Archive of Our Own

Dull pain is what brings Zoro back into the land of the living. A constant sharpness grating along his bones, an exhaustion settled deep into the fibers of his muscles, and a vague tightness in his chest that threatens to steal his ability to breath.

The soft of a bed lays under him and a blanket over him, and resting on his right hand is a noticeable weight, holding, not strong, but there.

Forcing his eyes open, he sees the murky fade of night. His eyes take a minute to adjust to the darkness, to take in what little light there is and process everything around him, and once they do, the wood of the Sunny forming the outline of the infirmary greets him, an old acquaintance he could go longer without seeing.

His limbs and mind are so heavy with fatigue. He doesn’t have the desire to do much other than just fall back asleep into the leaden depths of oblivion where the pain can’t reach him, and reality holds no meaning. But he forces his head to turn – it’s more of a flop really than anything controlled – and there, hand gripping Zoro’s, tipped forward in a chair and curled up half on the bed himself, is Sanji.

Sanji, who is so annoying and strong and giving. Who makes Zoro want to stop breathing, stop, time, stop everything, anything, just to be next to him. And who would never be caught dead like is, but who is still here now, watching over Zoro, sleeping, relaxed, and right there.

Zoro wishes this is what he could be met with between the fighting they do against each other and the fighting they do with each other. Heel to blade. Back to back. Because it’s there. The possibility. He can see it. But it’s so out of reach.

Because next to Zoro is Sanji. Who loves any woman more than he could even think to love any man, not in the way Zoro wants him to. And who Zoro doesn’t deserve, because he isn’t strong enough. If Kuma has shown him anything, he has shown him that.

Because there’s Sanji, who tried to sacrifice himself to Kuma, all because Zoro wasn’t strong enough to protect them all.

The tightness, the pressure, in Zoro’s chest increases, and he rasps in a quick breath, willing his eyes shut when unable to so easily turn his gaze away. It hurts to breathe. Because he wants. And because he knows it can’t be.

—

Borage

Scientific name: Borago officinalis

Common name(s): borage, starflower

Uses: Culinary and medicinal. Used as a garnish or vegetable in salads, to decorate desserts, or to make borage seed oil. Used to treat some gastrointestinal, respiratory, and cardiovascular disorders.

Meaning: The prime meaning of borage is that of courage, bravery, power, and bluntness. In times past, warriors would consume a drink containing borage before heading off to battle in the belief that it would bolster their bravery and bring to them power. The idea of bluntness, although hard to explain, is constantly included in ideas of the flower’s meaning, and may have to do with the hardy and stubborn growth of the plant. In some regions, specifically the Southern regions of the North Blue, borage represents an infinite romantic longing. The White City, Fleavance, in particular has many ballads of love referencing the flower. Finally, the flower can also represent happiness and the elimination of melancholy. It is said that those who consume the flower will find that their sadness lifts off their shoulders, and they can embrace the world as a happier place.

– The Meaning of Flowers, Bashar Abd ar-Rahman, p. 23

—

Zoro wakes up with a pounding pain in his head and an unnerving emptiness in his chest. Breathing in deep and finding no resistance in the action, he gathers any frustration in his mind and lets it out with a heavy sigh.

Trying to ignore the pain stabbing into his skull, he forces his eyes open. Light – more than there should be at five in the morning – washes through the curtains. So it is either that neither Mihawk nor Perona, nor his internal clock had woken him up – the end of the world – or the sky was burning and the apocalypse had come early. Despite how unlikely the second option would be, for the sake of his headache, it would certainly be the preferred one. If the end was inevitable, it might as well take his pain with it.

Digging his thumbs in just above the inner corners of his eyes, although painful in its own way, works to lessen some of the pounding in his head. And the lightness in his chest…oh. Hanahaki. Of course.

The lightness in his chest will probably stick around for a while then, unfortunately.

The bed creaks under him as he pushes himself up, and he has exactly six wonderful, glorious seconds of silence before the door to his room is slamming open and Perona is flying, shrieking, for some unknowable reason, into the room. She’s nothing but a blur of pink and black and red, as hard to track as her words are, high pitched and rapid as they are.

It isn’t until she stops at the side of his bed, a manicured finger pointed accusingly at his face that he can make any of her words out.

“You dummy! Why didn’t you tell us?!”

There’s more of that blissful silence from before she entered his room, and it takes Zoro a while to realize that it’s because she wants him to answer. “Tell you what?” he tries, wanting to gauge exactly what has happened, how much they know.

The look Perona gives him is the same as if he had insulted the stitch work on her Kumacy doll. He knows because he had done just that once before – not that he was wrong, her stitch work was horrendous – and after, he hadn’t needed to be told twice to not do that again. Perona’s unintelligible shrieks fill the air again, but this time, at least, Zoro knows for sure that they’re about him. She is loud enough that Zoro, contrary to the usual, sees Mihawk before he hears him, the echoing click the heels of his shoes against the stone floors hidden under her screams.

“Perona, please,” Mihawk sighs, exasperation dripping from his voice like there so often is when dealing with one of the two of them. “Stop screaming, it is highly irritating.”

Perona quiets only just, slightly more intelligibly yelling about idiot and heartless bastards and idiot, heartless bastards who are always swinging around stupid swords, and storming out of the room. “I’ve had it with you!” she shouts. “See if I can if you die!”

Mihawk shifts his gaze from following Perona out the room over to where Zoro is still holding himself up in bed, arms burning from holding himself in the same position for so long. Ringed eyes piercing into Zoro for the first time since he’s woken back up. “Roronoa, it is good to see you awake. We were both concerned you wouldn’t make it.”

He sure does have a way of showing it. “You don’t seem very surprised, though.”

“Well, Perona’s screams could certainly wake even the dead – of which you are clearly not – but even regardless of that, she would only make such noise if you were awake. She has been an attentive and well-meaning, if somewhat… clumsy, doctor.”

“That’s one way to put it,” Zoro mutters.

Mihawk snorts. It’s the closest he ever seems to get to a laugh. “Regardless, she was quite panicked over your condition. It is good that you are awake. Seeing anyone cough up flowers is quite alarming. And you waking up so much later didn’t help the matter.” Mihawk this much in the same way most would speak of the weather.

Zoro can see the slight furrowed crease between his brows, though. Despite know Mihawk likes him and Perona well enough – at least well enough to not kick them out – it’s nice to be able to see a sign that he does actually care about them from time to time.

“I’ll be able to get the ingredients for the medication needed to treat your ailment in fairly short order,” Mihawk continues on breezily. “Most of what is needed we already have here, but we still need orangeberry root and magnesium powder as well as some extra fish oil. It shouldn’t be more than a week before you can take the medication and get back to training.”

“It’s okay, I don’t need it,” Zoro almost doesn’t want to say it, touched by Mihawk’s effort and concern.

Mihawk raises an eyebrow, eyes now boring judgingly into Zoro. “Although the disease is not fatal for most, I would still recommend you take the medication. I know you have little fear of toying with death, but that doesn’t mean you must be so foolish as to do so all the time.” Ouch, right for the jugular there. “Knowing when to step back is just as important of a skill as knowing when to keep going.” The corners of Mihawk mouth tug down and it might as well be an entire scowl. “I didn’t pin you for a love-sick fool.”

Zoro bristles. “I’m not,” he says. “That’s not what I meant.”

Mihawk’s face doesn’t change, yet the raised eyebrow somehow becomes more prompting and less judgy.

“I already took the medication for it. Last night.”

“Really,” Mihawk intones.

“Yeah, really.” Suspicious old fucker. “I haven’t coughed all morning, have I?”

“Afternoon,” Mihawk notes. “But, yes. I did notice, although I assumed you were having a particularly lucky day so far.” He pauses. “I can’t say I know anyone who makes a habit of carrying around medication for hanahaki.”

Yeah, fair. But most people aren’t Zoro, and don’t have a predisposition to developing the world’s stupidest disease. “Most people don’t get it as often as I do.”

“And how often is that?”

“Don’t know.” Zoro shrugs. “Stopped keeping track around the tenth time it happened. Around when I was sixteen, I think.”

“That seems frustrating,” Mihawk says.

“I guess,” Zoro looks out the window. Mihawk’s right. The sun is at the right height for mid-afternoon, a spot of orange in the smoky gloom of the island. “I guess I love hard and avoid it even harder. Don’t even want to confess most of the time, and besides the medication isn’t that bad.” At least, that’s what he remembered telling Yosaku the one time he’d asked the same.

“I can see why you would keep the medication around then.”

“Yeah.” Zoro nods. “Actually, could you still order more of the ingredients anyway? I’m running low, and it probably wouldn’t hurt to stock up.”

“I will.” Mihawk makes to leave, but pauses at the door. “Just out of curiosity, I suppose, you seem awfully calm about this. You aren’t worried about what will happen with the person you had fallen for, or concerned about the memories you might have lost?”

Fallen for was probably a bit dramatic, he’s not some love-sick fool as Mihawk said earlier. Although it’s not like Zoro can really say, but still. “You get used to it. I’ve just accepted that there’s going to be holes in my memory. Hasn’t been a problem so far. Plus I travel so much it’s not like I’ve seen any of them again after the fact.”

“I see.” Mihawk says. “Well, you have the remainder of the day to rest.”

Rolling his eyes, Zoro opens his mouth to protest. He’s been through this enough to know he’ll be fine with the rest he’s had so far. What he really needs is to practice, like his crew probably is right now.

“I won’t stand for any protests,” Mihawk cuts him off before he can begin to speak. “Any practice and I’ll remove your drinking privileges for a week, which is not something I’d think you’d want to lose now that you’ve gotten it back,” he threatens. “Dinner will be ready in a couple hours. I’ll see you then.” With that, the door shuts, and the clack of Mihawk’s shoes fades down the hallway until all that’s left for Zoro is the near silence of the castle.

Falling back into bed, Zoro figures he might as well take the time to sleep off the remains of his headache.

—

“So,” Perona says, trying to keep her tone casual and her movements relaxed, gaze resolutely focused on the bandages she’s tying around Zoro’s arm. He isn’t too beat up today. A plethora of shallow scratches from the humandrills and a couple of deeper cuts from Mihawk all that requires attention. A big improvement from the first couple patch-ups she’d done when he’d first started training. “Do you really get hanahaki all the time?”

“Yeah,” Zoro says. “I’m surprised it took you so long to ask.” He snorts out a laugh. The movement tugs at the gauze she’s working with. So not cute.

“Don’t move,” she scolds, tugging his arm back into place with maybe a little more force than necessary. He can take it though.

“Sorry,” he mutters. “But yeah, I do get it a lot.”

“And you always take the medication?”

“Yeah.”

“Isn’t that annoying? To be losing chunks of your memory all the time.” She thinks she’d go crazy, knowing there was something she couldn’t remember.

“I mean, I guess,” Zoro says. “I just ignore it for the most part. Nothing I can do about it if my memory has holes. Haven’t had any major problems anyway. Not like I need to remember much about the places I’ve been. I’m not likely to return to any of them, so who cares if I can’t remember parts of my time there.”

That’s… kinda sad, actually. “You can care,” she says. “It seems sad to not be able to remember something that could have made you happy.”

Zoro tenses up. It pulls the gauze tight around his arm. “I just said I don’t care.”

“Don’t tense up.” Perona undoes some of her hard work and tugs his arm back into a better position again. God, the things she does for him.

“Besides,” Zoro says. “It could have made me sad too. Maybe it’s a good thing to forget,” he scowls.

Wah, wah. He’s so annoying. He doesn’t know anything, forgetting people willy-nilly, leaving them behind so easily.. Perona pulls the gauze tight, not enough to cut off any blood, but just enough to annoy him.

“Don’t make it too tight.”

“I can only avoid doing that if you don’t tense up,” Perona snarks.

“Okay, then I won’t.”

“Good.”

“Good.”

Zoro relaxes the arm Perona is working on, and starts fiddling with the hilt of one of his swords, running his fingers over the bums of the fabric criss-crossing the hilt, clearly worn leather under his fingertips.

“Maybe your spotty memory is the reason your sense of direction is so bad,” Perona says. “Maybe it’s a good thing to remember the people you’ve met.”

“I don’t get lost,” Zoro grits out.

“Sure.”

“I don’t!”

Perona raises an eyebrow, trying to put as much unimpressed energy as she can find into her expression. Literally how does he manage to convince himself that he’s never lost.

The glare she receives in return is almost as unimpressed as her own. Almost. She knows sh’d win this one, if it was a contest, but she’ll let it go for the sake of his pride, because she’s nice like that. He’s probably already been beaten up enough today, what with his multiple defeats at the hand of Mihawk’s kitchen knife. Although, the use of a kitchen knife is an improvement, better than the steak knife from the previous week.

“Anyway,” she says. “Bad memories or not in the other parts of your life. What if you run into someone you’ve forgotten but remembers you. I’d have to think it’d be pretty awkward. So not a cute thing to have to admit to. That’d be so embarrassing.”

“Wow,” Zoro deadpans. “You sure are nosy today.”

“Someone has to make sure you’re thinking. You’re supposed to be training here. Mihawk’s teaching you physical resilience, and I’m teaching you mental resilience.”

“So you do know you’re annoying.”

“I never said that.”

“You just said you’re testing–”

“I will tie these too tight. And glue them together so you can’t get them off. And hit you with a Negative so you can’t stop me. Don’t test me.”

Zoro looks absolutely scandalized, something that might actually be a low level of real fear creeping into his eyes. “You wouldn’t.”

She smirks. “Try me.” Don’t laugh, don’t laugh, don’t laugh.

Zoro deflates. “I’m sorry. You’re not annoying. You’re amazing. Thank you so much for helping me grow as a person.”

“That’s better.” She pats his hair lightly, laughing when Zoro wrinkles his nose but doesn’t pull away. “Now come one, spill. I want to hear all your embarrassing stories about people you’ve forgotten.”

“There are none.”

No way. He’s got to have at least one. It just must be so embarrassing he doesn’t want to admit it. “Liar.”

“No,” Zoro scowls. “Really. I don’t really stay anywhere long enough.”

“So what, you love, you leave, you forget.”

“You’re making my sound like the world’s worst player.”

Okay, actually. “Oh, absolutely.” She smooths out her voice, dropping it low. “This week on Lover’s Paradise, midnight meetings and illicit affairs, who’s heart will Roronoa Zoro break next?”

Zoro laughs. “I walked in on Robin and Usopp and,” he falters, shakes his head, continues, “No, wait, sorry, it was just those two. But they were watching one of those soap operas, and Robin was completely stone-face, nothing, not affected at all, and Usopp was just bawling his eyes out about something or other. I just backed up out of there. Ten minutes later I hear this screaming rant about how the one character is such an asshole by Robin and sobbing about how he’s going to kill this one girl if he doesn’t get his shit together by Usopp.”

“Sounds about right.” Perona nods sagely, she had walked in on Cindry watching the same sort of short many times, and even joined her more often than not. That was a perfectly reasonable reaction. “Get it together, Zoro. Don’t be the guy everyone is screaming about.”

“Got to stop breaking all these hearts.”

“Roronoa Zoro, Heart Hunter, Player of the East Blue.”

“Why do you think I joined Luffy? I obviously needed a ship headed out of there if I was going to become a world-wide heartbreaker.” Perona know just about nothing about why Zoro actually joined Luffy, but even without the context, his deadpan delivery has her in stitches.

They both laugh at that, until Perona can feel tears pricking at her eyes and Zoro is gasping, choking out a comment about how he can’t breathe. And it’s good. But it feels empty somehow. Probably because the only heart keeps breaking is most likely his own. Even if he won’t admit it.

As they fall into silence, she ties off the bandage around his arm. “Hey Zoro,” she says, but it comes out more as a whisper, throat dry. It must be from laughing so hard.

“Yeah,” he says.

“Just don’t forget us. And just, maybe you can let your heart breathe a bit sometimes.”

—

Angiosperm inimicus, more commonly known as hanahaki, is a pulmonary disease, in which the infected will cough up flowers relating to the object of their affections. For infection to be possible, the patient must first be implanted with the seed of the plant, which will come to rest in their lungs. One in the body, the seed can lay dormant, evading detection, forever, or until the conditions for its growth are met. The main cause of the disease’s growth is the existence of hopeless one-sided amorous emotions. These may be definite or perceived, but regardless will trigger the seed’s maturation, allowing it to find root in the lungs of the carrier and expand throughout their respiratory tract. Although the originating seed demonstrates no variation, the flower it produces varies, mimicking that of a flower significant to the relationship of the carrier and the object of their affections. Of the seeds that take root, an estimated 14.7 percent of cases are fatal, with no determining factors discovered thus far to differentiate the two cases. Due to this uncertainty, action to rid the carrier of the disease is encouraged.

If feasible, the first course of actions for treatment is discussion between the two parties, carrier and objective. In the case of perceived and not absolute one sidedness, and if both parties are willing and able to be clear about their emotion, this may be sufficient to cure the carrier of the disease. If this form of treatment is either not possible, or not effective, a medicine may be made – see instructions on page 372. Side effects of the medication include: breathlessness and intense fatigue in the weeks following consumption, as well as memory loss in the infected of the one who is the object of their affections. Memory loss has occurred in all patients without exception, the memories themselves only returning in cases in which the disease has returned.

As mentioned above, treatment may not fully erase the disease as long as contact continues between the two parties. 67 percent of patients who stayed in contact with their objective, developed the disease a second time, and 48 percent developed it a third time. Just like its first development, the specifics of the disease’s return are not fully understood, that being why it would or wouldn’t return. It should be noted that fatality rates for the disease rise with redevelopment of the disease, sitting at 20.1 percent for the second growth and 39.8 for the third. Little information is available on subsequent regrowths.
Research is being done to further understand the disease.

– Myer-Park Encyclopedia of Diseases, Myer, J. A., Park H., p. 244

—

“Go find something to do. All your nervous energy is throwing me off,” Perona nags, gesturing vaguely down the street. “And don't get lost.”

“I don’t get lost,” Zoro says. The words are automatic. And true. No matter what stupid nonsense Perona or Mihawk, or Luffy or Nami or Usopp or Chopper or Robin or Franky or Brook, or anyone ever says. Zoro does not get lost. He always ends up when he needs to be in the end, and that’s all that matters. So Perona can just shut up. But also, ”And I’m not nervous.”

“Sure.” Perona rolls her eyes. “Excited then. High-strung, tense, ‘appropriately aware of the imminent arrival of your friends and eager to see how they have grown’ as you said earlier.” The vague annoyance previously drawn across her face drops to a blank nothingness, horror filling her eyes wide. “Oh my god. We’re both starting to sound like Mihawk. What fucked up description of emotion was that.” She shudders. “I knew going with you was for the better, but it appears it was more necessary than I thought. I can’t have myself become not cute too.” She turns to him, determination in her eyes. “Go. I need to reset and you won’t help. And don’t get lost.”

“Fuck off,” Zoro says, turning to leave.

“Love you too!” She calls back.

Zoro ducks, narrowly avoiding the Negative flying at his head. He’s had too much practice to get caught that easily. Hah.

The streets of Sabaody expand before him, twisting and turning, and leading him farther away from Perona and her shopping. Despite having already spent over a week on the archipelago, the brightness of everything is still hard to get used to in the wake of the gloom of Kuraigana. There’s so much light, glancing off of buildings and bubbles and water. It’s a bit much, but at least it warms him up.

With all the clouds covering the sky, Zoro can’t say he would have ever described Kuraigana’s temperature as particularly pleasant, always on the slightly chilled side. Maybe he can take advantage of the free time to sit in the sun. A nap would be good. Or he could fish. Luffy will no doubt want them to have lots of meat for the trip to Fishman Island. Yeah, that’s a good plan.

It doesn’t take him long to find a quiet part of the coast and a fisherman with a boat. He takes a nap to wait, ends up under the sea, and one cut-up boat later, Zoro is being yelled at by a weirdly angry guy in a fancy suit. He has the strangest eyebrow Zoro ever remembers seeing, curing in at the inner part of his eyebrow. His other eye is covered by a thick cut of bangs. Zoro has to wonder if the other one looks the same.

Something is so familiar about him, but there’s no way Zoro would forget someone like this.

“I can’t believe it!” The guy yells. “How do you always get so lost? I mean, how do you even manage to mess up so bad you get on the complete wrong ship? Are you that stupid?” Rude. “I don’t even know why I’m surprised,” the guy groans. “Let’s just go find the crew before you get even more lost. Luffy would hate it if we lost our swordsman.”

“You know Luffy?” Is that why he looks kind of familiar, did they meet him at one of the islands they’ve been to before. Maybe Zoro did forget this guy.

“Do I know–” the man sputters. “What the fuck mosshead! What do you mean ‘do I know Luffy’? Why the fuck wouldn’t I know our captain you stupid piece of overgrown moss.” Suddenly the man gasps, pulling back. “Oh no.” A hand raises to cover his mouth and his eyes widen, alarmed. “Don’t tell me the moss has eaten away at our brains, Marimo. I knew your memory was bad, but I didn’t think it was this bad. We might have to have Chopper look at you.”

“Mosshead?” Marimo? What the fuck is with this guy? “Fuck off. Who even are you? What do you want with the crew?” Moving slow and sure so that the movement catches the man’s attention, Zoro places a hand on the hilt of Wado. A threat, if he’s smart enough to get it. “If you’re planning on hurting them, I swear to god–”

The guy’s either dumb or stupid, probably both, because he doesn’t back down even a bit. He laughs, flat and dry and so clearly not amused. “Very funny, Zoro. Now can you stop joking around. I have better things to do than figure out whatever weird mind games you’ve decided to play.”

“Yeah, sure, whatever,” Zoro scoffs. “I’m not playing any games. Who are you, and what do you want with my crew?”

Maybe the guy isn’t as stupid as he seems, because he backs up a step. Or maybe he is, because he’s also looking at Zoro like he’s the weird one here. “What the fuck, Zoro? Who am I? Seriously, I was joking, but it’s me, Sanji. The fucking cook for the Straw Hats. What the fuck it wrong with you.”

Sanji. The cook. They don’t have a cook. They were going to get one, but… no, wait. They do. From the Baratie back in the East Blue. Luffy shut up about getting one after that, so… shit. No way. He doesn’t remember this guy at all. Fuck. He hates that Perona is right; the first time he’s had to deal with this and he’s so fucking fucked. “You’re from the Baratie?” Zoro tries.

“What the fuck, Zoro,” the guy, Sanji, scoffs. “Yes. I am.”

“And you actually decided to follow Luffy?”

“For some ungodly reason, yes.” Okay, the attitude tracks, that’s the resigned certainty of the crew. But still.

“And what is Luffy’s favorite food?”

“”What is this, twenty questions?” Sanji rolls his eye. “Meat. Or, at least, it better be with the way he’s always screaming for me to make him some.”

“Okay,” Zoro says. Fuck. What the fuck is he even supposed to do? He’s not supposed to fall for someone he’s going to see again. What was past him thinking? This is what he gets for becoming a pirate. Karmic fucking punishment all right. “I guess I forgot you, sorry?”

“You forgot me,” Sanji deadpans. “What the fuck do you mean you forgot me?”

“I, uh, hit my head?” That sounds believable. Definitely. Chopper’s always getting on his case about head injuries and their effects.

“And you forgot me? Because you hit your head?”

“Yes?”

“And what, just me or something?”

“I guess?” Zoro shrugs. There’s no reason he should have forgotten anyone else. “Sorry.”

“Not Luffy, or Nami, or Robin, or Usopp, Chopper, Franky, Brook? Just me?”

Yep just him. “Just you. I remember them.” What the fuck bullshit did past Zoro pull?

Sanji takes a deep breath. “Okay, sure, right, great. That’s fine. Okay. Great.” He looks up to the sky, and Zoro wonders if he’s questioning his life decisions as much as Zoro is right now. “Fuck. We’re dealing with this later,” Sanji says. “Just follow me and don’t get lost.”

—

Sanji isn’t mad that Zoro had forgotten him. Or sad, or hurt, or anything like that.

Seriously.

He isn’t.

With all the difficulty of dragging around an obstinate, lost, stubborn, annoying, dumb fucking piece of moss, then meeting up with their captain, and having to run form some equally annoying marines, and then almost dying from blook loss at the hands of sweet Nami and Robin’s beauty – a worthwhile death it would be for sure – and then getting lost in the depths of the sea, and then almost dying again from the ethereal beauty of the mermaids – an equally worthwhile way to go – and then fighting a bunch of fishmen, and then fighting Big Mom’s two henchmen, well, with all that, Sanji has barely had any time to think about that complete piece of shit, absolutely moronic, concerningly dumb, greatest annoyance in the the words that the Straw Hats called their swordsman anyway. Even if he wanted to be mad, he couldn’t be; he just didn’t have the time to be.

So there. He is absolutely, not in any way, definitely not mad. Or hurt.

At all.

…

Okay, maybe just a bit.

But only a little.

Kinda mad. And vaguely hurt.

Or really hurt actually. And mad. Like what the fuck.

But regardless, how mad he is doesn’t matter, because he absolutely has the right to be. Who the fuck just forgets someone like that? And why just him? What’s with the surgically precise removal of Sanji’s existence from Zoro’s brain?

So, yeah, actually, fuck it. He is mad.

Really fucking mad.

Sanji sits in his feelings for two years, and realizes he likes the stupid mosshead more than he hates him – and likes him in a way just a bit more than friend – and this is what it gets him.

So, yeah, definitely mad.

And maybe a little concerned.

Just a little.

Or a lot.

And really the amount of concern he holds for Zoro doesn’t matter either, because what the fuck. Who just forgets an entire other person like that? And somehow Zoro doesn’t even seem that concerned about it all?

Whenever Sanji had imagined meeting back up with the crew, he’d known to some extent that everyone would be different, sure. Stronger, more prepared, maybe even porting some injuries. But they would always remember each other, at least in his head.

He had imagined that Luffy would be just as chaotic as he always was. That Nami would be just as angelic, and Robin just as mysterious and beautiful. Usopp would be just as excitable, and Chopper would be just as eager to learn. Franky would be just as crafty and just as loud. Brook would be just as jolly.

And then Zoro.

When he imagined Zoro, he would be just as annoying as always, just as stubborn and irritable and trustworthy all at once – and not that Sanji would even admit it, although he can accept it more now, but he’d always know that he’d be just as annoyingly attractive as he had been before. They’d be just as antagonistic as always, and just as supportive, and maybe, just maybe, they could work something more, something softer into it all.

But all together they would be the Straw Hat Pirates. So different, and yet so much the same. And it would be perfect.

That’s how it is supposed to be, and for the most part it is. Except Zoro, that stupid, annoying, head-strong, doesn’t-know-when-to-stop-and-just-let-himself-live moron had to go and forget Sanji. And just Sanji.

Great.

He lets his head thunk onto the kitchen counter, defeated. How the fuck is he even supposed to deal with this?

“Sanji!”

Whatever that answer may end up being, the when of it is apparently not right now, because before Sanji can even think to gather himself and do much in the way of turning to the direction his shouted name came from, he’s being hit full force by all the weight of Luffy barreling full speed into the kitchen.

Sanji can only thank God that he wasn’t carrying anything, because if he was, it would be destroyed. And he’d rather the dishware not break so soon after they’ve returned to the Sunny. Really, he’d rather they not break at all, but some people on the crew could be quite destructive, even if not purposely, and accident do happen as well – an unfair portion of the dishes had even been broken by him, disappointingly enough, although understandable considering how much he has handled them compared to the rest of the crew. Still, any extraneous breakage should ideally be avoided, especially for the sake of Nami’s management of their funds.

The emptiness of Sanji’s hands is doubly fortunately in this instance, though, in how it allows him to break his fall, somewhat, keeping him from smashing his face into the ground. An especially close call what with Luffy’s added weight on top of him as he falls.

Despite what there is – or maybe lack of misfortune considering he’s knocked over at all in the first place – he still is left breathless, air knocked from his lungs, lying on the ground as Luffy bounces back up, joyful, energetic, and unharmed as always, laughing, with nary a care for Sanji’s wrung out state.

If Sanji didn’t know better, he might start wondering what it was he missed so much about this group of idiots in the first place – he doesn’t know better though, and he know that, despite all the stress and injury, there isn’t anywhere else in the world he’d want to be, at least not if it meant being away from them.

That doesn’t stop him from swiping a kick at Luffy’s feet as soon as he’s regained enough air to think properly again.

Luffy falls, screeching as he goes down, eyes wide and limbs flailing about, hitting the ground with an off. “Sanji,” he whines. “Don’t hurt me.”

“You’re the one who knocked me over first!”

“Yeah, but you’re fine!” Luffy pouts.

“And so are you!”

“Yeah! I am!” Luffy grins. “You should give me food, though, as an apology.”

So that’s how he wants to play it. “Lunch will be ready in about an hour.”

“Fine,” Luffy relents, easily. Easier than usual. Sanji makes his way over to the pantry, grabbing an apple. Chopping it up and platting it, the action close to automatic with its familiarity. He passes it over to Luffy, still sitting on the floor, staring at the door to the galley, left open.

As Luffy eats, Sanji starts grabbing different vegetables to start prepping for lunch. The sounds of chopping and munching fill the kitchen, as he works through the potatoes. It isn’t long before a rubber arm stretches by Sanji, dropping the plate in the sink, and snapping back.

Sanji expects Luffy to leave then, hopefully content now to wait until lunch to eat again, but he stays seated, staring at Sanji in that unnerving way he tends to sometimes, where it feels like he’s peeling him back layer by layer, until he can see everything and the puzzle that is Sanji is easier to solve.

Sanji breaks first. “Zoro doesn’t remember me.”

“He doesn’t?” Luffy asks, head tilting.

“No,” Sanji says. “He forgot me.”

“He called you Sanji earlier.”

“Because I found him and had to explain who I was. He had completely forgotten who I was before that.” Sanji does his best to ignore the venom that drips into his voice as he says it, and Luffy, thankfully, doesn’t comment on it either.

“He’ll remember again,” Luffy says, simple, like it was so obvious.

Sanji wishes he could be that sure. “Maybe. Or maybe he won’t.”

“You’re hurt.”

“Of course I’m fucking hurt.” Sanji puts the knife down, tries to do so gently. “He fucking forgot me. I know he forgets a lot of things, but he fucking forgot me, Luffy.”

Still, Luffy doesn’t look too concerned. “He’ll remember.” Sanji is telling him, because this should be something the crew needs to know, because they need to deal with this, plan around it, fix it, something. But Luffy isn’t even that concerned.

“How can you be so fucking sure? He said he hit his head – if that’s even what really happened – and I’m not a doctor, but I know enough to know that memories that are lost like that don’t necessarily come back.”

“He will,” Luffy frowns. “He loves you.”

Wow, amazing. The power of friendship and love will fix all his problems, sure. “Yeah, great,” Sanji rolls his eyes. “I know. We all love each other. We’re fucking family, Luffy. That isn’t going to bring back his memories though.”

Luffy hums, but doesn’t say anything more.

Sanji takes a steady breath and picks the knife back up. When he looks back up, the potatoes finally chopped, Luffy’s gone.

Great. Amazing conversation.

How’s he even supposed to deal with this now?

—

Guinevere: Hello everyone, and welcome back to another episode of “Now You Know”, the weekly snailcast in which you get to learn just a little bit more about the world around you. I’m your host Guinevere Geundolen and today we’ll be learning a bit about hanahaki disease. Our first guest, who is with me right now, is the lovely Dr. Lennon Heidrun, who has spent many years studying modern and historical literature, specializing in the representation of hanahaki. Why don’t you introduce yourself for all our amazing listeners, Dr. Heidrun.

Dr Heidrun: I don’t know what else to say Guinevere, I feel like that was a pretty great introduction already. I suppose I could say that I’m very excited to be here today to talk to you all about hanahaki. As you said, I’ve spent a few many years researching its usage in literature, and it really is a fascinating topic. I first started my studies generally in the topic of narratology at the South Blue Research Institute. It wasn’t until a few years after I began there that I shifted to focus more on hanahaki, and I’ve been doing that for, wow, I think the last 11 years. Time really does fly.

Guinevere: That certainly is a long time! With all that research under your belt, it sounds like we’re in for a treat!

Dr. Heidrun: I’ll do my best. Hopefully, I can convey some of the interest I find in the subject to all our listeners as well.

Guinevere: I’m sure you’ll do great, besides, they are quite avid learners! Now, let’s start out simple, I think we’ve all read at least one mushy romance book with hanahaki as a driving theme – I know I certainly have read a few – and I think those books are what first come to mind when people here the words “hanahaki” and “literature” together, but are there some other genres that use hanahaki as a trope?

Dr. Heidrun: Well, I’m glad you asked! I would completely agree that romance is people’s first thought when hanahaki in literature is discussed, but interesting enough, that is not the genre in which it is mostly found. Although there are certainly a large amount of romance novels with hanahaki as a driving theme, it is even more common in tragedies, especially older ones. With the development of modern medicine, and the decreasing mortality rates of the disease, that frequency has decreased somewhat, but it is still a very present theme. Think of the tragedies of “Ishmeria and the Seven Moons”, “the Trials of Dunluth Pu’ah”, or “the Prince, the Songbird, and the Great Whale”, and I think every school child has had to read “Flora” for their literature classes. Even more recently there is the play “Thorns and Spikes” based off of the bestselling novel “Soft Thorns”, a veritable plethora of short stories that are released every year, or the current rage in the science fantasy genre “Countdown to the End”. All these stories feature hanahaki as a core problem for the protagonist, and it is not one they overcome. I’d say it has a lot to do with the inherent desperation of the disease. The absolute conviction in the carrier that the one they love won’t love them back. It’s the same idea that drives romance, just taken to a negative extent, and that negative interpretation really does seem to be what writers gravitate towards.

Guinevere: Wow, you’re right! I hadn’t even realized! Now that you say that thought, there certainly is a lot of tragedy with hanahaki, and dare I say, tragedy in hanahaki.

Dr. Heidrun: *laughs* You’re not wrong, although, like we were discussing earlier, there are more positive representations of the disease. And tragedy and romance are not the only genres that utilize the disease. I’ve read something in just about every genre that uses hanahaki, bildungsromans, thrillers, comedy, horror, you name it, and I could probably find you something to read.

Guinevere: Horror? Really? With hanahaki as a driving theme?

Dr. Heidrun: Well, as you’ve probably seen if you’ve looked up any information about the disease itself, there will always be a disclaimer about how we don’t actually understand all of how the disease works. It’s that fear of the unknown that contributes to these stories – how do you stop something when you don’t even know exactly what will start it – but also, there is a body horror aspect to it – something foreign growing in you, parasitic in nature, right up until the end when it suffocates you with its growth. We’re just so used to it, that I think that aspect is often forgotten, but some authors do lean into it in a truly terrifying way.

Guinevere: *shudders* My goodness, I can’t. Just, oh my god, thinking about that, it – augh. No, I need a different topic. Sorry to jump around, but if I remember correctly you said something about comedy.

Dr. Heidrun: Yes, that is a much more pleasant topic. When used in comedy, I’d say it is most often mixed with some other genre like romance or drama, but there are certainly pure comedies focusing on hanahaki. “Forever Lover” for example that makes fun of how often the main character falls in love with different people, but brushes each encounter off within a matter of minutes, or “Susie Greenflower’s Very Unfortunate Month” that makes fun of the absurdity of throwing up flowers, while also being thankful it’s not anything else. The comedy is usually more slapstick than anything else, but comedy nonetheless.

Guinevere: That’s very interesting, and much better to think about than the use of hanahaki in horror, which, unfortunately, it seems, will be haunting me for the foreseeable future. Even more unfortunately, though, it looks like we are short on time. Thank you again Dr. Heidrun for joining us today, I think I speak for all of us, staff and listeners, when I say we certainly learned a lot. It was a pleasure having you on the snailcast!

Dr. Heidrun: The pleasure was all mine! It’s not always I have such avid listeners, it was a joy to be here!

Guinevere: You’re so sweet, we’d be glad to listen again anytime. But for now it’s time for a quick break. In line with today’s theme, we have the new hit single “Breathing Flowers” from pop artist Suki, and then we’ll be back with Dr. Atsumiku Miyuki who will be telling us a little about the science behind the disease.

– transcript from a Den Den Radio snailcast “Now You Know”, hosted by Guinevere Guendolen with guest speaker Dr. Lennon Heidrun, 0:00.00 - 5:40.19

—

Zoro would be lying if he said he didn’t wonder at least a bit how he fell for Sanji. Is this guy his type? Suddenly Zoro wishes he could remember everyone he’d forgotten so far, just to know. An over-the-top womanizer, who either calls him names or avoids him entirely. He can see why he would always decide to take the medication if this is who he’s always falling for. There’s no way this guy would ever like him back. Zoro can’t even be sure he tolerates him at this point. No wonder he didn’t even try to confess – not that he ever has, but still, his point stands.

He has to wonder too if it is something Zoro did that is making him so irritable. The ladies he treats like goddesses, and the rest of the crew he treats well enough as well.

Maybe it’s the fact that Zoro forgot him.

Wait.

Yeah. Actually, that's probably it. Right. Mystery solved.

Maybe he should be nicer to himself and his hypothetical type; Zoro would be pretty ticked off himself if someone who was supposed to know him well had completely forgotten him. So this might not be the best representation of Sanji and his treatment of Zoro.

Or it could be.

It’s not like there’s any way for him to know.

Fuck.

Perona was right. This is awkward as fuck.

Thank everything she isn’t here to tell him ‘I told you so’ or anything else along those lines.

Instead, he gets those omniscient smiles from Robin and those not-so-blank stares from Luffy, while he’s on an island that is simultaneously freezing cold and burning hot, stuck worrying for the first time in his life about stupid attractions he would rather forget about and with no way to get rid of them – not unless he falls in love again, and then takes the medication again, which, again, judging by Sanji’s treatment of him won’t be happening anytime soon.

Maybe Perona and Kuraigana would be better, then he could get the teasing over with and then avoid his problems.

But no, he’s in an ice cavern, with some warlord of the sea and half their crew’s bodies switched about.

“This is so fucking stupid,” he mutters.

“You can say that again,” Nami – in Sanji’s fucking body, because why the fuck not – groans. “Sanji better not mess up my fucking body, while he’s in it.”

“I’ll keep an eye on him while we’re out,” Zoro offers. Because he can focus on the fact it’s Nami’s body and as long as Sanji doesn’t talk too much, hopefully forget it’s actually Sanji residing in it.

“My knight in shining armor,” Nami says, tone flat. “Although,” she smirks. “Are you sure it’s really my body you want to protect in this case?”

What the fuck is she even on about. “What?”

Nami swears lightly under her breath. “Kinda thought you might start remembering by now. But of course you wouldn’t, sorry.”

“That doesn’t answer the question, sea witch. What the fuck are you talking about? Why the fuck would you expect me to suddenly remember everything.”

“Fuck, you’re annoying,” she says. Rolling her eyes, she looks to the side, obviously deciding on how to organize her thoughts. “We have, or had, I guess, the same problem. I’m the only one who knows, probably – oh, and maybe Luffy, but you know, it’s Luffy, and maybe Robin, but–”

“It’s Robin,” Zoro finishes for her.

“Right,” Nami sniffs. “Anyway, in case you need to remember. You rib me a bit and I rib me a bit. This is me continuing that.” She pauses. “If you can’t remember who I’m talking about on my end because you’ve somehow forgotten that too, then too fucking bad. I’m not telling you.”

Oh, that’s what this is about. Zoro remembered talking with Nami about hanahaki, but couldn’t figure out why at first. This explains it. He grins. “Nope. I remember. How are the flowers?”

Nami huffs. Probably wishes he had forgotten just so she could hold it above him. “As infrequent as always. I’m assuming yours got worse.”

He shrugs. “I’d have to assume so. Still sure you don’t want them gone?”

“Nope,” she says. “I don’t mind coughing up a flower once a month if it means keeping those memories. Still holding out hope.”

“Sure you are,” he says, as if their mutual problem is defined by a lack of hope. “Hey Nami.”

“What?”

“What are we like?” It sounds like if anyone would know how he used to feel about the cook, and why, it would be her. At least, she might be the only one he would get a more straight-forward and detailed answer from.

“Us?” Nami asks.

“No, sorry, Sanji and I.”

“It’s so weird to hear you call him that,” she mutters. Looks like the nicknames went both ways then. “As I’m sure you can tell somewhat, well, you fight like nobody’s business. I almost thought you hated each other at first, but,” She stops. Zoro looks over just in time to catch the tail end of a small smile. “We’re all family, and that’s just as true for the rest of us as it is for the two of you. So if you’re worried he hates you, or something like that, don’t be. He doesn’t.”

Not really how he wanted her to answer the question. “I’m not worried.”

“Sure you aren’t,” she says. “Let me know when you remember him by the way.”

Zoro scoffs. Like hell he’ll make the mistake for falling for the cook again.

“Don’t let my body get hurt,” Nami continues on. “I don’t want one fucking scratch, okay? Or I’ll raise your debt.”

“Not up to me, but sure,” Zoro says. “I’ll do my best.”

—

Zoro isn’t a big fan of the snow. It brings with it a cold that settles deep into his bones and is hard to shake off. Whenever it ever gets past a layer of clothing that it shouldn’t, it turns to chilling water faster than he can think to do anything about it, inviting even further cold to infiltrate the flimsy barrier his coat and boots provide. And blown about by the wind as it is, it pricks sharp, like tiny knives against his exposed skin.

It’s so cold here, he can feel his snot frozen in his nose.

So, yeah, he hates the cold. And the snow.

Plus, piled up as it is here on Punk Hazard, it’s hard to move through, a work-out that, although at first was nice, is becoming quickly annoying with the fact it will only end when he reaches a place free of the torturous crystal white that surround him – something that won’t be happening anytime soon, considering they haven’t even made it to the lake yet.

He huffs out a breath that turns to steam as it hits the air.

And he can’t even complain about it. Because Sanji is moaning about how Nami’s body is so much less cold-resistant than his own, and the snow wasn’t even a problem before they switched bodies, and Zoro is not going to admit that Sanji may technically have a leg up on him in something. Even something like this. He may not remember, but he understands well enough that he absolutely will not lose to him.

But also, fuck, it’s really cold, and this walk is not fucking ending.

“Hey, cook,” he says. “Stop complaining. It’s making the walk longer than it needs to be listening to all your whining.”

“I’m a chef, and fuck off,” Sanji in Nami’s body responds. Fuck, that’s throwing him off. “How about you shut up instead.”

Like hell he’s complying with anything he asks. “Whatever, stupid, love cook–”

“Ah, Zoro, have you regained some of your memories?” Brook cuts in.

Zoro stops and turns to look at Brook. Despite being a liter skeleton, nothing but bones, he exudes an aura of entertained joy. If he had eyes and lips, there would no doubt be a gleam in his eyes and the slight tug of a smile on his face. Why does everyone keep assuming he’ll get his memories back? As far as he’s aware, most of them don’t even know the reason he lost them in the first place. Unless he really is that transparent…

“What?” Zoro asks.

“This is the first time you’ve called Sanji something other than his name, using some old nicknames even.”

Oh, okay. That’s why. His secret is safe then, probably.

“Oh shit, you’re right,” Sanji says. He turns to Zoro, Nami’s face wearing some type of cautious hope, obviously quite suppressed, but the edges of it are visible.

Zoro feels slightly bad about, because he’s going to have to crush it. He’s not planning on gaining a crush and fucking up again, thank you very much. Falling for the same person twice, someone he has to spend so much time around no less, would be a shit-show, and embarrassing, and absolutely not something he wants to be dealing with.

“Do you remember anything?” Sanji asks.

“No.” Zoro says automatically.

Sanji frowns at him, annoyed. “That was way too fast. You didn’t even try.”

Shooting Sanji a quick glare, Zoro closes his eyes and takes a breath, and pretends to try and remember. Letting his brain float, nothing that wasn’t there before comes to him. Which, thank god. He doesn’t not want to deal with the hanahaki returning.

An emptiness itches at the back of his brain, a pounding insistence that something is there, something that he can’t quite reach, promising a headache if he pushes too hard at it. So he lets it go.

There. That seems like long enough to have tried to remember properly.

“No,” Zoro repeats, and leaves it at that.

Sanji wilts and frowns a bit. “Right, of course not,” he says. “Our fault for expecting anything else from someone as braindead as you.” Sanji laughs humorlessly, fake. “Jezz, marimo. I wish I could have the blessing of forgetting your idiot face.”

The knee-jerk reaction of fuck you too comes to Zoro, but it’s interrupted by the look of hurt that flashes across Nami’s face. The vague urge to apologize runs through Zoro’s head – and he supposes he could, past him is the one who made the decision to forget instead of just confessing – but it was his decision to make in the first place, so he pushes it away.

Forgetting the cook hadn’t led to anything catastrophic, and remember would only bring him pain and a need to repeat a reintroduction all over again. No one needed that. Not Zoro, and least of all Sanji. Zoro might not love him anymore, but that doesn’t mean he wants to be bringing him unnecessary pain.

So apologizing has no use.

And remembering wouldn’t have any use either. Zoro doesn’t need anyone to love him, and he doesn’t need to love anyone like that either. Remembering would have no use. Any reason he should try to isn’t important. He has other things to focus on. He needs to be strong, stronger. He needs to protect the crew, to not die in the New World.

“Anyway,” Sanji says. “We need to get going. That samurai isn’t going to save himself.” And Sanji starts marching forward, intent on this mission that has them fighting their way through the stupid snow. He’s too fucking nice. To everyone but Zoro it seems.

Cold whips around him, and dries up his throat. A cough works its way up through his throat.

Zoro follows, keeps watch of Sanji’s back and trudges on through the wind and the snow.

—

“I’m sorry,” Ai Lan cried. “But I can’t stop loving you.”

Dawud held the flower gently in his hands. The full perianth of an orchid sitting ever so delicately. Save for the blood speckling its pristine petals, white and magenta, and it’s ever so slightly bedraggled state, it could easily be mistaken for having fallen from one of the orchid plants twined around the tree outside.

How easy it would be for Dawud to crush it in his hand, if he so wished. Ai Lan feared he would do so, destroying the flower, and her heart along with it, with nary a passing thought. This was the end.

Dawud pinched the slight stem protruding from the flower head and held it up, letting the bright sun wash over it. He examined it for a while – such a long while for Ai Lan, scared for what he would say next – and then tucked the flower into his suit pocket, secure and visible.

Finally, he looked at Ai Lan. “If this flower is your love for me,” he spoke, a smile, so light, on his face. “I would hope you would grant me to keep it, for I desire it so.” He held out his hand, an offer, an end to all that Ai Lan had suffered. “And I hope that with it, I may have you too.”

When Ai Lan placed her hand in his, he held it tight, a reassuring pressure that this was real, that she could finally be free of the flowers that had haunted her.

—

The night watch is nice.

Sailing away from the busy chaos of Punk Hazard, Zoro finally gets a clear view of the sky at night again, something he hadn’t gotten to see much in the past couple years.

During his time on Kuraigana – having fallen into something close to a regular sleeping routine due to training, and living with Mihawk and Perona – he would occasionally miss the late night he’d spent on the Merry and then the Sunny keeping lookout.

The quiet of it is comforting – the chaos of the full Straw Hat crew in motion, is comforting in a different way, but the peace of the night’s witching hours contrasts well with it. Plus Zoro enjoys being able to spend the time working out and meditating uninterrupted – always keeping part of his mind on the horizon of course – and sometimes it’s nice to just watch the sky and think, to let his mind drift as it wants, nothing stopping it and demanding its attention.

Watching the sky, when it is clear and speckled bright, is nostalgic in the way it reminds him of Shimotsuki Village, walking home late after fighting Kuina, the path lit by the stars and the moon and the occasional candle resting on the sill of a house. And now, the clouded night sky reminds him of Kuraigana, constantly dim and shadowed, somewhat of a home in its own right, even if it was only a couple years.

So Zoro enjoys the night sky, clear or clouded, and the quiet, and… he doesn’t know what else, but the night is nice nonetheless.

Back on Kuraigana, there was something else too that would nag in the back of brain, another reason why the night watch was something for him to desire and not dread, but he could never remember exactly what it was.

Even now he still doesn’t know what it is, and when the sun starts rising, casting the sky in grey then red, and he is shooed off by a half-asleep Usopp, he still can’t figure it out. But Zoro climbs down the ladder and crosses the deck, and walks into the galley to the sight of Sanji already awake and preparing food for the day, the rest of the crew either still asleep, or, in the case of Usopp, up in the crow’s nest.

Sanji doesn’t seem to notice him, so Zoro doesn’t say anything either, just makes his way across the room so he can get to the bunks and get some rest.

“Aren’t you hungry?” Sanji’s voice stops him right as he’s about to reach for the door handle. “I have something already made for you if you want it. If not, it can get eaten later, though.”

“I’m–” Zoro is about to turn him down and just go to bed, but his stomach interrupts his words with a loud growl, and, wow, he didn’t actually realize how hungry he was.

Sanji laughs.

He has a nice smile. And it’s nice as well, directed at him. Sanji, in the earlier hours of the morning, is lighter, looser, softer with Zoro. Most of what he’s gotten so far from Sanji are scowls and frowns and blanks stares and hurt outrage. It’s a nice change.

A traitorous part of Zoro bathes in the warmth of it. A less traitorous, but still stupid part of him, wishes he could see it more often. A larger part of him assumes this has a role in how he came to like Sanji more than he needs to in the first place.

Zoro should leave, but he freezes, and his stomach gurgles again.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Sanji chuckles, smile fond.

“Um,” Zoro forces himself to respond. “Yeah, thanks.” He watches Sanji move around the kitchen, practiced easy in how he flows through the space. “Sorry for forgetting you.”

Shit.

He didn’t mean to say that.

Way to ruin the one good, happy moment they’ve had so far.

Sanji’s movement shutters to a halt. “It’s,” he pauses, hand on the fridge door, just about to open it. “Well, it’s not okay, but I’ll get used to it. It’s not like anything can be done about it, or like it’s your fault.”

Guilt settles heavy in Zoro’s gut, and he shoves it away. He’ll maintain that it was his decision to make, to get rid of the flowers, and it’s one he would make again. He has goals he has to achieve, but even if doesn’t, his feelings are his own and no one else’s; they are his to do with as he wishes. He just would like it if he wasn’t feeling progressively worse about the decision as time goes on.

“Do you really not remember anything?” Sanji asks. “Anything at all?”

“No,” Zoro swallows anything more he could say. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. That’s not–” Sanji cuts himself off, sighs. His movement starts up again, pulling the fridge door open and pulling out a bowl of cut-up fruit.

“Can you tell me?” Zoro asks. It isn’t smart, he shouldn’t ask, but he’s suddenly overtaken by the need to know something, anything from before. At worst, and most likely, this will bring back the hanahaki, and he really shouldn’t risk that. He should stop, he needs to stop, but his mouth just keeps moving. “Anything you want, a good memory, or something?”

“You think it will help you remember?” Sanji asks.

And Zoro refuses to feel guilt for his decision, but that apparently won’t stop him from feeling guilty for the hope that Sanji doesn’t seem to be able to let go of. Why can’t he just let go?

“No,” Zoro says, lies, because at this point, he’s almost certainly screwing himself over, but there’s something enchanting about Sanji, beyond just the base attraction feels towards him, and he wants to understand just how far he had fallen before, even if it means he will fall again. “Probably not. But that isn’t the point.”

Sanji nods. “I’m not sure I know what to say.”

“Nothing good at all,” Zoro jokes wryly, wishing he hoped that was true.

“No, that’s not what I mean,” Sanji frowns. “For all we’d bicker and fight each other, that wasn’t all there was – I’m sure everyone’s told you that by now, though. But, I’m just not sure where to start.”

“From the beginning?”

“Well, that probably isn’t the most positive,” Sanji laughs. “But well, when I joined the crew, we didn’t get along really, you’re such an annoying pain, you know?”

And Zoro snorts. Sure. He could say the same about Sanji. But Sanji hands him a plate of breakfast, and Zoro gestures for him to go on anyway.

“It was in Cocoyashi, do you remember the party there? After we had taken down Arlong’s crew.”

“Sure,” Zoro says, cause he does, he just doesn’t remember Sanji being there too.

“Well,” Sanji says, dumping some dishes in the sink and turning back to the dough he had been working on making when Zoro had first come in from his shift. “We were both sitting there, somehow ending up next to each other at the edge of the party and we just talked – I don’t even remember what about really – but I remember being relieved after that night, that I was sure I could get along with everyone on the crew.” He smirks. “At least most of the time.” The smirk loses its edge, drifting back into something more content, maybe a bit melancholy. “It was comforting. To feel so much more secure in the choice I had made to leave, and, don’t get a bit head or anything, but that was just a bit thanks to you.”

Zoro doesn’t know how to respond to that. To such an honest revelation. So he doesn’t. “What are you making?” he asks instead.

Sanji laughs. And there’s another truly happy smile again. So bright and cheerful.

But Zoro also isn’t sure what he’s laughing about, and it makes him a bit defensive. “What?”

“You’d always ask that whenever you’d come down from the night watch,” Sanji says. “You’d sit and watch me cook, and always ask what I was making. It was nice.”

“Oh.” That’s…oh.

“It’s scones by the way. We have some cream that needs to get used up,” Sanji says. “And a shit ton of jam.”

And suddenly there's a memory of Sanji saying something almost identical, in a shirt, light blue instead of the yellow he’s currently wearing, rolled up to his elbows. His hair is parted on the opposite side too, showing his right eye instead.

It spikes through his head, a shot of pain, and Zoro gasps in a small breath.

A memory.

Shit.

Not good.

Even if he was basically asking for it with all his questioning.

“I’m sure they’ll be great,” Zoro says, running on autopilot he didn’t know he had. Thank everything for Mihawk and his insistence on proper manners and participating in dinner small talk. “Breakfast probably won’t take much longer until it’s ready, right? I’ll just save this and take a nap now and eat with you all later. So I’ll leave you to it?”

“Oh, okay,” Sanji says, obviously taken aback by Zoro's abrupt cut off of the conversation. “Are you sure you don’t want to eat now?”

“Yeah, no, I’m good. I can wait, thanks, though. Sorry.” He needs to go, and think, or not think. He’s not sure.

“Okay,” Sanji frowns. “I’ll make sure someone knows to wake you up for breakfast.”

“Yeah, thanks.” Muscle memory takes Zoro to the men’s bunk and to his bed.

He barely has time to take off his boots and lay down before pain shoots through his head, stronger than before. Like a pick driven into his skull. He muffles a whimper at the feeling, curling up in a futile attempt to protect himself from the agony of it.

It brings with it more memories. All just a shade off of the other from before, all in the galley – Merry’s and Sunny’s – all of Sanji explaining the food he’s preparing. They appear sharp in his mind, and fade into vague remembrance just as fast, settling into their place as soft fragments.

Then more, and more, and more.

Until he remembers everything.

—

If there is a handbook for what to do when someone forgets you, Sanji would like to see it.

It’s infuriating, to know all he does about Zoro and see none of that recognition returned, to have to rebuild every instinct he has regarding him, to have to watch what he says, what he does, because Zoro doesn’t remember, and therefore may not understand. And even worse are the moments that are just so much like before that Sanji forgets that Zoro has forgotten him. Because those moments are so ethereal in their familiarity, but once they end, Sanji also must come crashing back down to earth.

He never before realized just how much went into the relationship that they had – as antagonistic as it was. The understanding, the trust, exactly just how in sync they really were when it can down to – and how much the same they still are, despite it all – which, actually, in hindsight, might account for part of the reason that Sanji had fallen for Zoro.

Right. That. What does he even do about that now? So much of Zoro – so much of who he loves – is left, that Sanji can’t just pretend there’s not and shut down his feelings that way. And every time he and Zoro interact like they used to, he just falls further. He wishes he could let go and move on, but that’s not who he is. He will always love, regardless of the other, because he doesn’t need it to be returned, is content with just existing as is. So maybe he can take what he gets, small bits and pieces, and be happy with that for now.

Or he could, if Zoro wasn’t avoiding him. He they were making progress with that early morning meeting. Sanji was finally calming down, accepting, and Zoro was finally opening up, curious instead of closed off. It was going well. Or, right up to the end at least.

“I just don’t know what to do,” he huffs, laid out on the couch in Robin’s library room, staring forlornly at the ceiling. He’s been talking – ranting – to her for the better part of half-an-hour, in the hopes she can help. Because he may not have an answer, but if anyone does, it will probably be her. “I thought we were making progress, but I guess not! I don’t even know, it’s just so, argh! Is it wrong that I’m so annoyed?”

“Although I cannot relate, I think it completely understandable for you to feel this way,” Robin says. “There is nothing easy about this. For either of you.”

“Thank you,” Sanji sighs. “That makes me feel a bit better at least.” Robin’s so amazing, always so level headed, always looking at all sides of the situation, truly a wonder. She really does deserve the best. “I just– do you have any ideas? About what I can do to fix,” he waves a hand about him in some vague attempt at capturing whatever is going on between him and Zoro. “Whatever this issue is that he have.”

He hears Robin shift and stand, moving around the room. Looking over, he sees he looking through her bookshelves, scanning the spines for something or other. “I think I have a book that may be helpful to you, if you’d like it,” Robin says. “It’s intended for those affected by treated hanahaki cases, the after effects of which are identical to what you are dealing with right now.”

“Memory loss from hanahaki?” Sanji hums. Right, there’d be tons of information about hanahaki. As fatal as it frequently end up being – left alone, unattended by the carrier for far too long – in the cases where it can be treated, memory loss is a major issue. “I always forget that it’s treatable.”

She passes over a book, a fair-sized hardback. Not the tomes that he often sees her reading, but a small novelette either. Left Behind: Maintaining Relationships in the Aftermath of Hanahaki the cover proclaims in neat script across the cover.

“I must say, I am surprised you have yet to be afflicted with the illness yourself.”

Sanji laughs. “My love is based in a simple desire to care for others. I do not need a relationship to bloom for my sentiment for another to be fulfilled, my dear,” Sanji says. “I do not need reciprocation from those I love to be content with what I have. And I suppose, I am always hopeful that they will accept what I give them, and always hopeful for more,” he says. “Not that I don’t want others to love me. It’s just,” he pauses, runs a hand over the cover of the book, following the word, Hanahaki. “I suppose I am content either way and just happy that my love can be given, and that is why I have never suffered for it.”

“Maybe,” Robin says. “It is interesting to think about for sure.”

“If you don’t mind me asking,” Sanji says. “Have you ever had hanahaki before?”

“I have not either. I don’t suppose I was ever able to begin to hope in the first place,” she says. “And now that I can, I find that I have all that I need.”

There’s a smile on her face that is just so…perfect, Sanji almost doesn’t want to break the moment, to move on from it. But, “I’m glad,” he says, needs her to know.

“Me too,” Robin says. “And I hope that book can help you to be just as happy.”

And Sanji supposes she would know, at least a little, wouldn’t she? “I hope so as well.” Book held tight in his hand, he pushes himself to stand. “I should get started on dinner,” he says. “Thank you for the talk, and the book.”

“Of course,” she says.

And Sanji leaves, the hope in his chest feeling all the lighter.

—

Much has been, and will continue to be discussed, on the topic of the active treatment of hanahaki disease and its effects on those involved. Of equal import, though, is what happens when all is said and done, especially in the cases in which medication is a necessary part of the disease’s treatment. Although there are many cases in which hanahaki can be treated through therapy and mediation, there are still those in which the sole use of this therapy is not effective enough, and medication must be administered to rid the carrier of the developed flower. While recovery from hanahaki that has been treated through therapy is much easier to recover from, rarely leading to a repeated development of the plant, and often resulting in a closer relationship, romantic or not, between the carrier and their objective, the opposite is true in cases treated with medication. Not only is redevelopment of the disease with the same objective occur more often than in cases treated with therapy, but the medication itself is quite invasive, taking a considerable toll on the body that lingers for an average of three weeks – most likely due to the forced removal of the plant, which the carrier’s body has now become accustomed to – as well as any memories relating to the objective. This effectively destroys any relationship between the two, making it necessary for there to be a complete rebuilding of the connection, one that may completely bulldoze over the objective’s previous understanding of the carrier.
As a side note, due to this side effect, some researchers suspect that the seed implants itself somewhere in the brain instead of the lungs like regularly assumed. This could explain the loss of memories that occurs when the plant is removed, as well as why the seed has yet to be found in any search for it – those always focusing on looking through the respiratory tract. Unfortunately, approval for such invasive research is hard to obtain, meaning that steps have yet to be taken in proving this hypothesis, so for now, this is only a theory.
Regardless, a case of selective amnesia is essentially what is left behind in the aftermath of medicated hanahaki. Medical experts recommend separation of the carrier and the objective – and rightfully so, not only for the continued health of the carrier, but also because a rebuilding of the relationship is an often harrowing process – however, this is not always an option. Maybe they are co-workers or classmates, share a circle of friends, or just want to try again. Regardless, this book is for those affected by hanahaki – on both sides of the equation – that have found that they need to rebuild their relationship to something that is at least workable.

– Left Behind: Maintaining Relationships in the Aftermath of Hanahaki, Esme Nguyệt, p. 1

—

Ever since Zoro has started avoiding the cook – and the crew in general, it’s only a matter of time before he starts coughing up petals and blooms, and it won’t go over well if that gets noticed – he has noticed Luffy watching him. Luffy isn’t exactly subtle about it, not that he’s trying to be. Subtle has never really been Luffy’s thing. If he is trying to be subtle, though, he’s doing a piss poor job of it. Because even Zoro can tell he’s being watched, and he’s asleep half the time it’s happening.

He wakes up to Luffy’s gaze on him, pinned to him where he’s laid out under a tree in Nami’s grove.

And when Zoro meets his watching eyes, Luffy doesn’t look away, either. Not that he ever does. Again, subtle isn’t really his thing. The result, like it has been for the past few days, is a weird, fucked-up version of a staring contest, not so much characterized by not blinking, but more so by not looking away first. It’s also a weird, fucked-up version of a staring contest in that Zoro is half-asleep, half-indignantly stubborn, and fully unwilling to relent.

When Luffy had given him a look after finding out Zoro had lost his memories, he thought they were making an agreement – he was sure of it – and it was an agreement that Luffy would let him deal with it and respect his decision to not tell Sanji why exactly it is he forgot him, while Zoro’s side of the agreement was to deal with it how he’d like because it is his fucking decision to make.

But so much for that, because Luffy is clearly no longer upholding his part of the agreement.

This time, though, instead of the staring contest running on until Zoro can feel his eyes getting dry and itchy – just because the point isn’t to not blink, doesn’t mean Zoro’s going to lose that part of the contest either – Luffy gives in after only a few seconds and gets up and walk straight over to Zoro until he’s tower over him.

“You remember.”

Fuck him.

He doesn’t even have the decency to make it a question

Zoro thought he was doing a good job of hiding it. After all, in the few moments of talking to the cook that he has had since he regained all his memories, he actually called him Sanji. And the cough, well, he’s covered it well, and he could have a cold for all they know. They did just leave an island made half of lava and half of ice.

So, yeah. Fuck him. Zoro was doing a great job at hiding it.

So just to be petty, instead of responding to the not-question, Zoro asks, “What happened to letting me deal with it myself.” Besides, they both know the truth after all anyway.

“That was before you started remembering,” Luffy says.

Honestly, Zoro had assumed that the same deal would apply, even in the event that fell in love with the cook again. Because just ‘cause he remembered doesn’t mean he’s going to change his mind about forgetting again. “I don’t think that changes anything.”

“It changes the chances of people getting hurt,” Luffy frowns.

Zoro grits his teeth. “No one’s getting hurt. I’ve got it under control.”

“You’re hurting now,” Luffy says.

And Zoro definitely had a good rebuttal to that, but, as if to prove Luffy’s point, an especially strong cough rips up through his throat, leaving him breathing heavy, chest unsettled and throat burning in the wake of it, and with Zoro having completely forgotten what he was going to say. Instead, he rasps in a breath and hears it wheeze in his chest.

Luffy keeps staring at him, but he’s fine. He’s had worse after all.

“I’m fine,” he grits out. The pain in his throat, and the fullness in his chest, and the vague pain hammering behind his eyes that still has yet to fully leave him are nothing. “It’s not a problem. So leave it.”

“I don’t like it when my crew is hurting,” Luffy says. Instead of leaving it. Because fuck him. This is not a conversation Zoro is having now, or ever, he’ll forget Sanji again if he very well fucking wants to.

And Luffy doesn’t say anything more, doesn’t stop Zoro from getting up and walking away, but his gaze follows him, so Zoro continues walking, until he’s out of sight, away in the crow’s nest.

Another cough wrack through him, bringing up a little purple-blue bud to sit in his hand.

Stupid captain.

Stupid love cook.

Stupid flowers.

Zoro’s so fucking stupid.

—

Sanji skims the book Robin gave him as he waits for the water on the stove to boil so he can make some nice honey lemon water to go with the snack of assorted mini sandwiches as well as the boterkoek he’s made. The slight sweetness – not too much for Zoro especially – with the citrus, and then the almond in the cake and the lighter vegetables and fish in the sandwiches will pair well.

And hopefully the warm drink can help heal Zoro of whatever illness he’s caught, and prevent anyone else from getting it. He’s being stubborn and avoidant about it, like usual.

Which means Zoro’s trying – poorly – to hide it. Chopper’s been chasing him around constantly, which is funny. It would be funnier if Chopper wasn’t getting more and more distressed, and Zoro wasn’t getting sicker and sicker. The coughs that had at first been an occasional interruption had now become much more frequent and much more violent, even muffled as they were from up in the crow’s nest where Zoro has taken to hiding out.

The whole thing is rather concerning, and the only positive thing about it is that Sanji’s pretty sure it is the entire crew Zoro is avoiding and not just him.

Regardless, Sanji has decided to read the book either way. If Zoro is avoiding him, it will be helpful once he’s better, and if he’s not, who’s to say the information won’t help him in the future. It never hurts to know more than needed.

The book itself is quite informative, large parts of it focusing on explaining hanahaki, which he mostly skims through given they are not relevant to him, and the rest has a good amount of advice that he is pretty certain he can apply to his own situation if necessary.

He hears the water bubbling and whistling, and turns off the stove, quickly putting the last of the crew’s mid-afternoon snack together, and gathers it all on a tray to take outside. The air is slightly chilled, not overly so. Really, it is such a perfect temperature to enjoy a nice cup of something warm while lounging outside.

“I come with a light snack and a nice, warm cup of honey-lemon water for the world’s most lovely ladies,” Sanji smiles, beeling straight for where Nami and Robin are seated at the table to the side of the Sunny’s deck, Trafalgar Law, grumpy as always, sitting with them as well.

“Hey, marimo, get your ass down here for a snack,” Sanji yells as he passes by the base of the main mast. That should serve to alert the rest of the ship as well, or, at least, it will alert Luffy, primed as he is to react to even a whisper of the word ‘food’, and then the fuss he kicks up should draw the attention of the others. There’s a system to this.

“Here.” Sanji slides the tray onto the table. “Please enjoy.”

“This looks lovely, Sanji. Thank you,” Nami says, picking up a sandwich.

Law gives the sandwiches a stink-eye, but takes a cup of tea and a piece of boterkoek, and Robin picks up a cup.

“Honey lemon water,” Robin hums, taking a sip from her cup, a sparkle in her eye. “Aren’t you considerate.”

Yeah, but she doesn’t need to point it out. “It seemed like the perfect temperature for such a drink is all,” Sanji says.

A thud is dampened against the plush grass lawn of the ship’s deck. Zoro must have jumped the last little bit down the ladder. Sanji’s almost surprised he actually listened and came down, he thought he was going to have to bring his portion of the snack up to the crow’s nest himself.

“You don’t look well, Roronoa-ya,” Law says.

Sanji turns, and Law is right. Zoro, well, he’s looked worse, but he doesn’t look healthy by any stretch of the imagination, wrung out, eyes glassy, skin pale. “Here.” Sanji holds out a mug for Zoro.

He just grunts and takes the mug, not saying anything, and stares at the mug like it has offended him. Or maybe like he’s going to throw up. Maybe he thinks it’s going to be too sweet. Regardless, it’s not a good look, and Sanji doesn’t especially like the fact it’s directed at something he made.

“I didn’t make it overly sweet,” Sanji says, raising an eyebrow to prompt Zoro to try it. “Or is there something else wrong with it?”

Zoro shakes his head and wipes the grimace off his face. Immediately, a set of coughs shakes through his body.

Sanji watches as he struggles to suppress them. There’s a small, muttered “Room” then “Shambles” from behind him, and the mug disappears out of Zoro’s hand. Then Zoro is doubling over fully, his elbow and then his hand coming up to cover his mouth.

“Shit,” Nami says. “Zoro, are you okay?”

Zoro just shakes his head, the cough finally calming. “I’m good. Sorry,” he grits out, voice like sandpaper. “I’m gonna go.”

“Shit,” Nami says as he rushes away, and Sanji doesn’t say it, but the same thought has nestled into his head.

When Sanji looks back at the group at the table, Nami’s face has crumpled into something rather painful, Robin has a slight frown on her face, and there’s a slight crease between Law’s brows – or, a more prominent one than there usually is.

“Have you read the book I gave you at all, Sanji,” Robin asks.

“Uh,” Sanji says, brain still processing. “Yeah, I have, thanks. I’m hoping it helps. I think it will.”

Robin nods and her smile at his affirmation is a bit more strained than it should be. “I hope so too,” she says.

—

Early Signs of Hanahaki:

Although the development of hanahaki is an abrupt and sudden growth, signs of the plant’s growth may be observable before any flowers bloom. These include:

Coughing
Breathlessness or difficulty breathing
Chest pain
Fatigue or drowsiness

Symptoms:

Those infected with hanahaki may experience:

Vomiting flowers
Coughing
Breathlessness or difficulty breathing
Sore throat
Chest pain
Fatigue or drowsiness

In addition to the above symptoms, and more frequently if the carrier is trying to hide their condition, those close to the carrier may notice the carrier exhibiting behaviors such as:

Self-isolation
Avoidance of a specific person, physically and/or mentally
Changes in habits, specifically in a way that allows them to avoid others

– “Angiosperm inimicus (hanahaki)”, Orangeberry Clinic Yearly Encyclopedia, p. 677

—

Another swing, another tree felled. The destruction feels food, Sandai Kitetsu whistling through the air, as resentful as he feels. A deadly song of sword’s breath and the dying beat of fallen trees surrounds him, calming, focusing him, filing down the spiked edges of the nerves prickling at his skin and his stomach and his lungs and his brain.

Stupid fucking cook and his stupid fucking self-sacrificial attitude. Thriller Bark and now this, running off for some marriage. He can’t just go about removing himself from the crew like he doesn’t matter. Who does he think they are? Who is he to think they wouldn’t fight for him? Who is he to think they wouldn’t win?

Zoro hates him. Fucking hates him. Detests him.

It’s good he’s gone. He’s left, and he should never come back, and they should let him. That’s obviously what he wants, and that’s what he deserves if he isn’t going to trust them like he should.

Maybe this is a good thing. If he’s gone, Zoro can just forget him and never have to worry about seeing him again. He won’t have to worry about awkward interactions, or risk remembering again, or fighting with Luffy. All his problems would be solved, and it would all be thanks to Sanji. How ironic.

Zoro can take the medication without guilt, and forget Sanji, and not feel bad about it. All because he won’t be coming back. Because he left. He left them. He fucking left them. So Zoro can forget him and not feel bad about it, and never have to worry about it again. It’s almost as if the cook has left him some sort of twisted gift before fucking off for good.

And, well, if – by some undeserved, miniscule chance – Sanji does come back, then that’s fine. He wanted to erase himself from their lives after all. Zoro would just be following along with what he wanted. Sanji can put up with the fall out.

A twig snaps on the forest floor, dissonant in the song and dance he’s created for himself.

He turns to see Nami, her eyes scanning over the piles of wood he’s left in his path. “We’re going to get him back,” she says.

“I don’t care,” Zoro asserts, harsh and fast, for her, for him. Maybe if he says it enough, one day he’ll believe it, and then he can leave this whole stupid thing behind him.

Nami sighs, and her eye roll is so exaggerated, Zoro winces for her. “Sure,” she agrees. “You don’t care, and you don’t miss him, and you aren’t hurt at all by this.”

“I don’t and I’m not,” he says. Forcing certainty into the words that he doesn’t have. “Why would I miss someone I barely even remember?”

“Now we both know that’s a lie, Mr. Hanahaki-Twice-In-A-Row-For-The-Same-Person. At least make your lies partially believable if you want me to follow along,” she huffs.

A smile sneaks its way onto his face unbidden. God, he’s so fucking screwed, isn’t he? “Fuck off, says you.”

Nami just laughs, a brief respite.

They let the silence hang between them for a few seconds; Zoro breathes in the sudden calm of the woods without his leveling. It’s nice for all of the two seconds he has before another flower is bullying its way up his esophagus and out of him, onto the forest floor.

Nami sucks in a deep breath, starkly audible, even over Zoro’s heaving breaths. “Just don’t be stupid, okay?” she says. “While we get Sanji back. Just think about it before you do anything. Don’t rush into anything right away if you don’t have to. You never know–”

“Thanks, Nami,” he says. “But I already told you. There’s no way it’s happening.”

“And I’m telling you, you don’t know that.”

How can she not get it? Why don't any of them get it? “It doesn’t matter,” he says. “Either way it doesn’t matter.”

“You’re just hurting yourself,” Nami grits.

“I know.”

“Then stop being stupid.”

“I’m not being stupid.”

“Yes, you are,” Nami shouts. “I don’t want you to regret it like I do,” she says. “You have the opportunity, so take it.” That’s a low fucking blow. “Stop running away.”

“I’m not running away,” he growls, staring at Nami straight on. “And I’m not you, so just stop. It wouldn’t be a problem if all of you just stopped sticking your nose into it.” It’s all he can do to not yell the words, and that leaves him useless to stop the vitriol that works its way into them. Anger and shame and everything he hates in himself directed spitefully outwards. As soon as the words leave his mouth, he wishes he could take them back.

Nami flinches back, tenses up. “Well,” she says, closed off and low, voice tight, overly controlled and Zoro wants to throw up. “Sorry for worrying about you. We’ll see you again in Wano. Hopefully you’re not such a coward you’ve forgotten again.”

And with that she’s walking away, leaving Zoro alone with the mess of everything he wishes he didn’t feel.

—

How hard it will be to forget you.
You, who walks under the diamond lights.
A dark silhouette is all I can see of you.
I will hang onto it for the night.

My memory, I know, can’t hold you.
You, who walks under embroidered sky.
For there are flowers stealing deep into my heart,
Looking to erase you from my eye.

I hope one day to not hurt knowing,
You, who walks with my heart in your hands.
Please be kind to me when I see you once again,
When flowers have taken what love stands.

– Midnight Walk, Jericho Frost

—

“I have to apologize, my dear,” Sanji says. “But I’m afraid I will not be able to marry you.”

Charlotte Pudding, beautiful and stunning and oh so close to everything he has ever wanted, is standing in front of Sanji, and he loathes, just a bit, the fact that he can’t find it in himself to love her as much as he wishes he could.

Of course, there is some abstract admiration of her, the knowledge of just how wonderful she is, but it doesn’t spark anything in him like it should.

Instead, a stupid lump of moss has taken up much too much room in the recesses of his heart, and is intent on taking up more. It’s gotten to the point where he has started to consider actually making an attempt to pursue this love seriously, not just stay harboring it contentedly in his mind.

“Oh,” Pudding says, looking away, sounding to Sanji as put out as he himself feels.

He curses himself for making a lady feel such a way.

“May I ask why?” Pudding’s voice is small, wavering, when she asks.

“I assure you, it has nothing to do with you.” Sanji says, and pauses, swallows back the full truth, only ready to share the half he can easily admit out loud to another. “But unfortunately, I am fully committed to my crew at the moment.” Especially a certain direction-impaired moss ball. “In fact, I must get back to them as soon as possible. So please do not take this the wrong way. I came here with the intention of rejecting the marriage in the first place. It is not something I am looking for at the moment.”

“I see,” Pudding sighs. “I suppose I can’t be too offended. This isn’t what I originally wanted either,” she says. “You are quite kind, though, Sanji, and wonderful and handsome, and I just…” she trails off, and Sanji’s heart wants to break for her, to splinter off some amount of deeper love, enough to convince him to stay. And maybe it does, because, for a second, Sanji wants to maybe, just maybe, try and stay. But the moment is gone as quick as it came, his love for his crew holding it sealed strong. There is no true fulfillment he can give her for this desire.

So instead, he says, “I would say you are just as entrancing, my dear.”

“Then, maybe, we could meet again?” She tries. “I don’t want to get in the way of your dreams, Sanji, but, I just… don’t you think this could work? That we could make it work? Meeting you has made me realize that you are exactly who I would want to be with. And I want to be there for you in return.” She is so genuine, so hopeful, shining with such a pure offer of certain love.

“I–” Words, agreeal, acceptance, reciprocation, all get stuck in Sanji’s throat, molasses sweet as they are. He can’t seem to force them out as they clog up his throat and choke him with their cloying sweetness. Because when he imagines his future, far off, far away, Pudding may have been who he had once seen, but that isn’t the case anymore. Very unfortunately, he now has a different vision of what, or who exactly, he’d be perfectly happy with. And he’s left him behind – a relationship half rebuilt – and needs to get back to him, to get back to the crew. “I’m sorry,” Sanji chokes out. “But there’s someone else. I can’t love you the way you deserve.”

And Sanji is sure he must be imagining how Pudding’s face hardens, something so purely venomous flashing across it, because he blinks and Pudding his pulling back, tears blossoming in the corners of her eyes.

“You do,” she says. “I’m so sorry. I don’t mean to be encroaching on your relationship! What have I done?” She sobs, a hand hand coming up to cover the sound as it leaves her.

“No!” Sanji asserts a little too loud, not wanting to see a lady in such horrible distress, and all due to him. “No,” he tries again. “We aren’t together yet, but my heart…”

“Oh,” Pudding sniffles. “So I really can’t convince you, then, not to even try?” Pudding wipes at his eyes, and gives him a water smile. Self-loathing at the distress he’s cause rushes through Sanji, and he has to stop himself from saying something, making an allowance, he knows he’ll regret.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” she says. “I guess I’ll just have to find someone else then.” She really is so kind. He hopes she finds someone she deserves.

“I’m sure you will find someone perfect.”

Straightening herself out, she smiles, brushing away the last of the tears. “I will,” she says, certain and strong. “So let’s get you back to your crew.”

—

There once lived a princess in a kingdom under the mountain. She lived a peaceful life, full of love and joy, for the kingdom was prosperous, and the King and the Queen and the people loved her dearly. She spent her days in the kingdom under the mountain, where walls sparkled, and footsteps sung, and water ran cool and pleasant. There in her kingdom, a beautiful life she was set to live, but the princess yearned for more. For she had never left the mountain, she had never seen what was beyond, and although the stories of her mother and her father and her people told of a world both beautiful and cruel, she still wished to see it.
So one day, when all was still and sleeping in the mountain, the princess snuck out of her chambers and through the halls until she reached gates that lead to the outside. Little did she pause to gather her courage, and then out the door she left, intent on seeing the world she did not know. What met the princess was a forest so lush and green, cast cool and calm in the hold of the night, and lit only by the stars and the moon that shone above. Enraptured was the princess, for she had never seen the trees or the grass or the flowers or the sky that now surrounded her.
Casting only a glance at the mountain behind, she set off deeper into the forest, leaving nothing but her feet to guide her. She walked through the night, time passing her by unknown, until the sky started to lighten. It was just as the princess reached the edge of the forest, where the land met the Ocean, that the Sun had risen, and the Moon had set.
So fortunate, or unfortunate, was the princess’ timing, that she was there when the Moon touched down at the edge where the ocean met the land, in the form of another, dressed in robes of silk and sky and sea. The princess gasped when she saw the Moon, taken by her beauty, and the Moon in turn looked at her. The Moon smiled, taken by the princess, and the princess smiled back. In that moment, the princess' heart was taken by the world outside, and the Moon’s was taken by the princess she had never seen. The princess asked of the world, and the Moon answered, and the Moon asked of the mountain, and the princess returned in kind. For the entire day they spoke, as the Sun watched the land, and when the Sun hung low, the Moon returned to the sky and the princess to the mountain, vowing to see each other the next day.
Like this, the princess’ life continued, leaving the mountain to see the Moon, meeting where the edge of the forest and the Ocean met. The Moon, however, was not the only one who saw the princess. The Ocean would watch, each dawn and each day and each dusk, as the two would meet, and would roil in jealousy and want for the princess who she had never before seen. Wanting the princess for herself, the Ocean tried to draw her in, creating flowers and floating along to the shore. But the princess ignored them, and the princess ignored the Ocean, so taken she was by the Moon.
The Ocean’s rage only grew, and multiplied, until one day, when the princess had arrived before the Moon could leave the sky, the Ocean rose up and stole the princess down under to her. The princess, though, had never known such deep waters, and could not swim and could not breathe when the Ocean took her. When the Ocean realized what she had done, she wept and she cried until the water around her filled with salt and the flowers around her withered, trying to hide away the evidence of her love. The Moon sitting up in the sky had seen all that had happened, helpless to stop it, and when she touched down on the earth, she raged at what the Ocean had done.
She had seen the Ocean’s flowers, and known of her jealous love, and so she cursed the Ocean. From then on, no flowers borne by love would wither in the water, and would instead stay and grow forever more, reminding the Ocean always of what she had done. And so the Ocean sat for years, growing cold and bitter for a love that she would never feel, until one day, a girl, so alike the princess, came into her domain. The Ocean fell in love once again, and the girl, it seems, had too. The Moon, however, watching from the sky, was enraged to see the Ocean in love once again, so unfair she taught it, that the Ocean could find happiness after stealing her own. So the Moon set a curse again, this time promising that the Ocean would never find love.
When the girl, who loved the Ocean, learned of this, she cried out to the Moon, pleading for her mercy, and begging for a chance to find love with the Ocean. But the Moon, having grown bitter and cold and spiteful from the death of the princess, could not find it in herself to be merciful. Instead she cursed the girl like she had cursed the Moon, such that she and all those who followed her would hold flowers within themselves as a reminder of those that loved them not. And the girl wept for the Ocean that could not love her and never would, and for the flowers that grew within her, and for all those that would follow her, and the Moon watched on silent and unyielding.

– The Princess and the Moon, the Ocean and the Sea, author unknown

—

“We have Sanji back,” Nami’s voice says, ringing out from Law’s Den-Den-Mushi. “We’re on our way to Wano now.”

Law is sitting in the privacy of his office, door shut with the hope of keeping others out – something neither his crew, nor the half of the Straw Hat’s he’s been generously housing, actually abide by – with the rest of the Straw Hat’s on the other end of the line.

“Good,” he says. “I trust you will follow the plan we’ve laid out?” Not that that will guarantee anything. Hopefully, he’s foolproofed the plan well enough that it will succeed regardless. Even after Straw Hat inevitably messes it up.

“Don’t worry, Traffy! It’ll all be good!” Luffy says, or, well, more like yells.

Already, a headache is building behind Law’s eyes just thinking about having to deal with him again. Just having to deal with half of the Straw Hat’s madness is more than enough for him. And their captain is an existence on a whole other level that he doesn’t want to think about. Although, the drama of his swordsman has certainly given him a run for his money.

Hanahaki is one thing. Getting it twice is another. Continuing to approach it with the callus denial that Zoro appears to have honed and perfected is an entirely different level. If it wasn’t so concerning and frankly stupid, Law would be seriously impressed.

“Is everything going to plan on your end?” Nami asks.

Unless something has changed in the last hour Law has shut himself in his office, then yes. With one little exception. “What we discussed has had no issues so far.”

“That’s good.”

“Yes, but there is something you need to know outside of that,” Law continues. “Something happened to Zoro-ya again.”

Law pauses, waits to see if there is any reaction to that, but only heavy silence rings out from his Den-Den-Mushi. Usually Law has no quarrels about lying or stretching the truth however it suits him, but somehow this feels like something different, and the words he’s about to say sit stubbornly in his stomach.

“Something appears to have exacerbated the initial injury that made him forget Blackleg-ya.” Hanahaki, obviously. As far as he can tell, it’s mostly an open secret, but considering he doesn’t know to what extent it’s open, he’ll play along with their feigned ignorance, even if it doesn’t feel quite right. “He’s forgotten him again.”

The crew is eerily silent on the other side of the line.

“That’s okay,” Sanji’s voice, shaky but clear, breaks through the pause. “Thanks for telling us.”

“Sanji…” Nami says, pity audible in her tone.

“I’m good, my dearest Nami,” Sanji says. The snail on Law’s desk huffs out a deep breath. “It’s not like it can be helped.” Ouch.

It wasn’t Law’s choice – he had nothing to do with it, no responsibility in the matter – but still, some horrible guilt gathers like a black hole in his stomach, just knowing the truth of what has happened and why.

“Besides,” Sanji continues, laughing, but it falls flat. “This just gives me an opportunity to put to use the book that our lovely Robin lent me.”

“Right,” Nami says, perfectly even, artificially so. “ Well, we should go. Lots to prepare and all that.”

Law clears his throat, and the guilt from his mind. This isn’t for him to worry about. He’s done what he needs to and that’s all you should do. “Great, we’ve brief Zoro-ya somewhat, so he isn’t fully in the dark. If we all stick to the plan, this should all work out.”

“Okay,” Luffy says. “Let’s get to Wano and beat up an Emperor.”

And Law hangs up, his Den-Den-Mushi signaling the end of the call with a vocalized click.

It isn’t his concern, but he can’t help but feel curious as to how this will all turn out between Zoro and Sanji. If they all survive Wano, that is.

—

David has loved Flora from the moment he’d met her.

Her smile, her laugh, her voice. Her eyes and her nose and her lips. Her careful hands, and strong arms, and mindful attention. Her, and everything that was and is and ever would be her.

He had accepted long ago that she would never love him.

This, unfortunately, was not an assumption. Maybe there would be salvation for him if it was. But Flora had told him long ago that she didn’t love him. That she didn’t, that she couldn’t, and that she never would.

There was another in Flora’s life, a man who she had married and who she had loved for many years, that would hold all her love instead.

So David could do nothing but watch and dream and try to let go.

Three years and flowers blooming from his lungs told him that any attempts had been unsuccessful. His love for Flora filled him still and it wouldn’t be leaving anytime soon.

The first month of flowers was of little note.

The second brought with it a heaviness in his chest.

The third was when others began to notice.

The fourth was when Flora realized.

The fifth was when she started to avoid him.

The sixth was when he could no longer work.

The seventh was when he could no longer breathe.

The eighth was when he could do nothing but sleep.

And by the ninth he was gone.

– Flora, Janine Wrightbringer

—

Luckily for Sanji, Law wasn’t lying, and Zoro seems to have been briefed well enough to recognize him.

“You must be the cook, Sanjuro,” Zoro says. And the recognition in his eyes isn’t familiar, but analytical, flattened of emotion, but at least he knows to be aware of his existence this time. Improvement, Sanji has to reassure himself.

“Or was it Browjuro.”

Sanji feels said pointed out eyebrow twitch. Why did he think he missed this guy to begin with?

“And you must be Mossjuro,” he can’t stop himself from saying. “Fitting name considering the toxic, brain-eating shit that has disguised itself as hair on your head.” So much for following Robin’s book.

“The fuck did you just say to me?” Zoro growls.

“Don’t worry yourself over it,” Sanji says. “Instead, you should use the few brain cells you have left to focus on the fight.”

“I can’t believe I’d ever fall for this,” Zoro mutters, obviously to himself, but Sanji hears it nonetheless.

What? Fall for what? “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“None of your business, fuck off.”

Yes. Rebuilding this relationship is already off to a wonderful start. Why does Sanji like this shithead again?

Maybe he’s the one who needs his head checked, if he’s able to find someone like this desirable.

He ignores the fact that this feels a bit like their usual back-and-forth, and that, at least, is comforting.

Next time he can try harder to be nicer.

—

All it takes this time is a single fight – a good fight, but a single fight nonetheless – for Zoro’s attempted removal of his hanahaki problem to go to waste. Because Sanji is an amazing fighter – on the same level as Zoro himself, maybe – and together, they’re even better.

At this point, it must be written in his bones, the way Zoro trusts him, because it isn’t until pain is cracking through his head and memories are flooding his thoughts that he even realizes the extent to which he had been trusting Sanji to have his back, subconscious instinct as it is.

And just as that trust has settled so deep into his being – so profound that he can do nothing to negate it – so too, it seems, has his love for Sanji.

Falling once is unremarkable. The second time was a fluke. This, the third time, is a pattern he doubts he can escape.

Gritting his teeth down on Wado’s hilt, he swallows back resigned frustration, buries his relentless devotion, and focuses back on the fight.

Roronoa Zoro is not one to give up – never has been and never will be – but he has to wonder if there’s a point where the persistence that is tattooed onto his soul will be the end of him.

—

With little known of its origins, hanahaki spread quickly, becoming an international phenomenon. With the first two records of the disease – often discussed in tandem within the topic of the origin of hanahaki – dating to times only a few weeks apart, and on opposing sides of the globe.
The first is a patient entry from a local doctor situated in Green Hill Island in the northernmost region of the East Blue from January 16, 614 ASC, citing hanahaki by name, and describing it as “a violent expulsion of flowers, specifically, in this case, Daucus carota, more commonly known as wild carrot, from the patient’s lungs, inhibiting their ability to breathe, and thereby limiting endurance in activities requiring an increased usage of the respiratory system”. No notes are available from this source on the fatality, commonality, or background of the disease, although that may be due to the fact that only a few pages of notes survived to the modern day.
The second record is from the court of the Arcanda Kingdom, now known as the East Royal Mountain region in the West Blue, February 23, 614 ASC. It notes the coronation of King Thoma IV, after the passing of the previous king, Jame III, due to hanahaki. It does little other than prove the existence of hanahaki, and provide proof of a fatal case. No additional information is stated, although from this lack of description, it can be inferred that the disease was either common enough or well known enough to be counted as common knowledge not requiring an explanation.
It isn’t until 722 ASC, with the end of the Void century, that any records of hanahaki appear again. Although this is unfortunate, both of the first two records do much work in demonstrating the certain existence of the disease, predating the Void century at the very least, as well as provide some information of the nature of it. Following the Void century, many well-preserved records of the disease exist, building the base for the modern-day understanding of the disease.

– Hanahaki: A History, Ernst Fallwell, p. 4-5

Up to this point, only certain records of hanahaki have been discussed, however, there is a large many examples of possible reference to the disease dating all the way back to 215 AOH, with the Ballad of Sumarlinq in which during one of his many trials, the lyrics sing of “a withering girl, with flowers between her words, and stubborn in her love” and “the key to her salvation taking the form of another”. There are many instances of descriptions such as these in surviving relics of the past that do not cite hanahaki by name, but aline with modern day knowledge of it.

– Hanahaki: A History, Ernst Farewell, p. 17

—

In the fire and brimstone of Onigashima, King lays there, defeated, in front of him, but all Zoro can feel is rage.

Fucking Sanji and his fucking request.

Kill him.

How could he even ask that.

Zoro can’t even feel the full offended righteousness that he wants to, because as far as Sanji knows, Zoro barely remembers him, knows him so little he may as well not know him at all.

He must seem like the perfect person to ask. Strong enough to fight him. Callous enough, experienced enough, to kill him. Unfamiliar enough that it won’t break him.

Is this the universe’s way of laughing at him? To rub it in his face even more just how out of reach any love would be for him? Or is it an indignant revenge for him attempting to keep avoiding his problems?

Whatever it is, it’s cruel. A cruel request he can’t even turn down, because Sanji asked, and Zoro trusts his judgment – loath as he’d be to admit it outloud.

As the adrenaline from the fight leaves him, all he can feel is anger, rage, pain.

Why is Sanji the one he has to love? Why does he have to be in this mess in the first place? Why can’t he just rest?

He closes his eyes, just for a second, takes in a deep breath, and unconsciousness pulls him under.

—

Despite its widespread existence – about eight in every hundred people will have a hanahaki plant grow in them at least once in their lifetime – there are still many misconceptions about the disease. This may be due to the fact that relatively little is known about the exact workings of the disease. However, it is still important to distinguish what is fact from what is just myth or misunderstanding, so here are three common myths about hanahaki disease.

1. Hanahaki is always fatal.

This is a fairly common misconception in the North Blue, where the mortality rate for disease is higher*. While some cases of hanahaki may be fatal, the majority of them are not**. Even untreated cases of hanahaki have a low chance of ending in death. The plant will oftentimes grow to a certain point and stabalize, taking up a base amount of nutrients and space in the carrier's body, certainly impeding their ease of life, but not killing them.

2. Hanahaki is never fatal.

Despite being the exact opposite of the above myth, this is also a fairly common misconception. Although the majority of cases are not fatal, there are still those that are, and since no initial distinction can be made between the two, the possible fatality of the disease should not be ignored. In tandem with the myth, is often the assumption that hanahaki can be left untreated with no ill effect. This is not advised, again because of the possibility of death, but also because hanahaki has many negative effects on the health of the carrier. The plant steals nutrients and space, making the carrier feel weaker and crowding their airways. As such, treatment is recommended

3. Rejection will always lead to hanahaki.

Although the growth of the hanahaki plant is triggered by feelings of one-sided attraction, not all instances of a rejection of a relationship will lead to the development of hanahaki in the rejected party***. Unfortunately, researchers have yet to discern exactly what separates cases of development from those of non-development. Therefore, while the results of a rejection in relation to hanahaki cannot be determined, it is important that no individual feels pressured into accepting a relationship out of a sense of guilt. Likelihood of development is low, and in the case that growth of the seed does occur, effective treatment is available.

4. Only those who are emotional and dramatic get hanahaki.

Anyone can get hanahaki disease as long as they are carrying the plant’s seed****, and experience some amount of attraction to another person. Research studying those who have been infected with hanahaki, have revealed that factors such as the degree of attraction and constancy of rumination on the feelings have no effect on the development of the plant. Feelings initiating and feeding its growth can range from the stereotypical head-over-heels love that is often assumed to a passing interest that is easily brushed aside. Some individuals do contract hanahaki more frequently than others, but, although the exact reason for why is unknown, it has been determined with certainty that this is not due to any emotional dramatism. Hanahaki is not something that can be brushed aside, or will disappear if the carrier “calms down” or “lets it go”, and any sentiments of the sort about the disease are a sign of a gross misunderstanding of its workings, one that research is working hard to dispel.

*The exact reason for this difference in fatality is unknown. Studies have been conducted studying many possible factors from weather to lack of resources and infrastructure to social stigma. The general conclusion among experts – although yet to be fully confirmed – is that it is due to a mix of many of these factors

**It should be noted that the fatality of the disease increases for each time it is gained for the same person, and statistics on the mortality rate of the disease largely refer only to first iteration development cases.

***Studies show that hanahaki develops in an approximated 27 percent of outright rejections. The majority of cases of hanahaki are developed from amorous feelings that are ignored, hidden, or repressed, and are especially characterized by a lack of hope.

****Although there is no current way to know for sure, due to our inability to detect the dormant seed, experts suspect that close to the entire population, if not all, carries the seed – mostly due to its widespread prevalence. However, it could be entirely possible that only a select few people carry the seed, explaining why the disease has such an uneven chance of development.

– “Common Myths”, East Blue Centre for Hanahaki Research Handbook, p. 3

—

In all honestly, the flowers aren’t as disruptive this third time around. Easy to hide, easy to deal with. Maybe it’s due to it being the early stages of their development, or maybe Zoro hasn’t fallen quite as deep yet.

If everything were to just continue on like this, he could maybe even avoid taking the medication again.

Except, freshly departed from Wano, the country just having disappeared on the horizon, Zoro looks over at Sanji, and with the high of a fight well won, lets himself dream just a bit too much. Lets himself admire Sanji and his smile, to imagine it directed at him, joyful and caring. Like so many times before, he lets himself indulge in a dream he knows won’t come true, except this time it is out in the open in the middle of the ship, not hidden away in some nook or cranny where he knows no one can hear him when he inevitably starts coughing.

It’s stupid, because just like every time, the petals make their appearance. The ones he coughs up come quickly and vengefully, as if to admonish him for even daring to indulge in fantasy and love, and they don’t leave him the chance to try and hide.

He’s tired. And for all that he’s avoided Chopper so far, it appears that this is the day that his luck runs out, because it takes all of one look and two seconds for him to see the plowers and process the scene, and start screaming about how Zoro is going to die.

“It’s fine,” he says, shakes the petals from his hand and lets them drift away in the wind, but it’s all drowned out by Chopper’s panicking.

“What’s wrong?” Luffy yells from up at the front of the ship, bouncing back to check on – and probably join – the chaos.

“Zoro’s dying!” Chopper cries. “He’s going to die! We need a doctor!”

Luffy just looks at Zoro with something that reaches some mix between unimpressed I-told-you-so threaded through with vague concern. He thinks Zoro should give it up. But Zoro doesn’t know when to give up and give in, and he especially refuses to know.

“I’m not going to die,” Zoro defends himself, against Luffy’s disapproval or Chopper’s worry he’s not sure. “There’s no blood.”

“Oh, that’s good,” Chopper says, and stops panicking for all of one second before he starts up again. “Wait, no! That doesn’t fix anything!” He yells, even louder this time. The whole ship can probably hear him at this point.

“What exactly is wrong with the stupid moss?” Sanji asks.

“He’s got hanahaki,” Chopper says, turning to Zoro, determination hardening his eyes. “We need to fix this!”

“I’m fine,” Zoro groans. “Stop worrying about it. It’s just a couple petals.”

Somehow, Sanji actually finds this to be something distressing. “This is not fine, you brain dead piece of plant life!” He rounds on Zoro. “You can’t just leave this. You’ll die!”

“I’m not going to fucking die, what the fuck.”

“You don’t know that!” Chopper screeches, pitching so high it hurts Zoro’s ears. “You won’t die now, but that means nothing about in a couple weeks.”

“Listen to your doctor, you stupid piece of moss,” Sanji says. “This disease kills people. Regularly.”

“More like rarely,” Zoro mutters.

Sanji turns red with rage; Zoro still doesn’t understand why he’s so mad about all this. Chopper just cries more, and starts trying to herd Zoro towards the infirmary.”

Zoro groans. “I’ve got it under control. I’m not going to die. Seriously. There’s no reason for you two to be so dramatic.”

“But you’re going to die!” Chopper says. How can they not let that point go?

“Zoro’s going to die?” Usopp screams, him and Nami finally having deigned to make their way up from below deck and join the conversation.

“No, I’m not,” Zoro says before Chopper can get a word in. “It’s just hanahaki.”

“Oh,” Usopp deflates. “Yeah, he’s fine. All good.”

Nami rolls her eyes. “I’m going back to my office,” she sighs, shooting Zoro a judging look as she leaves.

“Why are you so calm?!” Sanji screeches.

“Hanahaki has a low mortality rate in the East Blue,” Robin chimes in calmly, arriving from, somewhere. “Although, I can’t blame you for your reaction, Sanji, as it is a much more fatal disease in the North Blue. But Zoro is right in his assertion that there is very little for him to worry about at the moment besides a slight decline in quality of life.”

Zoro relaxes. Finally, a voice of reason who isn’t just interested in how he’s at the root of the chaos. Thank goodness for Robin and her endless understanding of the world.

“Oh,” Sanji says, blush building on his cheeks. “Thank you, Robin. You are a wealth of knowledge as always.”

“Of course.” Robin smiles. “I wouldn’t want you all to worry unnecessarily.”

“Right,” Sanji mumbles. Piece said, he stalks away, muttering something about stupid moss heads under his breath.

“Zoro,” Chopper sniffs. “We should fix it. Who is it? Wait, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. Can you forget them? I don’t want you to be hurting.”

Chopper’s making one of his cute, beseeching expressions. Zoro hates those, hates how effective they are. He needs to build up some sort of resistance somehow.

“I’m fine for now,” he sighs. “But,” he says firmly before Chopper can try and add any arguments, already seeing the concerned disapproval he has at Zoro’s dismissal of the problem. “I’ll come to you if it gets worse, okay?”

“Okay,” Chopper says, as placated as he’s going to be for now. “You promise?”

“Yeah, I promise,” he says.

Crisis averted.

—

It’s a hard thing to explain to someone who has never experienced it – the simultaneous dread and awe of seeing a hanahaki flower that has grown within you. The dread, I’m sure, can be easily understood. Love, something taught to be so pure and good, has turned on those with hanahaki; corrupted, it is often called. It causes them pain, instead of bringing them joy like how it is taught it should. Certainly, it is dreadful that love could do such a thing, and even more so to be the one to experience. The awe, though, that is a little less understandable. Although, hanahaki may be described as love corrupted, that love still has power. It has the power to create. A power of creation so terribly beautiful, that one can only look on in awe. For although it hurts, the flowers brought about by the plant’s growth, by the love which one feels, however fleeting or withstanding it may be, is something strong and beautiful. The idea that love can love so strongly it brings with it creation is awful, in all its meanings, archaic and modern. And even more, those flowers aren’t just some nameless beauty. They are that love, growing with meaning, defined just as the relationship is by the one in love.
For me, the flower was a white chrysanthemum, a symbol, I later learned, of devotion and loyalty. This I suppose would represent the love that I had held since childhood, at first the purely platonic type for my best friend, which would later morph into the want for something more. At the time, though, all I knew of white chrysanthemums was death. They were the flowers that decorated every newly-dug grave in the town. Our town seemed to host just the right conditions for their growth, because, when left unattended, they would cover the ground. Generally, the flowers were picked in the fear that leaving them would be akin to inviting death to one’s door. The only ones to remain untouched were those in the cemetery, which grew so thick that, at a glance, the ground would appear to be covered in snow. As a child, I would walk past that cemetery everyday on my way to school. So when I coughed up the flower, all I could think of was those graves covered in flowers, and the death that made them. This flower, I figured, was to represent a love I had already accepted as dead. I had buried it myself, suffocated it deep in the ground before it could even hope to try and live.

– Twisted Affection: A True Story, Milena Láska, p. 13

—

Sanji finds Zoro on the upper deck of the Sunny, looking out over the water at the horizon, faced towards the direction they’re heading in.

“Zoro,” he starts. “It isn’t worth it.”

“What’s not worth it, shit cook?” Zoro laughs.

“The hanahaki, you can’t just risk it all like this.”

Zoro snorts, flat, short of anything authentically happy. “I’m not going to die.”

Sanji knows that, but that isn’t what matters. If he dies or not doesn’t matter, it’s everything else in the equation that is the illness.

“I know,” he says. “But still, whoever it is, they can’t be worth it.” Not for Zoro’s dream, for the rest of his life. Sanji is sure. To give up on hope and grasp its decaying remains all the same, is something that doesn’t just sits easily avoidable in the back of one’s mind.

Zoro laughs then, real and full and slightly unhinged. “Oh god Curly. What a thing to say,” he gasps. “Don’t worry, I’ve dealt with hanahaki tons. I’ll be fine.”

Why won’t he take this seriously? He can’t just give up over this. Maybe even die. All over some stupid flowers. The crew needs him, and Sanji…he wants him here, alive and well, and not some flower-ridden corpse, either a shell of himself or grown over and so avoidably tragic.

He’s seen it before. What’s left behind. In Judge’s laboratory, traveling the East Blue. It isn’t as pretty as people wish it was. Puncturing vines curling through ashen skin, petrified resignation on the bodies of the dead. Rasping lungs struggling to pull in the smallest breath of air, eyes glazed over with lost hope for those who aren’t.

He knows Zoro is stubborn, and he’s so resistant to any more of medicine. But he can’t just waste away like everyone inevitably does– wait. “You’ve had hanahaki before?”

“Yeah, a bunch of time,” Zoro says. “More than I can count, before you ask. Surprised you aren’t the same.”

“I don’t usually…” Sanji trails off, brain running a mile a minute. “Oh my god.”

“What?” Zoro turns around, clear confusion on his face.

“You keep forgetting me.”

Zoro’s eyes widen, before he schools his face back into something attempting neutrality. “Don’t be so full of yourself, stupid love cook.” He tries to brush past Sanji, leave the conversation, leave him, but Sanji grabs a hold of his arm and holds on tight.

“I love you,” Sanji blurts out, hoping to everything that Zoro is just bluffing and Sanji is the one he likes. That Sanji really is the object of his affections. Hopes that his leap of faith didn’t just curse another of them to risk resting with flowered remains or broken memories, because at this point, he’s not sure he can let go. “I love you, too,” he says.

Zoro stops, doesn’t try to leave again, doesn’t pull away. But he doesn’t say anything either.

“Am I the one you love?” Sanji asks, can’t help the way his breath holds in his chest, waiting, nervous.

Zoro shakes out a breath, still not turning around, and Sanji can’t help but worry he miscalculated.

“Yes,” Zoro whispers, turning back slowly to meet Sanji’s eyes. “Three fucking times.”

And Sanji surges forward, hands coming up to hold Zoro’s head as Zoro’s own fly up to balance on his waist. Sanji’s lips smash into his – dry and soft and there – in his need.

Kissing Zoro is like magic, if only because Sanji knows this will be the end of all the flowers and their threat. He holds Zoro close, reluctant to let him go, but he forces himself to pull away, for air, for the need to look at Zoro. Because he needs to see, needs to know, that this won’t be it.

Resting their foreheads together, his hands stay, cradling Zoro’s face. “I love you,” he breathes the words straight out of his soul, his heart, his being. “I love you, and I want to be with you. Please, will you be mine.”

Closing his eyes, he presses closer, and Zoro’s hands come up to cradles his own.

“Please say yes,” Sanji breathes out. And he isn’t too proud as to not admit it’s a plea, a supplication, a prayer. All he wants in this moment is in his hands, taking a precarious existence that can only be brought to be by Zoro’s answer. A single sound between Sanji and Zoro and forever.

Sanji almost asks again.

But Zoro presses into him in kind, and says:

“Yes.”