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For as long as Zoro has known Sanji, he’s always associated him with tobacco and the sea.
It’s not that deep, Zoro isn’t one to think too deeply about anything, especially not about the shitty cook on their boat. But whenever Sanji walked past him, Zoro always got a waft of tobacco and the sea, as well as something sweet. The tobacco was easy to place, considering how Zoro never saw Sanji without a cigarette wedged between his lips. The scent of the sea was one that clung to them all considering how their lives was literally at sea, but with Sanji, the scent was stronger. More potent. Almost like he was the son of the sea itself. A good scent, a refreshing one, one that Zoro found relaxing.
The sweet scent was harder to place, however, because that was newer. Before, when they’d first started sailing together, Zoro had picked out his musky scent to a cologne that Sanji liked to spritz himself with. Two years later, and that musky scent was gone, replaced with something sweeter. Sanji himself had become more laid back, more relaxed, as if he had less to prove. Or maybe he’d made peace with himself while they were all apart.
Zoro envies him a bit for that if he’s being honest with himself.
Sanji was a mix of scents that didn’t make any sense together, but on him, they did. All in all, Zoro liked Sanji’s scent. The person himself? Definitely not. The way he smells? Yes.
Zoro found himself seeking out that scent despite himself. Craving it even. Wanted to smell something other than booze, his own sweat, and the sea. Their sea, the one that smelled of salt and fish, not Sanji’s scent of sea.
He would try to craft opportunities where he’d be able to smell Sanji, as creepy as that might sound. Zoro would limit it to when he was stressed, frustrated, and Sanji was always his easiest target to take out all his frustrations on. Always so easily riled up, geared up and ready to fight when it was against him, ready to spar his swords with his swift and sharp movements.
Their fights are routine for them, nothing Sanji should think twice of, but they presented an opportunity to Zoro. A chance to get in closer, to surreptitiously take a deep breath while Sanji was distracted, to inhale that spicy and sweet scent. An anomaly that felt so akin to Sanji himself. He’d breathe him in, ignorant of the way Sanji would falter momentarily, and a calm sense of serenity would overtake him.
Other times, Zoro would stand up when Sanji offered him his food and drink, fingers brushing against Sanji’s hands as he accepted them. Before, he would make sure no kind of contact could be made between them, but now he initiates it. Just small touches, ones that are easy to be brushed off as an accident. Not with the intention of touching, really, even though the touches don’t feel bad either. But because, to touch, means Zoro is close enough to smell Sanji. The sweet scent stronger than usual today, the cigarette between his lips attempting to temper it with the bitter scent of ash but failing.
“What’s up with you, stupid marimo?” Sanji asks, cocking an eyebrow. “You’ve been acting weirder than usual lately.”
Of course, Sanji noticed, but that doesn’t fill him with the kind of mortification he’d expected. Zoro realizes, distantly, that part of him wanted Sanji to notice. Not to notice that Zoro likes his scent, but to notice what, he’s not sure.
“You’re weird.” Zoro rolls his good eye. “It’s nothing, don’t think too much of it. You’ll hurt your last brain cell that way.”
“Is that so?” Sanji grits his teeth, hackles rising like they always do around him. “Sorry for worrying about you, I won’t make that mistake again.”
“That’s not what I meant,” Zoro tries, but Sanji is already stomping away. His words falling on deaf ears. A curse falls from Zoro’s lips as he watches Sanji’s receding back. “Whatever.”
This is how it always is with Sanji; everything always breaking out into either a fight or feelings hurt even if that was never his intention. There’s apparently no winning with him.
Zoro watches Sanji’s scowl turn into a grin as he approaches Nami, literal hearts in his eyes, as he offers her a cocktail. Watches as Sanji leans in close to her, showering her with praise, as she brushes him off in lieu of reading a book. It irritates Zoro a bit to watch, to see how Sanji throws himself at Nami – or well, any woman for that matter – when they pay him no mind. It irritates him to see how Nami gets to bask in that refreshing scent that she probably doesn’t care for in the slightest, while Zoro has to act ‘weirder than usual’ to have that same privilege. It irritates him how easily things are for them, how Nami doesn’t have to fight Sanji for his attention, because he gives it to her so readily without any effort.
That’s when Zoro realizes what he wants Sanji to notice. He wants Sanji to notice him, to notice him the same way Zoro has always noticed him since day one.
Zoro’s favorite activity outside of training – which he wouldn’t say is a hobby so much as a way of life, the same way breathing and eating are – would be sleeping. He doesn’t sleep so much as he naps, never sleeping for long stretches of time, but taking small intervals of sleep throughout the day. As a result, his crewmates believe him to always be asleep, when he spends more hours awake than he does asleep. He doesn’t care enough to correct them, however, let them think what they want.
Zoro just likes sleeping. He likes being able to turn his head off for a little while. He also likes drinking for similar reasons. By sleeping, by drinking, he can avoid the bad memories and the dark thoughts for a little while longer. Even if they will always manage to catch up with him, regardless.
When he wakes from this nap, it’s dark outside, the moon and the stars shining overhead. A blanket full of stars, silver and twinkling, stars that appear the same in the New World as they did back in his small village back home. The only thing that stays the same after all these years, even if realistically, Zoro knows they’ve changed too. Probably why he’ll never find his true north, that sensation of being unmoored following him wherever he goes.
Still, the only constant, is that the stars will always remain beautiful, mesmerizing, regardless of where he is in the world. He’s also got his crewmates, he’s got Luffy, and if he’s got them, he knows that everything will be okay. That he will find his way eventually, even if he gets lost more than once along the way.
Sitting up, Zoro yawns as he reaches for the alcohol bottle that should have been by his side. It’s empty, however, so he gets up to get a new one. Hopes Sanji doesn’t bitch if he finds him burrowing in his beloved kitchen in search of a new bottle.
That’s when he finds Sanji. Or rather, he smells him first, before he sees him. Finds him standing at the railing of the Thousand Sunny alone, back to him with blonde hair blowing gently in the wind, the smoke of his cigarette enveloping him in a cloud of ash. He makes a pretty vision like this, when he’s not busy fighting Zoro or fawning over a woman, just lost in thought at sea.
It’s not often that Zoro finds any of his crewmates awake at this hour, let alone Sanji who gives great importance to his eight hours of beauty sleep, so he approaches him out of curiosity. Also, to seek out that smell that awoke him, to drown himself in it.
“Can’t sleep?” Zoro prompts, leaning against the railing next to Sanji. An appropriate distance left between them so Sanji doesn’t call him weird again, but still close enough that he can smell that scent that’s so unique to him. “That’s a first.”
Sanji’s side profile looks good, too, Zoro thinks. His suit jacket lost, dressed only in a button-down shirt with the first few buttons opened to reveal his chest and the tufts of hair atop it and loose slacks. Without the jacket, he seems looser, less uptight, but Zoro knows it’s the opposite. That Sanji is only out here because he’s stressed, can’t sleep. The disarray of his usually meticulously styled blonde hair and the way his teeth gnaw at the cigarette are clear tells of just that.
“You don’t have a claim to sleepless nights,” Sanji replies, taking a slow drag of his cigarette, then blowing out a puff of smoke that dissipates in the night air. “Just needed to clear my head a bit.”
“Does the smoking help with that?” Zoro prompts. “You haven’t been smoking as much anymore, but you’ve been smoking more these past few weeks.”
“Perceptive much, marimo?” Sanji cocks an eyebrow. “I didn’t think you noticed anything outside the bottom of an alcohol bottle.”
“I notice a lot of things,” Zoro replies heatedly.
“I’m sure you do,” Sanji replies, flicking the orange bud of his cigarette. “But to answer your question, no, smoking doesn’t help. Only helps calm my nerves a bit, but I’ve been smoking so long, that I don’t notice the effects anymore. I still get antsy whenever I try to quit, though.”
Considering the fact that Zoro has never seen Sanji without a cigarette between his lips, he doesn’t doubt it.
“Must suck,” Zoro replies.
“Says the alcoholic,” Sanji scoffs.
“Oi, I’m not an alcoholic.” Zoro bumps his shoulder against Sanji’s. The warmth of Sanji’s shoulder bleeds through the fabric that separates them, nice in the frosty night air, nice enough that Zoro doesn’t immediately pull away when Sanji doesn’t protest. “I just like drinking, but I’m not dependent.”
“That’s what they all say,” Sanji says, blowing out a puff of smoke. The smoke gets in Zoro’s face, ashy and acrid in odor, a scent he usually hates when it’s attached to anyone else. But Zoro can’t bring himself to hate it when it’s attached to Sanji. “We all have our vices, marimo. That’s nothing to be ashamed of.”
“Instead of leaning on a vice as a crutch, you could talk to about it,” Zoro offers. “I don’t usually have much to say, but I can listen.”
As soon as the offer is made, Zoro feels stupid. It’s not like him to care, to care about Sanji, but here he is. Inferring that he is willing to listen to Sanji talk about his feelings. The look Sanji gives him is incredulous, as if he can’t believe the offer himself.
He already regrets everything, wants to take it back, but Zoro refrains. Taking it back would be more embarrassing, so he lets it linger in the air between them, waiting for Sanji to mock him for the unexpected show of consideration that he never showed him in their years sailing the world together.
“What? Are we friends now?” Sanji prompts. “Since when have you cared to listen to me?”
“Maybe I’m just drunker than I thought,” Zoro tries to laugh it off. “Forget about it. I’ll leave you to it.”
“Nah, you don’t get drunk.” Sanji’s lips curl upwards into a smile. “I’ll bite. We might not be friends, but we’re still crewmates or whatever.”
Zoro lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, relief washing over him at Sanji’s easy acceptance, nodding to show he’s listening. Watching the stars above reflecting on the midnight blue waters of the sea, a blurred mirage on the gentle waves.
“You ever feel like you’re lost, marimo?” Sanji prompts. A rhetorical question, so Zoro doesn’t reply, even though the answer is yes. Always. Instead, he hums, letting Sanji continue. “Because I feel lost a lot of the time. Apprehensive. I’ve left my family twice now in pursuit of dreams that were much bigger than me, dreams that I’m sometimes not sure I’ll ever achieve in this lifetime. Hell, I almost left a third time.” Sanji puts out his cigarette in the ashtray by his elbow, swiftly lighting another one. “I guess it scares me a bit, to think that I almost lost it all. My family, my dream, everything. Keeps me up at night sometimes.”
Nightmares. Zoro would know about that, it’s why he doesn’t like to sleep for too long, prefers sleeping in shorter intervals, intervals short enough that he won’t have enough time to dream. To be haunted by memories and dark fears he doesn’t want to see.
“But you didn’t lose it,” Zoro replies. “Because you’re still here with us, and you’re still chasing that dream. Even if you don’t get there, at least you can say you tried.”
“You’re right,” Sanji sighs, a puff of smoke falling from his lips. “But I still feel lost a lot of the time. So, I end up playing a charade with myself as an attempt at normalcy, to be more like my old self. Playing that role of the cook, of Luffy’s crewmate, of – never mind. Because without that mask, without that act, I don’t know who I am without it.”
“Sounds tiring,” Zoro says, placing his cheek on the palm of his hand. “You should just be yourself, you know Luffy would accept you no matter what.”
“What about the rest of you?” Sanji asks, lips pulling into a frown. “What if you don’t like what you see under the charade?”
“I doubt that,” Zoro replies, brushing his finger against Sanji’s bonier one. “You’re not half bad, cook.”
“You’re pretty alright yourself, marimo.” Sanji laughs. “I’ll deny that tomorrow.”
“Obviously,” Zoro replies, turning to Sanji fully.
They’re closer than he expected like this, only a few inches apart, but Sanji doesn’t seem to hate it. Zoro himself certainly doesn’t hate it either, likes it a lot actually. It makes things harder, though, because when they’re this close, it makes it harder for Zoro to focus. Makes his eyes latch onto his plush lips, how they wrap around the cigarette, how soft they look.
“You really have been acting weirder lately,” Sanji remarks. “You’re…softer.”
“Fuck you,” Zoro replies, offended.
“I don’t mean it like that.” Sanji rolls his eyes. “I just mean…softer with – with me.”
“Oh,” Zoro breathes. “Maybe.”
“Why?” Sanji asks, taking a step closer towards Zoro until they’re breathing the same air. Drowning Zoro in the scent that he covets so much, which turns all his senses to mush, making it hard to think. “Why would the marimo be soft with the shitty cook he claims to hate so much?”
“I – I just like the way you smell,” Zoro admits. “It’s a nice scent.”
He expected Sanji to recoil in disgust. To tell Zoro to fuck off because he’s not a pretty woman, so he has no right to tell him any such things. To laugh off Zoro’s words, writing off his words as nothing but an unfunny joke.
Except Sanji does none of the above.
Rather, Sanji’s eyes widen marginally, a dust of color making itself apparent on the high of his cheeks in the moonlight. His jaw slackens, his cigarette hanging loosely from his bottom lip, before he closes his mouth again.
“What do I smell like?” Sanji asks softly.
“Like the sea,” Zoro blurts out. “And smoke. Something sweet, too. It used to be musky before, but now it’s sweet.”
“Oh,” Sanji replies, brushing his fingers through his hair. “I just changed my cologne. I – I didn’t think anyone would notice. I can restock on the old cologne when we land on another island –”
“You don’t have to,” Zoro interrupts. “It’s a nice scent. It suits you better.”
“Yeah?” Sanji prompts.
“Yeah,” Zoro reaffirms.
“So all those times you’d get all up and close in my face, you were just trying to smell me?” Sanji laughs, not unkindly. “I was wondering what was up with that.”
“Shut up,” Zoro grumbles. “Don’t make a big deal out of it.”
“Kind of impossible not to.” Sanji grins. “Have you ever smoked a cigarette before, marimo?”
Yes. He didn’t like how bitter it tasted.
“No.” Zoro shakes his head.
“Want to try one?” Sanji prompts.
“Sure, why not?”
Sanji nods, taking a deep drag of his cigarette. He pulls the cigarette from between his lips, and Zoro expects him to pass the cigarette, but Sanji keeps his hand out of reach. Rather, he pulls Zoro in close by the nape of his neck. Close enough that their lips are almost touching, digging his fingers into the pressure points of Zoro’s neck, until a gasp of pain is let out from his mouth.
And that’s when Sanji opens up his own lips, letting a cloud of smoke out, breathing it directly into Zoro’s open mouth. An ashy taste left on his tastebuds that he doesn’t particularly enjoy, but with Sanji breathing into his mouth, it’s the best taste Zoro has ever had.
When Sanji closes the last shred of distance between them, sealing their lips together in a kiss, Zoro lets him. He lets him slip his tongue into his mouth, allowing him to explore and taste, to have his way with him in a toe-curling experience that has Zoro’s skin overheating and his eyes rolling back. Breathing in the same air, tasting smoke on each other’s tongues, as their hearts beat to the same tandem.
Kissing Sanji, or rather, being kissed by him is something Zoro could have never fathomed. Nor could he ever fathom being this close to him, drowning in his scent like this, something he hadn"t conjured even in his wildest dreams. Maybe Sanji being a dirty womanizer wasn’t as bad as Zoro initially thought if that helped him kiss so good.
Absently, Zoro wishes this kiss would never end, but he knows that everything must come to an end. Sanji pulling away much too soon from him when they start running out of breath, licking his bottom lip as if he just had a scrumptious meal of his own making. Zoro tries not to overheat at the visual.
“You taste sweet, marimo,” Sanji says, patting his shoulder. “Like a delicacy I can’t get enough of. I might just get addicted to the flavor.”
Yes, it would seem that they all have their own vices, Zoro thinks as his brain short-circuits. Melts as Sanji steals another kiss from him, then two, then another three. Kissing him like he’s addicted, like he can’t get enough, all while Zoro drowns in that scent he’s come to love so much.
At least, he thinks, Sanji has finally noticed him.