says. “Now what’s wrong with your head?”

“Nothing’s wrong with my head,” Sanji snaps. He shifts to give the other man a dirty look over his shoulder, only to freeze when he’s hit with the feeling of not-quite-déjà vu that always signals a memory returning. “…oh.”

“Oh? What ‘oh’?” Zoro demands. “The hell’s going on with you, curlybrow?”

Not yet ready to answer that question, Sanji tosses the used spoon into the sink where it lands with a satisfying clatter. Then, still without saying anything, he reaches behind him and grips Zoro by the wrists, one in each hand. 

“What’re you -?” Zoro starts, but Sanji stops him with a quick shake of his head. 

“Like this, right?” He says, twisting Zoro’s arms around his middle until they come to a rest with both the swordsman’s hands resting over his stomach, his back pressed up against the other man’s chest. “Except that’s -” Not quite right, he knows. Spurred on by pure instinct, he reaches back to grab Zoro by the hair, using his grip to drag his head forward until the other man is forced to hook his chin over Sanji’s left shoulder.

“There,” he says triumphantly. “That’s got it.”

There’s a weighted silence behind him, and then, “Sanji, what the fuck?”

Sanji’s too busy being triumphant at the return of more of his memories to feel embarrassed. Unconsciously, he cards his fingers through Zoro’s hair, knowing he’s brushing the disturbed strands back into place even though he can’t see them. 

“We do this,” he says, dozens of memories of them in this exact position flitting through his mind like they’d never left. “You hang off me when I’m trying to cook all the damn time, getting in the way because you want attention.”

“Don’t deny it,” he adds when he hears Zoro open his mouth to no doubt do exactly that. “I won’t believe you.”

“I’ll deny whatever I want.” Zoro mutters, but then he adds with a hopeful lilt to his voice, “You really remember?”

“Mhm,” Sanji replies. “Pretty much every time my head starts aching these days it means something’s coming back.”

He feels Zoro shifting behind him, familiar enough with the motion to know it means he’s trying to find a more comfortable spot. “You still should have told me,” he says finally. “And Chopper.”

“Maybe,” Sanji admits, opting to be magnanimous in light of his good mood, “but everything’s been fine so far.”

“Usopp made it sound like this one was worse than usual.”

“Which would be relevant if Usopp had any idea what he was talking about,” Sanji counters. He very pointedly does not add that his head still hurts, which is unusual, as in the past they’ve always faded once the memory has resurfaced.

Zoro rumbles a skeptical noise into the juncture between Sanji’s neck and shoulder. “Please try not to be stupid about this.”

“I promise, I’ve got it under control,” Sanji says, twisting so he can press a kiss to Zoro’s cheek, like he now knows he’s done a hundred times before. 

“Trust me.”

*****

Sanji’s headache doesn’t go away. Quite the contrary, it lasts all the way through cooking supper, eating it, and cleaning up the galley in its wake. It’s also getting noticeably worse as the hours tick by.

For his part, Zoro doesn’t miss any of this. He’s been planted firmly at Sanji’s side since the afternoon, getting underfoot more often than not, but pointedly refusing to leave in light of the day’s revelations. The number of suspicious glances he’s been shooting out of the corner of his eye has been rising in direct correlation to how long Sanji’s headache has lasted.

They do the dishes together like normal, and then Zoro watches as Sanji puts the finishing touches on the galley clean up. As soon as that’s done, he curls a hand around Sanji’s elbow, effectively preventing him from starting any new chores.

“Your head’s still bothering you,” he says flatly, tone leaving no room for argument. “I’d say you should go see Chopper, but,” he adds, voice rising over Sanji’s token protest, “I’m not stupid enough to think that’ll get me anywhere, so you’re going to bed.”

Sanji blinks at him. “It’s like, 8pm,” he points out. “No one around here goes to bed that early.”

“Then I’ll come with you and the crew will think we’re messing around,” Zoro replies, not a single lick of shame showing anywhere on his face. “But you’re going.”

“You’re not the boss of me,” Sanji grunts, feeling mutinous.

Zoro gives him a smile that’s all teeth. “Let me put it this way. Either you go get some rest to see if that helps, or I walk out this door and come right back in with Chopper. Those are your options.”

“That’s not an option, that’s an ultimatum.” Sanji protests.

Zoro is unmoved. “I said what I said. Which one do you want?”

Sanji glares at him, trying to wait him out on the off chance doing so will see him back off. Unfortunately, as their stalemate extends past the multiple minute mark, it becomes clear he’s not getting out of this one. Even worse, his head is really starting to bother him.

“Fine,” he mutters, far from gracious in his capitulation. “I’ll go lay down.”

“Good,” Zoro replies, following the word up with an obnoxiously bright smile. “I’m coming with you to make sure you actually do it.”

“Asshole.” Sanji says.

“You know it,” Zoro shoots back, and proceeds to start hustling Sanji out of the room.

Although he’ll deny it to his dying day, Sanji’s worn out enough to let himself be manhandled back to their quarters and through his usual bedtime routine. He even deigns to knock back a couple of painkillers when Zoro offers them up.

“There’s no guarantee that’ll do anything,” he grumbles as he climbs into bed and tries to get comfortable.

“Yeah, but there’s no guarantee it won’t, either,” Zoro points out logically. Sanji has to fight down a sudden urge to kick him under the covers. “You shouldn’t just suffer in silence or whatever stupid shit is going through your head right now.”

“I’m fine ,” Sanji says sharply, wincing when the motion sends another sharp stab of pain through his head.

“Right,” Zoro says dryly. “You totally seem it.”

“Oh, fuck you.”

“Not even if you had your memories back right now,” Zoro replies, smirking when Sanji shifts a hand and pinches him. “You being in pain doesn’t really do it for me.”

“For the last time, it’s not a big deal,” Sanji says, huffing out an exasperated sigh. “I’m sure I’ll be fine after a good night’s sleep.”

“You say that now, but if I wake up next to your corpse in the morning, I’m going to be pissed .”

Sanji’s in too much pain right now for a proper eye roll, which is a shame because he just knows this one would be epic if he could muster up the strength to make it. “As always, you are the fucking soul of romance, moss for brains. Just go to sleep, alright?”

“Fine,” Zoro mutters, now getting exasperated in his own right. “But I said what I said. If you die on me over this, I will resurrect your ass just so I can kick it into next week.”

“You’ve got a deal,” Sanji tells him. “Now shut up, would you? You’re being too loud.”

Zoro makes a frustrated noise as Sanji turns off the light, but he doesn’t start trying to climb out of bed to go find Chopper, so that has to count for something. As does the hand he brings up to rest directly above Sanji’s heart, fingers splayed possessively over his chest.

“For the record,” he says, voice echoing in the dark, “I’m only going along with this because of what you said about it affecting your memories. You’d better be right about this.”

Sanji considers and discards several scathing replies about how, of the two of them, he’s the one who’s usually right on things. It’d be cruel to say something like that under the circumstances. Not to mention untrue.

“Just trust me,” he says instead. “I know what I’m doing.”

Zoro’s answering snort tells him exactly what the other man thinks of that statement. 

*****

It takes Sanji a while to fall asleep, but when he finally does, no doubt because he went to bed so much earlier than normal, his sleep schedule gets thrown completely out of whack. He’s up again far sooner than he should be, awake at least an hour or two before he needs to even think about getting started on breakfast.

He lies there in the dark, the only light available the bit that’s seeping in from the room’s singular porthole, growing increasingly annoyed by the fact that he doesn’t think he’s going to be able to fall back to sleep.

At least his headache is gone, he’s pleased to note. There’s not even a residual ache to show how his brain had felt ready to stomp its way out of his skull earlier. Idly, he half-considers waking Zoro up to say ‘I told you so’.

He doesn’t, of course, because, unlike some people he could name, Sanji subscribes to such awe-inspiring notions as respect and manners , but it’s a near thing. Instead, he settles for rolling over and watching the sleeping swordsman in the faint light.

The other man is sacked out on his back, snoring the same guttural, deafening snore as always, the one that can only be semi-contained by rolling him onto his side - a fact Sanji himself had come to learn after years of trial and error.

With one hand already curled around a burly shoulder, Sanji freezes in the act of turning Zoro towards him. He certainly hadn’t been aware of this trick a few hours ago, he realizes, having suffered through more than one night of this particular symphony in recent days.

Leaving Zoro alone, Sanji eases himself into a sitting position and begins cautiously poking at the information now crowding around his brain. Almost absently, he reaches over to flick the lamp on, like not being huddled in the dark will somehow help.

Zoro makes an annoyed sound from somewhere near the vicinity of Sanji’s hip, and the cook reaches down to trace a thumb over his forehead, smoothing out the frown lines he knows have just appeared even though he can’t see them.

“Stupid moss,” he says fondly, shifting his fingers to let them card through Zoro’s hair instead. He waits a beat, knowing full well the other man will unconsciously lean into the touch no matter how deep his sleep is, and grins when that’s exactly what Zoro does. Then he grins even harder when it dawns on him why he’d known that would happen.

It’s all there, he realizes. Not just the bits and pieces that have slowly been trickling back in, but all of it, every minute detail he hasn’t been able to recall is now traipsing around in his brain just waiting for him to reference it including …

“Since Thriller Bark!”

“Wha-?” Jerked out of a sound sleep by a pillow to the head, Zoro is very much not at his best when he’s startled back to consciousness.

“Thriller Bark!” Sanji crows victoriously, giving him another whack with the pillow simply because he can. “You thought I was hot from the very beginning, but it was Thriller Bark when you figured out you wanted more, you moss-headed, pining, torch carrying, sap !”

He raises the pillow yet again, but Zoro’s arm shoots up lightning quick to get a hand on it. They wrestle over it for a few moments before Sanji ultimately decides he has more important things to worry about and relinquishes his grip.

Using Zoro’s momentary confusion at the abrupt end of their fight to his advantage, he kicks back the covers and shifts so that he can sling a leg over the other man’s waist, coming to rest straddling his hips and peering down at him from one of his very favourite vantage points.

His hair a riotous mess and one hand still fisted in the pillow that had so recently been used to give him a rude awakening, Zoro stares back at him. There’s no mistaking the hope in his eye, and Sanji feels a sharp tug in his chest at the thought that he could have ever forgotten what that look means.

Gently, carefully, he runs his hands over Zoro’s torso, his fingers tracing over scars he knows like the back of his own hand, until they come to a rest with Zoro’s face cradled in the palms of his hands.

“Hey, Marimo,” he grins. “Did you miss me?”

And Zoro surging up to kiss him is all the answer he needs.