Chapter Text
There had never before been a person in his life that had pissed him off more than that stupid cook. And that was at the times the curly brow wasn't even trying.
He had lost count of how many times they'd clashed, it happened on an almost daily basis nowadays. And he was talking about the sword-drawing, kicks-swirling kind of clash. The kind that involved a lot of cleaning up and getting yelled at (by evil redheads) afterwards.
Yet, if asked, he wouldn't be able to say who had started it all, how it had started. He had played with the idea of asking the cook but somehow the words had felt stupid in his mouth. The cook would probably just have laughed at him anyway, so he'd gone with an insult instead. Couldn't go wrong with that. And damn had it been pleasing to see that shit-eating grin wiped off the other's face. He doubted he'd ever grow tired of that.
Over time, new nick names had been invented, tested on the tip of tongues, savoured carefully before rolling off curled lips, teeth bared, getting discarded again if not producing the desired level of insult.
At one point, the thought had crossed his mind that it might not be the wisest of ideas to pick a fight with the cook. A little dose of poison or spit could be added far too easily. But then again, the other's pride in his work (and no-wasting-of-food policy) would never allow for that. He hadn't forgotten the other's face that time Usopp had had an allergic fit to his 'chocolat soufflé' or whatever he'd called the things. He'd never seen the other look so… defeated.
It hadn't been a good look on him. It had tugged at something deep inside of Zoro, which, of course, he'd ignored. Just because he had admitted to himself that, no matter how infuriating and how much of a pain in the ass the other was, he still considered him a friend, nakama, it didn't mean he'd let the stupid love cook know. (Not over his dead body.)
Their interactions had been clear, simple. Predictable. That was until that night.
At first, he'd thought the other was sleepwalking. He had been about to land a nice, solid punch in his gut when he'd noticed the other was very much awake, going by the ragged breathing and the little tremors. It had been enough to make him pause, confused. Sanji and fear didn't really connect in his mind.
Was the other sick? No, he'd been as lively and annoying as ever during their fight earlier that day (Zoro just knew it was colder on the North Pole in the North Blue. Even a child knew the north was colder than the south). That's when he'd felt a rare bout of panic. Something was very wrong.
So he'd asked as nicely as he could, "Oi, cook, you finally lost it?" His efforts hadn't been rewarded, though.
"Shut up, shitty marimo."
But there had barely been any force behind the words and the stupid cook didn't move an inch. And apparently didn't intend to do so any time soon. So Zoro had made himself as comfortable as possible under the circumstances (because these damn hammocks hadn't been built for two tall, grown men) and had settled in for the night.
It was only a few days later that it sunk in that he could technically kick out the man hogging his sleeping space. Because, frankly, his leg was starting to hurt like a bitch, sleeping in such a cramped position each night. And he didn't get what that stupid cook was thinking at all. During the day, he'd pick a fight at any opportunity he got but, come night time, he'd wait until everyone was dead to the world before tapping lightly onto Zoro's shoulder and sneaking into the space he expected the other to clear for him.
Once, just for the hell of it, Zoro had feigned sleep. To see what the other'd do then. But all it had earned him had been a kick in the side, sending him crashing into the wall. Hard. The cook hadn't come the next night and neither the one after that. He'd called out to the blonde in the third night, whispering as not to wake up the others but knowing the cook would hear him. And he had.
They hadn't talked anymore safe for that night and they always slept with their backs facing each other. (They weren't cuddling after all, mind you.) They weren't exactly touching but because of the size of the hammock they were close enough for Zoro to feel the warmth emitting from a body nearby. The cook's body.
It wasn't such an uncomfortable feeling at all. So instead of throwing the cook out, Zoro found himself unconsciously clearing space for the other as soon as he lay down to sleep, his brain having labelled one half as the cook's. He didn't think too deeply about that.
This went on for a good two weeks until Zoro was woken by something pressing into his back. His hand already curling around Wado, his brain kicked in and informed him that this was no enemy attacking but just the stupid cook clinging to his back, doing a fantastic job of sounding like a mental case.
If he listened closely, he could make out the words of the other's mantra:
I'm not hungry.
Figured.
He'd gotten a pretty good idea by now of what had caused the proud, cocky cook to start this latest habit of his. The guy had nightmares. Nightmares about the time he'd spent on that rock, starving and alone. Well, technically not alone but a guy he hadn't seen safe for the beginning and the very end didn't count.
Not that the cook had told him any of this personally, of course, and he sure as hell hadn't asked. Some things were just too damn raw,. So what he knew was what he'd put together from the bits and pieces he'd heard from the other's sleep talking or from what little he'd picked up way back at that float-y restaurant.
Not really knowing what to do with a cook behaving so unlike his usual annoying self, Zoro'd settled for gently nudging him in the shoulder, physically feeling him startle awake. The blond made no move to let go of him while panting into the back of Zoro's neck, making him feel the hair there raise. Not the reaction he'd expected.
Resisting the urge to shake the cook off, Zoro wondered if that was where you were supposed to give the other person a hug but the thought of him hugging the cook was just ridiculous. And anyway, pity was the last thing the cook'd want. So he decided on pretending to be asleep instead until eventually he drifted off for real, lulled in by the sound of slowly calming breathing.
The next morning, the cook shot weird looks in his direction all over breakfast (and not the glaring-with-one-curly-brow thing he usually had going) and the following night, he didn't turn to face away from Zoro after sliding in next to him.
So Zoro turned around as well, his eyes meeting searching hazel ones.
And he had no idea how the hell that had lead to his arm being misused as a pillow for the cook's head.
Damn did that hair tickle.
And the curly brow even had the guts to complain. "You're hard, shitty muscle head." Zoro had to bite back his "Then get the hell out of my space" because Luffy chose that moment to announce that he was starving (which, given the situation, inappropriate), going as far as stretching an arm to bodily drag the person in charge of feeding him into the kitchen. Besides, an idiot would be able to tell the smile behind the other's words.
They lay there, holding their breaths and listening to Luffy's breathing evening out once more, having given up after not having found the cook in his hammock, when Zoro asked, "Why?" He knew the other'd understand and true enough, "Because you're safe." Before he could ask what the hell that was supposed to mean, the cook had fallen asleep.
From then on, they didn't face away from each other anymore. Zoro got used to his shoulder falling asleep under the weight of the other's head (damn heavy), to the warmth of a body draped over his (was he a cat?). He stopped feeling bothered by those stupidly soft, ticklish blond locks and his arms began to feel lonely in the wee hours of morning when the other slipped out to prepare breakfast (which was the only reason nobody'd learned of their new sleeping arrangement as of yet). He learned what the cook's face looked like when not contorted by anger or love and was surprised he didn't mind this new side to the man, as annoying as the others may be.
In return, the cook really made himself at home. He even took to bringing his own blanket and Zoro learned that sleeping with one didn't have to feel bad at all. And if he began to murmur soothing words into occasionally trembling ears and shivering limbs, it was something he chose not to think about too much.
The situation should probably have worried him, because, frankly, this was Sanji and if that wasn't reason enough, though he wasn't very adept in the code of manners, he was pretty sure males of same age huddling in a small hammock wasn't standard procedure. But somehow, even knowing that, he couldn't really bring himself to care. He'd never been good at the Ordinary anyway.
--
The months passed and naturally the others noticed eventually. It had only been a matter of time, really. Though he supposed they could've done without Usopp coming back from night shift and stumbling into his hammock hard enough to send all three of them crashing to the floor in a heap. That Sanji had been drooling all over him hadn't made it a better way of waking up.
It really hadn't been their fault that they'd had to beat him up (again) in the morning (Who'd told him to call them a couple? Because they were not. Who'd date a guy with a dartboard for a brow anyway?). The others seemed to have gotten the message after that, though. Nobody tried to pry again.
Though there had been this one conversation with Luffy. Luffy wouldn't be Luffy if he got subtle cues like being beaten half to death. It surprised Zoro every time again when their captain had one of his rare moments of sheer wisdom. It was after lunch, and usually the first to leave after all the food had been gulfed down by or hidden from him, Luffy had stayed put for once, observing Sanji doing the dishes with that strange expression of insight.
"He doesn't cry anymore." Zoro was a bit taken aback. "Who does?" Luffy turned towards him, expression unusually solemn. "Sanji." He drew his hat into his face more deeply, shading his eyes. "He cried?" Zoro heard the surprise in his voice. "His soul did. But not anymore. It's nice." With that Luffy raised his head and flashed one of his impossibly wide grins. It was all Zoro could do to stare dumbfounded.
That night he might have held the cook a little more tightly than usual.
It turned out that Brook had known all along (Being a skeleton he had problems keeping his eyes closed– since he didn't have any eyes!).
--
In the end, after Luffy had become the pirate king and Zoro the greatest swordsman on all the seas, after the cook had found the All Blue and had piloted Zeff and the Baratie there, after they'd all achieved their dreams, nobody batted an eye when Zoro claimed the sunny spot on the porch of the Baratie.