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“Take a break if you need to,” Robin said softly. Sanji put his trembling hands in the bin full of outgoing letters, trying to hide them from her. He had only worked a few hours, but his fingers already felt stiff and clumsy.
“I’m fine, Robin,” he said, “We’ve got a lot today, want to do my part making sure these letters make it home.” She gave him a small smile and left for the backroom. Sanji turned back to the mountains of letters with a sigh, trying to stretch his fingers and massage some feeling back into them.
The bell above the door chimed, and he looked up eagerly, a familiar figure skulking into the post office.
“Welcome back,” he said cheerfully to the young sergeant with bright green hair, Roronoa Zoro from the return address on his letters. Zoro nodded at him, grey eyes piercing as he placed another letter on the table along with exact change. He always came at the same time, half an hour after lunch. Sanji had seen him once, sitting alone and writing his daily letter, always addressed to the same person, Shimotsuki Kuina.
“How has your day been, Sergeant?” he asked, slowly writing the addressee and address in his ledger, forcing his fingers to grip the pen as well as he could. Zoro watched him write, making Sanji feel self-conscious.
“Fine, training was good, new recruits are shaping up,” he said. “Lunch was shitty,” he added after a brief pause.
“Any more word on deployment?” Sanji asked casually, hoping there hadn’t been any new developments. The war was apparently going well for them. The generals were expecting a victory by the holidays and were hesitant to send their youngest recruits to the battlefront, keeping them instead in training camps in their allied country, close enough to the front but still out of harm’s way.
“No,” Zoro shook his head, “But I’m itching to go, I don’t like just waiting around. Some of my friends are out there on the front lines still.”
Sanji nodded, placing Zoro’s payment in the cashbox. He wondered if Zoro was confused why he, a seemingly able-bodied young man, wasn’t enlisted and going to war. My hands don’t work. I can’t hold a gun. But I want to do what I can for my country.
He held Zoro’s letter in his hand. Sanji had taken to fixing Zoro’s messy scrawl, dotting I’s properly, making sure the word “street” was legible. He didn’t want Zoro’s letters to Kuina to get lost in the mail.
“We’ll make sure this gets to her,” he said to Zoro, repeating what he said to each of the soldiers who visited the post office with tidings for home.
“Thank you,” Zoro nodded, tapping the desk awkwardly.
“Is there… anything else I can help you with?” Sanji asked wistfully.
“No,” Zoro responded, turning back to the door, “I’ll… see you tomorrow.”
Sanji watched him go, staring longingly after Zoro’s broad shoulders. He looked down at the letter in his hand. Zoro didn’t wear a wedding band, but he wrote to Kuina every day. She must be a lover, or just as close. Sanji sighed, rummaging around in his bag, dropping a few extra coins in the cash box, and adding an expedited stamp to the letter.
---
It was a hot day. Afternoon training had finished, and most of the men were lounging around in the shade trying to cool off. Sanji could feel the sweat tricking down the small of his back under the postman’s heavy uniform. He stopped at the first barracks, tapping nervously at the door and looking around for the lieutenant in charge.
“Mail for the day, sir,” he said when he spotted Lieutenant Monkey at a nearby desk. He smiled fondly at the man who was currently sleeping on a stack of paperwork.
“Sir?” he repeated, not wanting to touch the officer, a break in protocol.
A hand came to hit Lieutenant Monkey over the head, and he jumped, rubbing his eyes. Sanji stared at Zoro, who was wiping his face with his balled-up shirt. Which meant he was not wearing it. His abs glistened with sweat, chest still heaving as if he’d just come back from additional training.
“Sir,” Zoro said, as if he had not just assaulted his ranking officer, “Mail.”
“Sorry,” Lieutenant Monkey grinned, holding out his hand.
“Anything for me?” Zoro asked, his gaze on Sanji.
“No,” Sanji squeaked, “Sorry, I’ll watch out for it though.”
Zoro nodded and brushed past Sanji, heading to what Sanji presumed was his bunk and pulling out another t-shirt and a towel and stalking out of the tent toward the showers.
“Sanji,” Lieutenant Monkey said, voice amused, “I’ll take those.” Sanji jumped and handed the package of letters for his platoon to him. He looked through them, a smile on his face when he found two letters addressed to himself from a Portgas Ace and Lucy Sabo. This was Sanji’s favorite part of his job, watching the faces of the soldiers when they received a letter. Once he’d delivered the letters to each of the three platoons stationed at Camp East Blue, he would often hang around during afternoon roll calls, watching as the lieutenants handed out letters to their platoons.
“My brothers,” Lieutenant Monkey said, waving the letters, “They’re on the front.”
“I hope they stay safe,” Sanji replied.
“They will,” he laughed, “Thank you always Sanji.”
Sanji smiled and left the tent to deliver the other letters to Lieutenants Eustass and Trafalgar.
---
Wincing, Sanji applied ointment to his aching fingers. The process of rubbing the foul-smelling balm into his hands was painful, his already sore fingers screaming as he massaged each hand in turn. Robin had offered to help him with this daily regimen, but he didn’t want her to have to get her hands dirty with the strong, oily substance. He frowned, looking at the near-empty bottle. He would have to get a refill on the prescription from Doctor Tony soon.
The bell to the post office rang. He looked up sharply. They were closed and the entire office currently smelled like an herbal sauna. Zoro was standing at the door, and Sanji wanted to drop off the face of the earth.
“Sorry, Sergeant,” he said quickly, “We’re closed now.”
“I know,” Zoro said, “Um, Luffy… Lieutenant Monkey wanted me to drop these off for you.” He held up a plastic bag, “One of the guys found gum berries on a hike.”
“Oh,” Sanji blinked, “That’s very kind, thank you.” He looked down awkwardly at his hands, which were still covered in the sticky residue of his ointment. “You can… just leave it by the door.”
“Are your hands okay?” Zoro asked softly. Sanji flushed, “It’s fine. I have—” A degenerative disease that’s been slowly taking away my ability to use my hands? “I have some arthritis,” he said instead, “Just put some… lotion on. It’s no big deal. Sorry about the smell.”
“It reminds me of this tiger balm stuff my sensei gave us for bruises and scrapes,” Zoro said, a smile on his face at the memory, “We used to hate it, but the one time we didn’t apply it after training, we really regretted it.”
“We?” Sanji asked curiously, “Kuina?”
Zoro nodded, face falling. Sanji cursed himself for raising the topic. Obviously Zoro wouldn’t want to be reminded of her when he was so far away with no prospect of seeing her again soon.
“Well, I don’t know what’s in this stuff,” Sanji said, pointing at his jar, “But if you had to put something similar on every day as well, I commiserate with you."
“You have to put it on every day?”
“Yes,” he shrugged, “It’s a pain, but like you said, if I don’t do it, the next day is pretty bad.”
“Do you… do you want any help?” Zoro asked. Sanji looked up sharply. Zoro shifted his weight from leg to leg nervously, like he wanted to go but felt he had to offer.
“Ah no, that’s very kind,” Sanji said finally, “But I wouldn’t impose that on you. Thank you though, Sergeant.”
“Right,” Zoro said, turning around, “See you tomorrow.”
“See you,” Sanji whispered as the door swung shut behind him.
---
“Asshole Number C-4512, aka Bubblegum, here’s your fucking letter,” Lieutenant Eustass yelled at his men. He lifted the letter to his nose and sniffed, “Ah, the honeysuckle scent of a lover who is probably sleeping with another man back home.” The gathered men laughed at the joke, as Bubblegum snatched the letter from his officer and gave him the middle finger. Sanji smiled to himself. Lieutenant Eustass’ platoon was full of characters, first among them their vulgar officer.
Sanji was sitting behind a nearby oak tree, eating his lunch as he watched the letters and packages being distributed for the day. He was enjoying a particularly good lemon tart when he heard his name and froze.
“What’s that mail guy’s name? Sanji? What’s his deal? He looks like he’s our age, what the fuck is he doing hiding in a post office and not enlisting? Conscientious objector or some shit like that?"
Heart hammering, Sanji began inching away, not wanting to hear any more.
“Stop it,” he heard a voice hiss and realized with horror that it was one of his childhood friends, Gin. “I grew up with Sanji. He’s a good guy. His hands are fucked up, he can’t grip anything heavier than a pen, you want him to go to the front without a gun?” Now he truly did not want to be there, hearing his weakness exposed to a group of soldiers heading to war. He ran, clutching his lunch to his chest with his shaky hands. He rounded the corner to the post office and ran into a solid form, bouncing off and falling backwards.
“Sorry,” he said unsteadily, trying to push off the ground with just his legs, but was suddenly being pulled up by a strong arm.
“You okay?” He looked up to see Zoro standing in front of him, eyes worried.
“Yeah, great, fine, never better,” he stammered, tugging his arm out of Zoro’s grip.
“Did something happen?” Zoro frowned.
“Nope, just forgot I had to do something during my lunch hour,” Sanji muttered, “Lost track of time.”
“Are the men giving you shit?” Zoro asked, looking at the remains of Sanji’s lemon tart on the front of his uniform. This was unbearable. Sanji wanted to hide away from Zoro’s scrutiny, not sure he had ever felt so ashamed in his life. His thoughts went to the first time he dropped a dish during service, hearing the shattering sound of a fully prepared meal on a ceramic plate hitting the ground, Zeff’s disappointed expression, the doctor visits, the various treatments, the eventual diagnosis of incurable. He felt the stinging of tears in his eyes and cursed; he would never, ever cry in front of Zoro.
“No, just need to do my work,” he said, dodging past Zoro and retreating into the post office. He went to the backroom, Robin thankfully wasn’t there, and watched Zoro stand stock-still at the front door before striding away. He collapsed onto the chair, exhausted, and allowed the tears to stream down his face.
---
Sanji stared at the letter in his hands, addressed to Sergeant Roronoa Zoro from Shimotsuki Koushiro. Not Kuina, but close enough. Leaving the rest of the letters for sorting later, he switched the sign of the post office to Closed and ran to find Zoro.
He wasn’t in the barracks or the mess hall. Sanji eventually spotted green hair in the empty training grounds and slowed to a stop as he watched Zoro doing pull-ups on one of the bars, gripping a heavy weight between his feet. Sanji sighed. The man was tireless, the type of sergeant who inspired the best out of the men. Zoro eventually jumped down and moved to a nearby bench press when he froze, having spotted Sanji lurking.
“You have a letter,” Sanji said eagerly.
Zoro’s face broke into a grin, and he bounded over to Sanji, taking the letter from his hands.
“It’s not… her,” Sanji said.
“I know,” Zoro replied, ripping open the envelope and scanning the letter, eyes flicking to Sanji at one point as he read. He then pulled out what looked like bookmarks, red and decorated with beautiful gold patterns.
“Those are gorgeous,” Sanji gasped.
“Charms,” Zoro smiled, “For safety and health.” He hesitated, then held one out to Sanji.
“Oh, I can’t, those are for you,” Sanji said, raising his hands and backing away.
“I only need the one,” Zoro shrugged, walking closer. Sanji retreated.
“I’m not going to war,” Sanji protested, panicking, “You should give that to someone who deserves it.” Zoro paused and stared at him. Sanji gulped, trying to decipher the look in Zoro’s eyes. Finally, Zoro stepped toward him again. Sanji didn’t move this time. Carefully, Zoro placed the charm in Sanji’s shirt pocket, and Sanji could feel the heat from his fingers over his heart.
“It’s for you,” Zoro said quietly, “I want you to have it.”
He was standing very close. Sanji could smell the musk from the man, sour sweat, aftershave, forest moss, sun and fresh air.
“I—” Zoro began, face contorted as he looked up as if the sky held the words he wanted, “I heard about your hands.”
Sanji felt chills running down his spine. Gin must have blabbed to everyone.
“I don’t need pity,” he blurted out, “You don’t have to say anything, we can just pretend you didn’t hear—”
“It’s really brave and… amazing,” Zoro said, “You had your dream taken away, but you’re still… doing what you can to make others happy. I see how excited you are when we get our letters.”
Well and truly embarrassed, Sanji stumbled backwards. “It’s just my job,” he said, “I just want to do something for my country since I can’t—” He waved his useless hands awkwardly in the air. “Anyways, thank you for the charm, and I’m glad your letter got to you safely. I’m on the lookout for one from Kuina.” Turning tail so he wouldn’t have to see Zoro’s pitying expression any longer, he hustled back to the post office. He checked his watch; he’d have to work faster to make sure the rest of the letters got sorted in time for the afternoon distribution.
---
Sanji groaned, trying desperately to get his thumb to cooperate. As a result of his taking an unnecessary break to hand-deliver Zoro’s letter, he had overworked his hands trying to get the incoming letters sorted and the outgoing letters properly stamped. He gritted his teeth, trying to scoop out some more of the ointment and cursing when the jar nearly fell out of his hands. He took a break, trying to clench and unclench his hands.
“Fuck,” he moaned at a fresh wave of pain. He contemplated going to the medical tent and seeing if Doctor Tony was still there and could help him finish his treatment for the day. He decided against it. The medical tent was for soldiers. Steeling himself, he reached again for the jar, gritting his teeth against the pain.
The bell to the post office rang and suddenly Zoro was there. He grabbed the jar himself and scooped out a dollop of ointment, then knelt down in front of Sanji and beckoned for his hands.
“You don’t—” Sanji began, flabbergasted.
“I know I don’t have to,” Zoro said, grabbing Sanji’s hand gently, “Let me know if it hurts too much.” Carefully, Zoro began massaging the ointment into Sanji’s fingers, large hands working slowly over each phalange, spending more time on the knuckles where the pain usually radiated from, thumbs prodding at Sanji’s palm as he traced the lines like he was reading Sanji’s future. Sanji was too shocked to notice if his hands were hurting, just stared at the concentrated expression on Zoro’s face as he worked.
When he finished one hand, Zoro reached for the jar again, retrieving more ointment and beginning on the other. Sanji found his voice again. “Thank you,” he managed to say, voice raspy.
Zoro simply nodded, spending just as long on the other hand as he did the first. He gave Sanji’s hand one final squeeze and stood, wiping his oily hands on his pants.
“I’ll come help you every night,” he said firmly, “You shouldn’t have to do it yourself. No arguing. We take care of our own.”
“I’m not one of your soldiers,” Sanji chuckled weakly.
“You’re… my friend,” Zoro said, and Sanji couldn’t bear to look up at him, “You take care of us.”
“I’m just doing my job,” Sanji said, blinking back tears as he flexed his fingers, already feeling much better.
“You do more than that,” Zoro replied, “I know you expedite our letters around the holidays out of your own pocket. I know you read the import labels closely and store packages in the fridge for us if they have any treats in them. I know… I know you fix my addresses for me. Koushiro told me in one of his letters, said he didn’t recognize the handwriting at first because it was so neat. And our last postman was fine, but you’ve never lost a single letter or package for us, have you?”
Sanji stared at his hands, surprised that Zoro noticed any of that.
“It’s my job,” he repeated helplessly, feeling like a broken record.
“You really can’t take a compliment, can you?” Zoro asked, voice amused. He let out a deep sigh, “Our connections to home mean a lot to us. So… yeah, we notice how much you care that we have them.” And with that, he exited into the warm evening, leaving behind turmoil—Sanji’s glee and embarrassment at war in the tiny post office.
---
Zoro returned every evening after that, always punctual, the door to the post office opening at 1900 on the dot. Sanji finally began to expect him, preparing a chair so Zoro didn’t have to crouch in front of him. His hands were feeling better, Zoro doing a much more adept job at applying the ointment compared to his own fumbling one-handed attempts.
“With your help, maybe I’ll be able to cook again one day,” Sanji said one night. Zoro gifted him with one of his wide, boyish grins, “I’ll expect to get the first meal then.”
Giggling, Sanji shook his head, “I wouldn’t do that to you. Let me practice a bit more, I haven’t cooked in years.”
“Is it… is there a cure for your hands?” Zoro asked hesitantly.
“No,” Sanji said, “Just management of the pain, trying to keep them limber, stopping the calcification as much as possible. Sorting letters helps, the repetitive motion stretches my fingers. I’ll… never be able to cook professionally again. But maybe one day, a meal for a friend.”
“I’ll look forward to it,” Zoro replied, sitting back in his chair. He had taken to staying longer rather than immediately departing after he finished. Sanji cherished these moments, trying to drag them out as long as he could before Zoro inevitably needed to leave to meet curfew. He now had more reason to selfishly hope Zoro’s platoon was never deployed. He got to see Zoro twice a day, Zoro still coming after lunch to mail a letter to Kuina.
“Your letters to… Kuina,” Sanji said, taking a chance on this line of conversation, “Why do you send them every day? I could bundle them for you, it’ll make it cheaper.”
Zoro looked away, and Sanji regretted broaching the topic.
“Kuina…” he said, then stopped.
“I shouldn’t pry, I’m sorry,” Sanji said, shaking his head.
“It’s fine. Kuina is… gone. My childhood friend. She died a year ago. She wanted to fight for our country, one of the first women they let enlist because she was just better than all of us. I send letters home that Koushiro puts on her grave, letting her know what’s going on in the war. I send them every day so she knows she’s not forgotten.”
Sanji watched Zoro’s hands gripping the cloth that he used to wipe them after he finished taking care of Sanji’s hands. He struggled with finding the words to say that would adequately respond to the magnitude of grief in Zoro’s voice.
Zoro cleared his throat, “So it means even more to me that you’re in charge of sending them. When you say ‘we’ll make sure this gets to her’ every time I give you a letter…” Zoro took a deep breath, and then continued, “I’m just really thankful.”
Say something, Sanji thought desperately.
“Anyways, sorry to bring the mood down,” Zoro said, standing up, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Say something.
“I’ll send her letters too,” he blurted out, “If you’re deployed or if you miss a day or just to make sure she gets something in case one of the letters gets lost, I’ll send her letters too.”
Zoro turned back, mouth open in shock, “I-it’s hard for you to write.”
“It’ll be good for me,” Sanji said, determined now that he had volunteered to do such a bizarre thing, sending daily letters to someone he had never met who was cherished by the man he was in love with, “A different kind of motor skill. I need to write more anyways.”
“She would love to hear from someone who isn’t her dumb friend,” Zoro said, voice hoarse.
“Then I’ll write to her. I’ll tell her all about her dumb friend.”
Zoro laughed at this, a full body shaking laugh that rattled the dust off Sanji’s bones. “Do I need to read your letters and approve them before you send them off?” he asked finally, eyes twinkling.
“I thought we were going to war against oppression,” Sanji replied cheekily.
“Thank you, Sanji,” Zoro said, “My debt to you grows.”
“You take care of my hands every night, what do you mean?” Sanji asked, “I owe you.”
“Well I enjoy doing that so it doesn’t count,” Zoro smirked, opening the door and running back to the barracks as the curfew horn sounded.
---
Sanji glared at the misshapen lump of rice on the plate. He looked at the clock, 0524. The soldiers would be waking up soon, and he was still standing in his small kitchen with bits of rice stuck to his hands. With a sigh, he went to wash his hands off, wetting them, and making one more attempt at forming normal-looking onigiri balls. Somewhat satisfied with the result, Sanji nestled them in a small box with lettuce and thin slices of carrot and hustled to open up the post office.
He waited nervously for Zoro after the lunch hour ended. When he entered the office, letter in hand, Sanji pushed the box of onigiri toward him.
“What’s this?” Zoro asked, raising an eyebrow.
“A post-lunch snack,” Sanji said. Zoro opened the box carefully, eyes lighting up when he saw the contents.
“You made this?” he asked, looking up at Sanji.
Sanji nodded shyly, “It’s pretty basic, but I remember you said Koushiro would make you and Kuina homemade onigiri after practice.” Zoro picked up one of the balls and stuffed the entire thing ungracefully into his mouth. Sanji watched as he chewed furiously, finally swallowing, a lump traveling down his throat and making his Adam’s apple bob.
“It’s really good,” Zoro said happily, eyes bright on Sanji, “I’ll save the other one for afternoon training. Thank you, Sanji.”
Sanji laughed, “You have rice all over your face now.” Zoro frowned and rubbed at the wrong side of his face. Sanji reached forward and tried to brush off one of the kernels with his knuckle, succeeding only in clumsily poking Zoro on the cheek.
“Sorry,” he said, retracting his hand quickly, “My hands don’t really listen to me.” Zoro wiped his own face with a handkerchief, cheeks tinted red.
“I have a letter for Kuina too,” Sanji said, holding it up. He had spent the rest of the evening trying to decide what to say and then trying to physically write it. The handwriting wasn’t very neat, but he hoped Kuina would understand.
“I do too,” Zoro grinned, putting his letter on the table and pulling out twice the amount for sending it, clearly intending to pay for Sanji’s postage as well.
“No,” Sanji frowned, “I’m sending my own letter.”
“I insist,” Zoro said, pushing the money forward.
“I insist more,” Sanji replied, sorting it and pushing half of it back. Zoro put a hand on top of Sanji’s, preparing to force the money back.
Sanji faked a wince, and Zoro immediately retreated, panic in his eyes. Giggling, Sanji stuck his tongue out and added half the money to the cashbox, leaving the rest on the counter.
Zoro glared at him, “So that’s how you’re going to play?”
“This is my letter to Kuina, not yours,” Sanji said, writing information for both letters in his ledger and adding them to the outgoing bin. He turned back to Zoro and jumped when he found Zoro leaning on the counter, face inches away from his.
“Sanji, why are you doing all this?” Zoro asked quietly, “The onigiri, sending letters to Kuina, all of this.”
Sanji flushed, looking away from Zoro’s intense gaze. Because I’m madly in love with you.
“Sanji, we have an urgent telegram from headquarters. Can you deliver this to the captain?” Robin said, walking in from the backroom. Zoro leapt back, nodded at her, and left. Robin watched him go, a small smile on her face, then handed the telegram to Sanji.
“I think the handsome sergeant is sweet on you,” she said quietly.
Sanji shook his head, face still red, “No, he’s just being friendly.”
Robin covered her mouth to hide a giggle, “You know I sometimes pass by the post office on my evening walks. A bomb could go off and neither of you two would notice."
“I’m going to deliver this,” Sanji said, jumping down from his stool and fleeing.
---
I think the handsome sergeant is sweet on you. Robin’s words replayed in his mind the rest of the day, making Sanji devolve into an unwanted fit of blushing and hitting his head against the counter each time. He decided to ignore the comment. He didn’t have the sanity to even hope that Zoro reciprocated his feelings.
After dinner, he took out his ointment and the extra chair and sat staring at the clock as it slowly ticked toward 1900. Zoro arrived slightly after 1900 and sat down heavily across from Sanji, his expression stormy.
“Everything okay?” Sanji asked, as Zoro opened the jar and took Sanji’s hand.
“We’re being deployed,” Zoro grunted, “Tomorrow.” Sanji’s heart dropped.
“What happened?”
“Eastern front collapsed,” Zoro replied, “Our troops are cut off, backs against the sea. We’re dropping in at dawn.” Sanji tried to pull his hands away, “You should go get ready, get some sleep. I’ll be fine, Sergeant.”
“I need to do this,” Zoro said firmly, “Please let me do this one more time.”
Sanji nodded, and Zoro spent longer than usual on each hand, his gentleness almost painful. When he finished, he continued holding Sanji’s hand loosely in his, as his thumbs traced over Sanji’s knuckles.
“I’ll… I’ll try and write to you,” Zoro said, “Give you updates on how the men are doing. Though I can’t imagine it’s as easy to send mail on the front.”
“Write when you can,” Sanji choked out, “I’ll write to Kuina, make sure she gets a letter every day. I’ll write to you too, once I figure out what your new address is."
“Sanji,” Zoro said, a strain in his voice, “Sanji, once this is over, can I come find you?”
“Yes,” Sanji replied, blinking back tears, “Of course. I—I’ll be here.”
“Okay,” Zoro nodded, “Okay, I’ll come to you.” He looked up, a tempest in his eyes, “I won’t say anymore. Bad luck to say what I want to say to you. I promise I’ll tell you when I’m back.”
“I’ll be here,” Sanji repeated softly. Zoro squeezed his hands one more time, and then left.
Sanji sat back in his chair, the ache in his chest more overwhelming than the ache in his hands.
---
Dear Kuina,
I haven’t heard from our mutual friend in a while, unfortunately. I’m only able to keep up with his division from newspaper articles, they keep news on active troop movement pretty locked up around here. It sounds like things are hectic.
I miss him. I feel like my body is programmed for him to walk through the door after lunch and after dinner. When he doesn’t, everything feels off. Oof, but it must be weird for you to get these letters, which keep turning into diary entries. I don’t know you that well, Kuina, but I feel like I do. You’re strong and brave and capable. I can’t help but feel that Zoro is who he is because of you, so you must be incredible.
My hands are struggling, so I’ll stop for now. More tomorrow.
Love,
Sanji
--
Dear Kuina,
Still nothing from Zoro. My stomach is a constant pit of writhing vipers when I think about him. The news in general is not good. Every day I scan the telegrams for the casualty list, and my heart falls when I see a name that begins with R.
But I’m not writing just to worry you, Kuina. Some good news. I visited my doctor, and he’s pleased with the progress I’m making with my hands. I’ve been forcing myself to write and to do some cooking, and he says it’s helping. I’ve made so many onigiri in the past few days. I have to get it perfect for when Zoro comes back.
Hope you’re resting well,
Sanji
---
Dear Kuina,
The first few casualties from Zoro’s division came in. I recognized some of the names from letters I mailed out and received from them. My heart hurts for them and for their loved ones. But the Battle of Whiskey Peak went well for us. The newspapers are calling it the Turning Point of the war. But there have been so many turning points in the past, I don’t know what to believe anymore.
I wish I could talk to you Kuina. I’d love to hear stories from Zoro’s childhood. Was he as wild a child as I imagine? I also wish you could gossip with me and tell me what he’s said to you about me in his letters. I… I want to believe that he cares for me, the way I care for him. I’ve told you what he said the night before he was deployed, haven’t I? Very cryptic. Can’t you give me a hint about what he’ll say to me when he returns?
Love,
Sanji
---
Sanji,
Apologies for the delay. I am safe, just a few scratches. It is wet as hell over here, monsoon season. Sorry the ink keeps getting smudged. We lost a few good soldiers, but the men are in okay spirits. We’re trying to win this as fast as we can so we can come home.
I think about your hands constantly. I hope you’re taking care of them.
Zoro
---
Sergeant,
I am very glad to hear you’re safe. I have been trying to follow your campaign, but mostly just hear about your big battles. You neglected to mention that you won medals during the Battle of Whiskey Peak. I had to find out from newspapers. The black and white photo they included in the article didn’t do justice to your hair color.
My hands are doing fine. Writing letters to Kuina is helping, though I’m quite slow. Now that I have an address, I’ll send you daily letters too.
I miss having your help with applying the ointment.
Sanji
---
Dear Kuina,
He wrote! The relief I felt when I saw the envelope with his chicken scratch handwriting. He didn’t mention anything about the awards I told you about, but I suppose I should have expected that. No grand tales of his heroism in his letter.
I want to tell him how I feel, but I lose my nerve every time I begin. It is maddening though, to see what he writes and not be able to see his expression.
Love,
Sanji
---
Sanji,
We’re moving again, but the supply lines are back and running so you can keep sending me letters if you’d like, addressed to the platoon.
This feels ridiculous to say, but did you know you have a scent? It’s a mixture of the ointment for your hands, old paper and stamps, and something else very much you. Even a letter traveling hundreds of miles still has it. I feel like an idiot sitting in a trench smelling a piece of paper.
Zoro
P.S. Stop calling me Sergeant.
---
Zoro,
Would you like me to send a lock of my hair next time? Just teasing.
The new recruits have arrived. The sergeants are working them hard, which makes me worried that the war isn’t going as well as the newspapers would have us think. But I suppose you can’t tell me much about that.
I got a letter from Koushiro two days ago, thanking me for sending letters to Kuina. He sent me a baby photo of you and their family onigiri recipe. I’ll have to write to him and thank him for the charm. I hope yours is still keeping you safe.
Sanji
---
Sanji,
I didn’t see a lock of hair.
I’m writing to Koushiro to tell him to stop with the baby photos.
Don’t talk to the new sergeants. The war is going fine. One more push, and they might send us home for leave.
The charm is keeping me safe.
Fuck it. I’m in love with you, Sanji. I’ll see you soon.
Zoro
---
Sanji stared at the letter, hands shaking this time not from his disease but from exhilaration. He scrambled to the backroom and pulled out a pad of paper and began writing furiously, knowing his handwriting would be nearly impossible to read going this fast but wanting to get the return letter to Zoro as soon as humanly possible. Zoro would take the time to decipher it. Zoro was in love with him. He signed it and rummaged around in his desk for a pair of scissors, managing to chop off far too much hair, but dumping it all in the envelope regardless. He put a hand to his forehead, feeling slightly deranged as he looked at the strands of his light blonde hair strewn across the desk.
Zoro was in love with him.
He quickly addressed the envelope, added the stamp, and stuffed it in the outgoing mail. His fingers were still trembling, and he put them on the counter, trying to force them to steady. They only began to shake harder, spasming wildly, contorting beyond his control. He began breathing hard, vision blurring. He fell to the ground, clutching at his hands, pain lancing up his arms.
He heard the door open and had the wild thought that Zoro had returned, but moments later Robin was at his side.
“Robin, my hands,” he moaned.
“I’m taking you to the medical tent,” she said, trying to help him up.
“No, no,” he gasped, “I’ll be okay, the medical tent is for soldiers, I just need to rest them for a little bit.”
Robin looked around, grabbing the jar of Sanji’s ointment from under the counter and sitting down with him. Sanji grimaced when she took his hands and began rubbing them gently.
“Has this ever happened before?” she asked, her slender hands massaging the skin between his fingers. The pain was beginning to recede, replaced by a dull ache.
“Once or twice,” Sanji said, tears welling in the corners of his eyes, “Never this bad.”
“You’re taking the next few days off,” Robin said firmly once she had finished, “No more using your hands.”
“I have to write a letter,” Sanji said, thinking about Kuina.
“Not today, Sanji,” she replied softly, “You can’t today.”
“I have to,” Sanji moaned, “He’s trusting me to write her a letter. I just have a few words I need to write. Can you help me, Robin?”
She nodded, standing to retrieve paper and a pen. Sanji gave her the address for the envelope and then dictated his letter to Robin, cheeks feeling warm. “Dear Kuina, he told me he’s in love with me. Love, Sanji.”
Robin giggled, writing Sanji’s words in her beautiful cursive lettering.
“Congratulations,” she said, “Did you want me to write back to the handsome sergeant as well?”
“I already did,” Sanji said, averting his eyes, “Overworked my hands doing it.”
“I see,” she said, neatly folding the paper up and sealing the envelope, “I’ll make sure this gets to her. Let’s get you home. Rest, Sanji.”
---
Sanji’s hands didn’t improve much over the next few days. Robin continued helping him write short letters to Kuina, but Sanji was too embarrassed to dictate to her what he wanted to say to Zoro. He was able to return to work, but he moved slowly and deliberately, fearful of causing another episode by overworking them, constantly worried about another onset of pain.
One day, as he sorted through the mail, he came across a letter with familiar handwriting, his own. He stared at it, his previous letter to Zoro stamped “Undeliverable” and returned to him.
“Robin,” he called out, worry in his voice, “Robin, have you heard anything from the front? My letter to Zoro got returned as undeliverable.”
She joined him at the counter and began looking through the incoming mail with him. They found a few other letters sent from the camp to the front that were marked undeliverable and had been returned.
“I’ll make some calls,” she said, patting him reassuringly on the shoulder, “I’m sure it was just some administrative error. Let’s get these stamped to send again. The post office will cover it.” Sanji continued staring at the envelope addressed to Sergeant Roronoa Zoro, full of his hastily scribbled confessions. He raised a shaky hand to his shirt pocket, checking to make sure Koushiro’s charm was still there, thinking about the matching one Zoro had taken to the front. He tried desperately to shake the feeling of unease settling on his shoulders and went back to work.
---
The letter was returned as undeliverable again a few days later. Sanji poured over the address, checking to see if he had made a mistake. Should he try a different way of getting it to Zoro? Maybe sending it just to the platoon wasn’t working. He wondered if Zoro was waiting for his letter, looking for a response to his confession. Would he take Sanji’s silence to mean lack of reciprocation?
“I’ve reached out to a few other post offices,” Robin told him that afternoon, “They’re having the same problem with getting letters to Zoro’s division.”
“What can I do, Robin?” Sanji asked, desperate.
“I’ll talk to the major,” she said calmly, “See if he’s heard anything about troop movements. It may be a simple explanation that they’re proceeding briefly through enemy territory.” She looked at him, her eyes noting the shakiness in his fingers. “In the meantime, get some more rest, Sanji,” she said, “You’ve been losing weight.”
“I’m okay,” Sanji said.
“Sanji,” she said firmly, “I know what it’s like to have someone out there you care about and can’t do anything for. The best thing you can do for them is to take care of yourself. I can see how much pain you’re in while you’re working. Why don’t you take some leave? You haven’t been home in months.”
“I can’t,” Sanji said, panicking, “Zoro won’t be able to find me. I have to stay here. Please, Robin, please let me stay.”
She regarded him carefully, “It’s your decision, Sanji, but you can’t keep pushing through your disease like this.”
“I’m going to be fine,” Sanji said, taking his letter out of the envelope and placing it in a new one, in the hopes that it would arrive safely this time.
---
A few days later, Sanji collapsed on the way to deliver the letters to the platoons. He was vaguely aware of being lifted and carried to the medical tent, heard Doctor Tony’s voice speaking calmly to him, felt pinpricks on his arms.
When he woke, he was hooked up to a machine that beeped slowly, reflecting back each of his heartbeats weak and tired.
“Sanji,” Doctor Tony said cheerfully, “Welcome back.”
Sanji tried to speak, but the words remained lodged in his throat. The doctor helped him sip some water.
“How long?” he croaked.
“A day,” Doctor Tony replied, “Fatigue, dehydration. It also seems like you haven’t been applying the treatment for your hands for a while.” He said this without reproach, but Sanji still winced. He tried to lift his hands and found that he could not.
“I can’t feel them,” he gasped.
“A local anesthesia,” Doctor Tony said, “The nerve endings in your hands were firing off at random, I was worried you would injure yourself.”
“I’m sorry to cause you so much trouble,” Sanji said, head falling back.
“You’re not causing me any trouble,” Doctor Tony said, “The rest of the soldiers come check on you all the time. You’re very loved here.”
Sanji thought immediately of Zoro. “Has there been any word from… from the previous division that was stationed here?”
Doctor Tony shook his head sadly, “Robin said you would ask. Sergeant Roronoa’s platoon is missing in action. After a firefight outside Drum City.”
The world seemed to slow down to a stop at the doctor’s words, Sanji unable to process anything else he said after. Missing in action. His vision swam, and he heard Doctor Tony’s voice calling his name before drifting into black.
---
Sanji wrote letters to Zoro, slowly, as part of his recovery process, his fingers rarely obeying him. He sent the first few, but stopped when they were returned undeliverable, not wanting to tax the postal service during the war. He stored them at the post office, close to the outgoing mail bin, ready to send them all at once if they heard anything from Zoro’s platoon. After a while, he could only manage the same words over and over again.
Zoro, please come back to me safe. Love, Sanji.
He continued sending letters to Kuina, a torturous, slow process, but he was intent on doing at least this for Zoro. He wrote to Koushiro as well, taking several nights to come up with the words to tell him what little news he had of Zoro.
Zoro, please come back to me safe. Love, Sanji.
Days passed into weeks. Lieutenant Eustass and Trafalgar’s platoons returned, stopping briefly before they were sent home on leave. The war was almost over, the newspapers said. Zoro’s name never showed up on the list of fallen heroes, the newspapers unwilling to post a casualty list without a body. Sanji stopped checking after a while, forcing himself to continue hoping that Zoro would come back.
Zoro, please come back to me safe. Love, Sanji.
They won the war, the newspapers screamed. The new recruits at Camp East Blue were sent home without having to go to battle, and Sanji selfishly wished that they could have been Zoro’s platoon, carefree and chattering as they packed their bags. The war post office was converted back to the local post office, townspeople coming to send mail full of ordinary things. Robin left. Sanji took over her duties as head of the office. He would remain until Zoro returned.
Zoro, please come back to me safe. Love, Sanji.
His hands didn’t fully recover, still weak and stiff. He bought a typewriter, slowly typing the same letter over and over again, the mechanical clicking at times solace, at times a cruel teasing sound.
Zoro, please come back to me safe. Love, Sanji.
He dreamed of Zoro, the quiet moments together in the calm of the post office after it closed, Zoro’s hands enveloping his as he slowly helped Sanji become whole again, the hectic moments after lunch when the sergeant would stop by with a smile and a joke and a letter in his hand, the longing moments spent watching Zoro train and command his fellow soldiers, the sergeant’s stoic face, handsome in any light.
Zoro, please come back to me safe. Love, Sanji.
Two months after he learned that Zoro’s platoon had gone missing, Sanji sat in the idling hours of late afternoon and came to the realization that maybe Zoro wasn’t coming back. The thought arrived slowly and didn’t hurt so much as burn. He felt a gradual numbing in his fingers, the departure of sensation that was almost a relief. He slumped back in his chair, holding his hands up to the light, wondering if, as he lost them, they would become translucent. Whether the sunbeams flooding into the post office would shine through his fingertips made of glass and onto his face made of stone. Feeling oddly like he didn’t much care anymore.
He heard the bell ring, distantly. A shadow fell across his face, and he blinked, lowering his hands.
Green. A wry smile.
“Are you still open?”
A familiar voice.
“A few more minutes,” Sanji heard himself say, and felt his hands being engulfed.
“How are your hands?”
“Not great,” Sanji said faintly.
“Where’s your ointment?”
Sanji was led slowly to the backroom, sitting down heavily in a chair. The familiar scent of the balm, one that he hadn’t smelled in a long time, flooded his senses. His sergeant crouched in front of him. Large, steady hands, massaging his own carefully, methodically.
Zoro, please come back to me safe. Love, Sanji.
“You came back,” he choked out.
“I did,” Zoro said, “Mostly whole. Was a bit dicey for a bit. Sorry to worry you.”
Sanji took him in, slowly, knowing he would be overwhelmed if he tried to perceive Zoro in his entirety at this moment. Burn marks on strong, corded forearms. The hint of a scar on his chest, disappearing into the loose V-neck of his t-shirt. Sanji’s breath hitched when he saw the scar across Zoro’s left eye.
“Grenade shrapnel,” Zoro grunted, “Lost it. Not a big deal. We got separated from the rest of the division. Spent a few weeks trying to get out of enemy territory, and then hospitalized for too long. I… I wanted to write more to you.”
“I tried to write back,” Sanji said desperately, “I tried to respond to your letter.”
Zoro paused, hands loose around Sanji’s wrists, “What did you try to say?”
Weeks of unsent letters rattled around in Sanji’s mind, words on paper feeling stale and ill-fitting with Zoro now in front of him.
“I told you to come back to me safe,” Sanji whispered, “I told you I’m in love with you.”
Zoro let out a deep breath as if he’d been holding it in since he had sent his confession in the mail. “That’s good,” he grinned. They fell into silence, Zoro still holding his hands.
“What—” “Would—”
They both stopped abruptly.
“You go ahead,” Sanji flushed, wondering why it was suddenly so awkward to talk to Zoro.
“Would you… like to get dinner?” Zoro asked.
“Yes,” Sanji smiled, “I would like that.”
“What were you going to say?”
“I was going to ask you what plans you had for the evening,” Sanji replied.
“Dinner with you.”
Sanji laughed, now a strange sound to his ears. Zoro stood and pulled Sanji to his feet and then closer, touching his lips to Sanji’s, a feather-light, barely there kiss. Sanji pushed forward firmly, feeling Zoro’s arms wrap around him, holding him tight. And so they kissed, bathed in setting sunbeams shining through the post office windows, light dancing on the dust around them. Sanji’s hands came up to hold Zoro’s face, and when they parted, he giggled at the ointment he left behind on Zoro’s cheeks.
“Sorry about that,” he whispered.
“I probably need it,” Zoro replied, knocking his forehead into Sanji’s. He grasped at Sanji’s hands again, “You said your hands aren’t doing great.”
“I… overdid it a few times,” Sanji said, “But they’re on the mend.”
“I’m back to help you with your ointment now.”
“And to be a test subject for all my attempts at cooking.”
Zoro chuckled, breath warm against Sanji’s cheek, “I look forward to it, Sanji. But let me take you to dinner now. I haven’t had a good hot meal in ages."
---
Sanji wandered down the path toward Kuina’s grave, Zoro by his side. He held a bouquet of sunflowers in his hand, plucked from their backyard garden that afternoon. He placed them on her headstone, next to the stacks of worn letters and two charms, likely no longer legible after time and the elements had done their worst. But the words inside weren’t as important as the act of delivery. He left another letter from him and Zoro on top of the stack, before they sat down on the nearby bench.
“She would have loved you,” Zoro said quietly, fingers gently touching the ring on Sanji’s hand.
“I put some desperate things in my letters to her,” Sanji laughed, “She probably would have found me irritating.”
“What did you say?” Zoro asked curiously.
“That’s between me and Kuina,” Sanji said, sticking his tongue out.
“I told her some pretty embarrassing things too,” Zoro said, “A lot of pining after the man who worked at the training camp’s post office.”
Sanji flushed, “She was probably rolling her eyes in heaven at each of our letters.”
“If she were alive, she would have come hit both of us over the head until we came to our senses.”
“Maybe she did,” Sanji mused.
“Maybe she did,” Zoro agreed. They sat a few more minutes with Kuina before the church bells rang seven times. 1900.
“Time to take care of your hands,” Zoro said, helping Sanji up, always reliable about this ritual.
“See you tomorrow, love,” Sanji said, waving to Kuina, before letting Zoro lead him back home.
Thank you Bacon for the gorgeous art!