Chapter Text
It wasn’t important, the fact that Zoro tended to sleep at the same time Sanji left the galley for a quick cigarette break. Not at all. It was just that the cook didn’t enjoy being alone as much as he pretended to and he did appreciate the silence of Zoro’s company. Only when he was sleeping, obviously. He also would much rather die than admit that.
But the first time they met like this, the swordsman unconscious and the other just looking for a pretty spot to savour the bitter, though comforting, taste of his cigarette and watch the smoke fade away rather than just getting that quick nicotine hit, he was about to scold moss-hair for occupying all that space when he noticed the slight movement of his lips. Expecting a tired insult being hurled the blonde’s way, the slight exhale of his name- real name, genuinely took him by surprise.
The two of them never called each other by that, at first just part of their petty rivalry, now an unspoken agreement of keeping up that habit. It was consoling, a piece of their identity even, unchanging; Sanji as the shitty cook, at times just pervert and Zoro either moss-head or marimo.
So naturally, this new form of address was startling Sanji, especially since the green-haired beast of a man didn’t even seem to be in the same reality as him. The cook contemplated kicking him, not sure if he just wanted him to be awake and insult him to bring back normality or because this actually creeped him out,
Does he know I am here?
Is he playing with me?
Zoro didn’t stir, however, convincing the other that he was actually napping. Upon that Sanji returned to smoking his cigarette, taking long drags and twirling the butt between his pale, slender fingers, basking in the silence despite him having company. Utterly comfortable silence.
This turned into a routine for them, rather the blonde though, since he was the one seeking for Zoro’s big frame in his smoking breaks, sometimes sitting alongside the swordsman, sometimes just leaning against whatever surface there was and get lost in his thoughts. It didn’t take long for Sanji to realise that his crewmate regularly talks in his sleep, from a few syllables to entire phrases. Most prominently just one word, a name: Sanji
A shout, a whisper, a sigh, god damn it, even something that came close to a plea.
The cook didn’t really know what to make of this, he knew he didn’t mind, why else would he still seek out Zoro to spend time like this if he was uncomfortable with it? Maybe he just liked this more gentle side of the other, acknowledging him with his name like an respectable equal.
But when Sanji strolled towards the strand of green hair peeking over a bunch of barrels still to be loaded under deck, humming a little tune, he noted the way the tension in his shoulders evaporated and a slight smile tugged at his lips. He sat down in front of Zoro, leaning against a barrel even with the risk of splinters digging themselves into his fine suit jacket. The blonde took a good look at the other man, the mountains upon mountains of muscle in his arms that were crossed over his chest, the slight frown that never really left his face, save for when he had drunk enough beer to remember the name of his swords. He wasn’t about to admit that he found Zoro attractive, wouldn’t put him on the same page as a beauty like Nami, but time spent admiring the swordsman was by no means time wasted. He had a brutish charm, the way he was so hellbent to protect the ones close to him, no matter what. Even the people he couldn’t stand, like Sanji.
With a sigh, the cook finally pried his eyes away from the other, fishing out a cigarette and lighting it. As he made to look out at what he could perceive from the horizon he listened to Zoro rambling, mostly unintelligible and probably nonsense anyway, yet the comfort of someone being here without looking at and expecting from him made his heart swell up with fondness for his dozing crewmate.
“Damn right, marimo.”
Sanji whispered, eyes shifting toward said algae-headed man once again. Zoro grunted, as in response and his head turned slightly, tipping off toward one side. And because the blonde did in fact enjoy these almost-quiet moments without having to fight, he caught the others face with his hand, shifting his body to sit beside his sleeping companion to allow him to lean onto his shoulder. He heard his name being whispered, a bit louder, voice rougher and the swordsman stirred next to him. Sanji looked down at him and blinked once, seemingly unsure, but quickly his devil-may-care attutide returned, a lazy smile on his face and challenging look in his eyes.
“Just shut up and enjoy this. You kept calling for me, here I am.”
Zoro looked at him for a moment then, face unreadable, but he chose against fighting and let his head fall back onto the cooks shoulders, closing his eyes as he took in the scent of cigarettes mixed with spices he didn’t know the name of. A familiar, comforting smell. It didn’t take long for his breathing to decelerate, neither did it for the other to light another cigarette and play around with his lighter.
And those few stolen moments were the ones Sanji felt most grateful for, though he loved all of his crew as well as cooking for them, the feeling of sharing such vulnerable moments with his rival of all people and being ready to tear each others heads off the next was incomparable, a purely self-indulgent thrill he knew Zoro felt the same way he did.