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Nervous is an understatement. Laughable even, with the way Sanji’s stomach twists itself into knots until he can barely breathe. He’s dressed as though he has somewhere to be, his suit jacket the only thing saving him from feeling so exposed and vulnerable.
Rolling up his sleeves, Sanji chops some vegetables. His hand shakes as he grips the knife. Sanji thinks he may start to weep into the celery, sob over his carrots, bleed himself dry against the countertop. He looks down at the cutting board, an imperfect thing, full of grooves and dents and scratches. It feels familiar.
The vegetable pieces are uneven and inconsistent, far from Sanji’s usual precision. Hopefully no one will notice.
Sanji loosens his tie as if it will solve all of his problems. The silk feels strange on his clammy palms. He wipes them on his pants.
For a moment he wishes that things could be so simple, as if he could wipe the blood off his hands and onto his pant leg just to be free of it all. But, Sanji’s life is anything but simple, and if it were any easier he would. His fingers nervously click at his lighter while he brings the water to a boil.
Tonight will be the first dinner he’s prepared for the entire crew since his...excursion. The meal needs to be perfect, in the same way Sanji always expects himself to be. He so desperately wants them to love it, needs them to love it, needs them to taste the hours of love and care he put into the meal. Sanji needs it to convey his devotion, his loyalty, his apology, in a way that his own words never could.
Of course, the whole crew has already talked it over. Sanji had sat before them and told them, laying out every excruciating detail--his family, his childhood, their demands, their threats.
He told them he was afraid. Is afraid. He had rubbed at his wrists like the bracelets were still there, still ticking with his pulse, and told his crew he had done it all for them. Sanji had laughed then, at how fucked up it sounded coming from his own mouth. As if what he did was only for them, and not for his own selfish desires. The need to save his family—his real family—from harm, to hide a past that he had buried so deep he almost forgot it was even there.
Sanji thought of the way Luffy had begged him to accept his help, beaten and bloodied, his eyes wide. We came to pick you up, Sanji! Sanji’s cheek still burns with the way Nami had slapped him, her cry etched into his brain. Goodbye. Sorry, we should’ve never done this.
Sanji had cried to them then, had asked for their forgiveness in a quiet voice that didn’t sound like his own. His crew welcomed him back with open arms, Luffy’s grin wide and beaming, Chopper cradled in his arms, Zoro’s hand on his shoulder. Usopp’s sad smile had told him he understood, while Robin’s small nod and Nami’s far off look made him feel seen yet awash with guilt. Franky had ruffled Sanji’s hair like his hands weren’t ten times the size of his head. Brook had played for them until they all fell asleep out on the Sunny’s deck, heaps of intertwined limbs and unspoken regrets laid out in the grass under the moonlight.
Sanji had fallen asleep in Zoro’s arms like nothing had ever changed between them, like he still belonged in the crook of his neck and pressed against his side. His crew forgave him like there wasn’t a reason to in the first place, and the thought had left him drowning in its wake. He still feels undeserving, even crawling back on his shaky hands and scraped knees.
Lost in thought, he almost doesn’t hear the crew start to file into the dining room. Their banter is loud and as incomprehensible as it has always been. Sanji wants to smack Luffy’s hand away from his plate, wants to laugh loud and full from his chest at Usopp’s jokes, wants to compliment Nami’s dress and Robin’s hair, he wants to bend down to pat Chopper’s head and put a dessert into his outstretched hoof. He wants to hold Zoro’s hand under the table, wants to brush his shoulder as he walks past with second and third and fourth helpings. Sanji wants to lean over to whisper in his boyfriend’s ear and feel Zoro’s hand clutch his thigh as he pours him another glass.
Sanji’s throat is burning, and he has to take another drag from his cigarette. He doesn’t want to feel so afraid, so terrified at his imaginary unacceptance, but the wound still feels fresh.
Steeling himself, Sanji steps out to the dining room, his heart and soul on a silver platter. Zoro stands to help him, but Sanji holds up a hand and waves for him to sit. The swordsman does so begrudgingly, arms crossed and a small pout in his face, but straightens when his plate is placed before him. Without any warning for his poor heart, everyone begins to eat, continuing to laugh and chat and stuff their faces like it's their last meal on earth.
Sanji stands to the side, fiddling with the lighter in his pocket. He watches his crew mates eat, the tension seeping out of his body with each bite. The knot in his chest eases, with each empty plate held up with a smile. More please! Sanji, can I have seconds?
Half-heartedly, Sanji spoons some of his own portion onto his plate simply because he has to, his appetite nonexistent. Even now, years later with a bounty on his head and a reputation on the high seas, Sanji still feels like that starving little boy alone on the rock, praying for a ship to come by and save him. He almost can’t bring himself to sit down.
Zoro glares at him from across the room, pointing at the spot next to him. Sanji tries to avoid meeting his eyes.
“Sanji. Sit,” Zoro demands, his mouth full of food as he talks.
Zoro looks like he’s about to get up and drag the cook over to the table himself. Sanji’s gaze falls to the rest of his crew. His wrists feel chained to the countertop, his legs shackled to the floor.
But.
Luffy’s smile is oh so genuine, his cheeks stuffed comically huge. Usopp and Franky shovel food into their mouths in synch, exchanging a napkin sketch of some invention back and forth. Chopper hums as he eats, his legs swinging back and forth. His feet don’t even touch the floor. And Zoro. The swordsman puts his fork down and leans back in his chair, nodding towards the empty one beside him. Zoro’s half-lidded eye and crossed arms tell Sanji he refuses to eat another bite until the cook sits down.
Sanji finally unsticks his feet from the floor and moves to sit next to Zoro. He can’t help but let a tiny smile unfold as Zoro’s own satisfied smile grows on his face. His breath smells like beer as he leans over to kiss Sanji on the cheek, pat his shoulder with a firm grip, and go back to shoveling food down his throat like none of that even mattered.
“Mmm. S’ good. As always,” Zoro says with a mouth full of food. It’s as though he can’t feel the weight lifted from Sanji’s shoulders as he says those words, as if he can’t hear the release of breath Sanji had been holding for the entire day.
“Yeah! This is so yummy! I missed you, Sanji!”
“Bro, this dinner is super! Yow!”
“Oh, it’s delightful as always, Mr. Cook. My compliments to you!”
“Some of your best work yet.”
“Couldn’t have said it better myself.”
“I told you there was no better cook for the king of the pirates, didn't I? Now give me more!! Saaaanjiiii, MORE!!!”
Sanji watches his crew enjoy the rest of their meal from his spot at the counter, flitting around for refills and second helpings when necessary. He basks in the presence of his friends, glad to finally be back with his family. Eventually, though, the meal has to end and everyone starts meandering to their usual post-dinner spots.
Luffy claps Sanji on the back as he files out with the crew, minus Zoro, who stays seated, arms crossed over his chest.
Sanji wasn’t sure if Zoro planned on continuing their tradition of washing dishes after everything, but apparently he does. Zoro walks over to the sink, rolling up his sleeves and turning on the hot water. Sanji tentatively walks behind him, putting a hand on his shoulder.
“You don’t have to do that, you know.”
Zoro scoffs. “Of course I do. You wash, I dry. Or did you forget already?”
Sanji’s face feels warm, but he rolls up his sleeves anyway, grabbing the first plate to scrub.
“‘Course I didn’t forget. Just surprised is all.” The hot water burns his hands a little, but his heart is warmed even more by the way Zoro holds a hand out to grab the plate from him.
They continue washing like that in silence, Zoro humming under his breath. Sanji wants to reach over and grab his hand.
The whole scene feels so domestic, so normal, it makes Sanji’s heart ache. Washing the dishes together has been their tradition ever since the beginning, even before the grand line, even before the world got so complicated. Zoro has always been there since the beginning, his hand out to grab the next dish to dry.
Sanji thinks back to the first night after he left, leaving the dinner table with his stomach full and heart empty. The way his body turned automatically to the kitchen sink. His brothers had laughed at him, had called him a sorry excuse for a prince. A failure.
He had thought of Zoro under the warm glow of the kitchen light, laughing, his eyes sparkling as Sanji put soap bubbles on the tip of his nose. How he’d wipe his hands dry on his shirt, and pull Sanji away to their room and onto the bed. Arms up, he’d demand, and pull Sanji’s shirt off, tossing it onto the floor with his own crumpled shirt. Zoro would scoot in close to him, wrap his arms around his waist, kiss him soft and slow like they had all the time in the world. Dinner was good. Thank you, again. They would lay there like that for hours, talk about anything and everything until they drifted off to sleep. Sanji would finally close his eyes when the soft moonlight drifting through the window cast shadows across Zoro’s face, sighing into his warm chest as the soft breeze made the curtains dance. He thought he would never get to have that again.
God, he missed this. Sanji’s eyes burn. He shuts them in a poor attempt to keep the tears from falling. They roll down his cheeks, dripping off of his chin. Sanji gives up the pretense of doing dishes as a shuddering breath makes its way out of his chest. He hangs his head, eyes squeezed shut.
Everything that had been building the past two days is working its way through Sanji, spilling out of his chest and out into the open. All of the guilt at leaving, relief at being accepted by his crew, by Zoro. He’s overwhelmed at the unconditional love he’s received from everyone, but to see them accept his food, eat the meal he made with all the love he could find. Sanji finally feels like a person again.
Distantly, he notices Zoro go still, his reaction almost immediate, like he was expecting something like this. Sanji’s eyes are closed, but he still knows the feeling of Zoro’s warm calloused hand resting on his cheek.
“I didn’t even break a plate this time. Why are you crying?” Zoro asks, his hand still wet on Sanji’s cheek. They feel warm, so he lets his head rest on them, the tears falling even faster now. He can’t help but feel ashamed, even as Zoro rubs circles into his cheeks and wipes the tears from the corner of his eyes. Sanji’s lower lip wobbles in a pout as he tries not to burst into hysterical sobbing. The tenderness of the action makes Sanji want to die. How did he ever think he could give this up? Give Zoro up?
“Hey, hey, it’s okay, Sanji. No need to cry. What’s wrong?” Zoro asks, his tone awash with concern. Sanji wishes he would wrap him up in his arms, but he just stands there, arms limp at his sides as he pushes his face further into Zoro’s hand.
Sanji gestures to the sink, the water still running. They should really turn it off.
“ This,” he chokes out. “All of this. I just—“ He feels like the words are bubbling up in his throat, the weight of the past few days laying on his chest, threatening to crush him like a bug under someone’s shoe. Sanji can’t make eye contact with Zoro, so he keeps his eyes cast downward, looking at the three swords at Zoro’s hip.
Zoro tilts Sanji’s face upward, forcing him to look Zoro in the eye.
“It’s over, Sanji. You’re back where you belong. With the crew. With me. You can breathe now,” Zoro says, stepping close as if to emphasize his words.
A sob wracks Sanji’s frame as Zoro’s words find their way into his heart, making a home there. He leans in, and Zoro pulls him the rest of the way, holding Sanji to his chest, strong and unyielding. His fingers run through Sanji’s hair so gently, as if the same hands haven’t slashed a thousand men to pieces. Sanji can hear his heartbeat, steady and comforting.
“Your shirt is all wet,” Sanji says with a sniffle, looking up to meet Zoro’s gaze.
He huffs. “And?”
Sanji looks down again. “Your shirt. I ruined it. Your shirt is all wet and the sink is going to overflow and this pan. Zoro, this pan is ruined—I basically burned the food right onto it,” he says matter of factly.
“Mhm. Don’t understand what the big fuss is, though.”
“Listen. The shirt, the sink, the pan. Everything. The crew. Our relationship. I just—I always. You know. I always do this,” Sanji says emphatically. He feels like the ceiling could cave down on top of him any moment.
Zoro is still rubbing small circles into his back. He reaches over to turn the sink off, one arm still around Sanji’s waist. “Well there you go. All fixed. And we can just throw the pan away. And this shirt. I don’t care.”
Sanji groans into his chest. “I still don’t think you understand,” he says.
“I don’t. Not really. I don’t understand why you’re still so down about this. We forgave you. I forgive you. I’m here for you, even when things are fucked up. Why can’t you see that, cook?”
Sanji grabs fistfuls of Zoro’s shirt in his hands, the thing still tearstained. “I just feel so bad. So fucking guilty. I just can’t understand why. I know you forgive me, but I don’t deserve it. I don’t—I don’t deserve any of this, I don’t deserve you—“ Zoro cuts him off, hands framing Sanji’s face.
“Stop. You don’t get to decide what you deserve from me. I don’t do anything in this life unless I want to. And every single part of me wants to forgive you. Not because I have to , but because I want to. You need to stop letting this shit eat you alive, Sanji. It’s not fair to you. To any of us. I just want you to know that I love you. To believe that I love you. Because I do.”
Sanji’s eyes are wide. He’s nearly speechless at Zoro’s declaration. Saying ‘I love you’ isn’t new by any means. But this time, Zoro said it with so much conviction, the way he only speaks of his dreams. He’s simply stating what he knows to be true in his heart, eyes ablaze.
Luffy is the man who will be king of the pirates. I am going to be the world’s greatest swordsman. I love you, Sanji.
Sanji’s face feels even warmer than before. He lifts his head from Zoro’s chest, wiping his eyes with the back of a hand, still sniffling.
“Zoro, I—of course I believe you,” Sanji says, repeating himself more steadily. “Of course I do. I love you too.”
The smile on Zoro’s face at that moment could move mountains, Sanji decides. He lives and dies by the way Zoro’s lips upturn into his dimpled cheeks, eyes alight in joy.
“I knew I was irresistible. How embarrassing, do you have a little crush on me, curly brows?”
Sanji bops him on the forehead. “Fuck you. You’re the one who told me that you liked me first. Asshole.”
“Only because I knew you wouldn’t man up and say it yourself, love cook. You can pretend to fawn over the girls all you want, but I saw the way you would stare at my ass.”
Zoro leans closer, a smug grin plastered on his face. Sanji leans back, pretending to be offended, but Zoro doesn’t let him get far, stopping him with a hand on the back of his neck. Zoro’s eyes drift downwards towards Sanji’s mouth, giving him away.
Sanji gives in and kisses Zoro. This is the first time they’ve really kissed since Sanji’s return and Sanji feels a little like a drowning man coming up for air. Zoro pulls him closer, hands on Sanji’s hips, squeezing gently, like he can hardly help himself. Zoro makes a low sound, pressing Sanji into the counter and kissing him harder. Sanji brings both of his hands up to cradle Zoro’s face, thumbs stroking just below his temple.
“Shut up,” Sanji says, coming up for air, his lungs betraying him. “That makes no sense. Your ass is behind you, how could you see me staring at it,” Sanji asks with a fistful of Zoro’s hair. His other hand clings to Zoro’s bicep like a lifeline. The swordsman laughs into his lips, and he feels like his heart has been restarted three times over. Zoro trails kisses along Sanji’s jaw and across his chin to the other side.
“Obviously your haki sucks, lover boy. I can sense you drooling over my ass without even opening my eyes,” Zoro mumbles against Sanji’s skin, running his hands through Sanji’s hair.
“Yeah, and you suck at drying dishes. It’s like you didn’t even try. mosshead,” Sanji says, bringing Zoro’s face up to press a kiss to each of his cheeks.
“I won’t tolerate this disrespect in my kitchen.”
Zoro bites at his lower lip. “Fine then, why don’t we take this somewhere else?” He asks, his hands once again inching their way down to Sanji’s hips, his thumbs sliding in to rest in the belt loops of Sanji’s pants, pulling him in even closer. Sanji slings his arms loosely around Zoro’s neck, fingers tangling in the short hair at his nape.
“Don’t ask me stupid questions you already know the answer to, mosshead.”
Sanji feels warmth spread into his entire body. Zoro’s warm breath against his ear sends his heart into a spiral. A part of him wishes he could stay there forever, his face pressed into the crook of Zoro’s neck, the warm smell of steel and sweat overwhelming his senses.
“Mmph. Need a smoke break first. Come sit with me?” Sanji asks, pulling his lighter from his breast pocket.
Zoro kisses him again, soft and sweet. “Of course. Needed some air anyways. It’s getting a little hot in here.”
“Pfft. And you think I’m the one with a crush? Get your hands off my ass mosshead, you’re gonna break it with those gorilla arms,” Sanji says, lighting up his cigarette as they head out the kitchen door.
“How dare you try to say I’d destroy the one good thing left in this world, cook. Clearly you don’t know me at all,” Zoro grumbles, giving Sanji’s ass a final squeeze as they make their way to the ship’s railing.
The two look out at the waves crashing against the ship’s hull, dark and murky under the stars. Sanji watches the smoke fade up and disappear into them. He imagines he is a child again, wishing upon a star with his hands clasped tightly to his chest. Zoro’s elbow knocks into his own, and in the moment he’s sure they’ve finally answered his pleas.
Zoro takes one of Sanji’s hands, kissing the back of it and then each knuckle.
“Zoro! Sanji!” a voice suddenly cuts through their private moment. Rubber arms stretch around them, knocking Zoro’s head against Sanji’s own. A rubber body follows soon after, Luffy holding them close. Sanji feels little hooves tug at his pant leg. Chopper gives his leg a quick squeeze before moving over to Zoro, climbing up him to rest on his shoulder, little arms wrapped tight around Zoro’s head. Zoro brings a hand up to brace Chopper, making sure he doesn’t fall.
“Let me get in on this!” Usopp exclaims, embracing them both. His nose pokes into Sanji’s neck and he shoves him.
“Yow! A group hug?! This has Franky written all over it! C’mere, bros!” He extends his arms to hold them to his massive chest.
“It most certainly does not have Franky written all over it,” Sanji sputters, but he can’t escape the giant, hairy arm cannons that wrap around him.
From the corner of his eye, Sanji can see Brook approach them with outstretched arms.
“Oh no. Don’t you fucking think about it, bones,” Sanji says, glaring at him. Brook is undeterred, worming his way into the side.
Chopper squeals with delight. “Yay, group hug!!”
“NAMIII, ROBIIIN, GET OVER HERE,” Luffy tells, conveniently right next to Sanji’s ear. He supposes this is an addition he can get behind.
“Yeah buddy! Come to papa, mamas!” Franky shouts. Robin comes to his side, putting a hand on his massive, unsightly arm. Sanji feels a little disappointed. He perks up as Nami makes her way over, only for her to put an arm around Zoro and Luffy.
“My life is nothing but suffering,” Sanji sighs overdramatically, head drooping.
Eventually, Jinbei walks over, patting his head. “Even so,” he begins, “we’re all glad to have you back, son. You’re where you belong.” Jinbei says sagely, the years evident in his voice. It warms Sanji’s heart more than he thought it could.
Luffy laughs, long and loud and deep from his chest.
“Course he is, Jinbei! I have the best crew in all four oceans, ‘specially with Sanji around!” Luffy exclaims this with the same certainty he always has. Sanji can feel the tears gather at the corner of his eyes, not having it in him to will them away.
Luffy reaches over, removing his hat to place it on Sanji’s head, ruffling it into his hair.
“There we go! Glad to have you back, Sanji!”
Those words are the one that break the dam in Sanji’s chest, the tears spilling from his eyes even as his grin widens, reaching from ear to ear.
“Me too, Luffy. Me too.”
He’s glad to be home again, right where he belongs.
“So, when can we eat? Sanji, can you make me a— HEY, what was that for?” Luffy’s demands are cut off by a loud smack.
“Way to ruin the moment, moron,” Nami sighs. “But you know,” she says, a glint in her eye, “I sure would love a snack too.”
“Of course, Nami, anything for you, my beautiful angel!” Sanji exclaims, untangling himself from Zoro and kicking Franky and Luffy off of him to head towards the kitchen.
Zoro shakes his head. “Looks like he’s back after all, huh?”
Luffy pats him on the shoulder. “I wouldn’t have it any other way!” He exclaims, running after Sanji through the kitchen doors, undoubtedly to get his hands on whatever Sanji is preparing.
“Yeah,” Zoro says, mostly to himself, smiling as he hears Sanji shout at Luffy from the kitchen. “Me too.”