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They were fighting again.
It didn’t matter about what – they rarely knew – but even if they did it wouldn’t make a difference in whether or not they’d pull their punches; fighting was how they communicated—it was their thing . No need for words.
Just like any conversation there were varying degrees to its intensity; occasionally it was simply to forestall boredom while stuck at sea, others it was for fun , and sometimes – most times – it was to settle a disagreement. Anything could set them off; a stolen bottle of wine, snide comment here, weird look there, accidentally bumping elbows, coughing, phase of the moon… the wind could change directions.
This time, however, there was no such ambiguity as Sanji was certain it was because the swordsman had decided to belch his, ‘Thank you.’ while returning a plate after his lunch. Sanji had kicked the swordsman out of the galley. Chasing after him with the intention of smashing his face into Sunny’s lawn and forcing some dirt into his foul mouth.
At the behest – read as: threat of death – of Nami, they were refraining from using any form of weapons to avoid any damage to Sunny, but that didn’t stop the ship from groaning under the weight of their disagreement. Her grass was getting terribly torn up. Its Adam’s wood creaked in protest when Sanji’s kick barely missed Zoro – Sunny’s deck took the full impact – his misplaced kick had Zoro slipping under Sanji’s guard.
“Shit!”
Zoro’s smirk spoke volumes.
Arm wrapping around the cook’s face with a vicious hook – ducking his chin to his chest just in time to keep the swordsman getting it around his neck – Sanji was yanked aggressively backwards as Zoro swung around to position himself behind the cook. His other arm already snapping up as Sanji reacted. Hand coming up to grip the swordsman’s elbow in an attempt to keep him from completing the lock while fighting to wrestle his head free.
Knees bent and teeth bared, Sanji hooked his foot behind Zoro’s ankle and was moments from throwing himself back into the swordsman to slam him into the deck – and hopefully get a knee over his shoulder to crack him in the nose – when the swordsman completed the lock and began to tighten his arms.
Sanji’s eyes bugged.
Time practically slowed to a standstill – his heart skipping a beat – as the tight embrace tugged at something deep inside himself that he hadn’t realized he’d been needing. Warmth flooded his body, then his face. Breath stuttered out in a strangled way that had nothing to do with the choke as Zoro’s arm tightened even further and started to squeeze—that force wringing out something heavy that had been weighing him down.
With another shift and expert twist, Zoro managed to finally get his arm snug beneath Sanji’s chin – the crook of his elbow cradling Sanji’s throat – before flexing with all his strength. Bicep pressing tight against his jugular. Forearm cutting a sharp angle up the other side. Hand stretching up to grip Zoro’s other arm that braced readily behind Sanji’s head—hand palming the back of his skull.
Steadily Zoro tightened his hold as he almost lazily cut off all blood flow to Sanji’s head, but the cook was already thoroughly defeated by the embrace alone. A blush ignited across Sanji’s cheeks despite the spectacular lack of blood. Limp within Zoro’s arms for reasons that had nothing to do with the chokehold.
Unable to focus on whatever had originally caused their fight in the first place, but perhaps this had something to do with it—perhaps it always had. Sanji had always struggled to pinpoint what set him off so easily. All he knew was that when he needed someone to get fired up to match him, Zoro was always there to lend a helping hand—in the form of a fist.
Usually well aimed too.
Perhaps what drew him to the swordsman so often was the brief touches that quelled the hurricane of desperation in him that threatened to swallow him whole. Clashing of blades and haki coated limbs allowed Sanji to beat these internal frustrations out of himself. Those brief touches when one faltered, or got too close, or the swipe of an arm that caused them to touch – even if it was only for a moment – were a cool balm to his sunburned, touch-starved soul.
Human contact; no matter how brief, no matter how violent – but it never really was, was it? – despite their fighting, they never actually hurt each other. It was just a give and take; and ebb and flow. A constant war of emotional vicissitudes, but always meeting in the middle.
And it wasn’t always Zoro...
Sometimes graced with a playful touch to the chin by Nami, or a comforting hand to his shoulder by Robin—those times were wonderful. He cherished them endlessly. They did more than either woman would ever know, and yet – as fantastical as they were – all paled in comparison to the feeling right now of being held.
Not just held, but supported.
Like if he were to collapse right there it would take nothing on the swordsman’s part to carry his weight… and maybe even more. Zoro could probably carry it all. Every single bit of the crushing darkness swirling inside that had been woven into him since he was child—a weight he had struggled to ignore his whole life. Zoro’s arms around him were the last drop that caused his cup to spill over; a weakness – a need – he hadn’t known he was carrying was suddenly laid bare.
But it was the swordsman of all people.
How embarrassing…
And yet, he couldn’t pull away.
A powerlessness that had nothing to do with their physicality had Sanji stuck in Zoro’s arms as he prayed for the swordsman’s choke to succeed and allow him to black out. Succumb to this shameful revelation. Escape from this torture. Faint rather than be forced to admit to the swordsman what was truly affecting him, but Sanji had no such luck.
Luck was the swordsman's luxury...
All at once Zoro’s strength waned when Sanji had stopped his struggling—time correcting itself with the returned pounding of his heart beat. They stood together—silent. Sanji could sense the confusion, likely warping the swordsman’s face into a delightfully perplexed expression. At the very least he could take comfort in the fact he was able to dislodge the swordsman's footing one way or another.
Sanji’s hand flexed where it rested on Zoro’s arm nervously.
There were no words for him to even begin to explain everything that was happening in his head right now, and he certainly had no excuses to keep Zoro from letting him go, but he wanted the swordsman to stay. Needed him to stay. Just stay like this for a little bit longer – lift him up, take the weight, hold on tight – until Sanji could walk away feeling steady on his own two feet again.
He didn’t need much.
Just ten seconds would do.
They were able to work together for that long… but he knew he couldn’t ask.
Slowly – cautiously so; as though the swordsman was concerned that perhaps it was a ploy on Sanji’s part to get him to lower his guard – Zoro lifted the hand he had braced against Sanji’s head. It hovered awkwardly above the mussed hair. He waited a moment, but Sanji didn’t move—couldn’t. As embarrassing as it was, Zoro’s arm was still wrapped loosely around his neck and Sanji didn’t want to lose that warmth.
Then Zoro’s arm slipped further down.
No longer pressed snug to Sanji’s throat, it now traipsed along the cook’s jutting collarbones; his hand came to rest in a secure cradle of Sanji’s shoulder. His other still hovered over Sanji warily. However, Sanji still had yet to move.
So slowly – less cautious than before, but still discreet – the swordsman lowered his other arm until it joined its brother in wrapping loosely around the cook’s shoulders; Sanji’s hand pinned between the swordsman’s arms—his fingers twitched, but he didn’t move. Nor say a word. Zoro notably stiffened when the hug wasn’t met with anything—violent or otherwise. And Sanji could sense the shock adorning the swordsman’s face, could feel it in the lines of his body still pressed against Sanji’s back.
Sanji knew this wasn’t them, but he’d allowed it to start, and now he couldn’t stop.
Hand at his side curling into a fist – catching a bit of his pant leg – Sanji drove all his frustrations, and nervousness, and distress down his arm and into that hand. Forcing it away from his aching heart, away from his brittle spirit. These strong arms – these weapons – held him so delicately; Sanji felt as though he would shatter if he didn’t hold onto something —so a pant leg would have to do.
Then Zoro’s arms tightened.
Steadfast and swift, Zoro hauled Sanji in close—nearly the same position as they hand been in for the choke, and yet, somehow worlds apart in similarity. Sanji stood in a daze. Feeling Zoro’s steady, strong heart hammering a calming rhythm against his back, and those deep, controlled breaths from the swordsman tickling his neck.
Sanji stared at the deck—nothing in focus.
With a gentle shift of his head – not quite a nuzzle, but close to it – Zoro rested his temple gently against Sanji’s before falling still. Sanji’s bangs bunched a little from the movement; he could feel Zoro’s short hair bending as it flattened down against Sanji’s. Then the swordsman was still once more as he continued to hug Sanji close—not saying a word, not asking for an explanation, not needing anything more.
Sanji’s blush faded something a bit milder.
They stood there for a while… far longer than ten seconds.