Work Text:
“Marimo, what are you doing?” Sanji asks, amused at the sigh before him. He watches as Zoro situates himself as best as he can so he can see the back of his head. It felt like watching an elaborate experiment with mirrors; mirror in one hand, scissors in another, and chunks of hair at the marimo’s feet.
“What does it look like, curly?” Zoro sighs sarcastically. He’s carding his hand carefully through his long locks, positioning the mirror where he could see the back of his head. Sanji has a feeling he knows what the green haired man was about to do; he was definitely about to snip off a good chunk of his hair as unevenly as he possibly could.
“I mean, it’s obvious on the surface,” Sanji sighs, “But why didn’t you just ask me for help? I do this for a living, mossy.”
“I know I could have,” Zoro says, “But I didn’t want to burden you. You do this all day, when you come home you should be able to just unwind-”
“Stupid,” Sanji chuckles, “If it’s something for you, want or need, you don’t ever have to ask. It doesn’t bother me in the slightest.” Sanji rounds the counter, standing behind Zoro. He takes the scissors that Zoro placed on the small table beside him. “I’m gonna even it out, okay?” Sanji continues. He motions Zoro to sit in the chair he’s pulled up from a nearby table.
“How did this even come about, curly?” Zoro asks, as Sanji grabs the scissors from where they were resting. Really, Sanji didn’t know what to say about how this even happened. It was hard to explain without opening a whole can of worms into a past he didn’t want to remember.
“It’s not much of a story, really,” Sanji says instead, “Mom was a hairdresser, so I learned from her.” “Dad hated it though. Said it wasn’t becoming of a man to be a hairdresser, but I didn’t care. My other brothers were already in high earning private sector jobs, I didn’t need to be.” The comforting sounds of hair being trimmed filled the room. Sanji wonders what Zoro was going to say about the situation.
“Look at you, curly, “ Zoro teases softly, “My lovely hairdresser boyfriend. Too sweet for his own good.” The scissors snip more and more hair.
“And look at you, moss,” Sanji replies, “My meathead gangster boyfriend. Too brutish for his own good.”
“Got any other stories?” Zoro asks, making himself comfortable.
“Eh, none that aren’t super tragic,” Sanji hums in response, still working on the green hair’s trim.
But it’s a split second, really. The stream of consciousness that spilled out from Sanji quiets and he's sure Zoro has noticed by now that Sanji isn’t cutting anymore, not really. He’s carding his hands through Zoro’s hair, massaging the green haired’s scalp.
It’s a tender gesture. Tender and reassuring.
But, sooner or later Sanji continues. The sound of the scissors snipping away at more of Zoro’s hair continues again for “You’re done,” Sanji says. He hands Zoro a mirror and watches him card his hands through, looking at his appearance intensely.
“It’s perfect,” he says, “Thanks.” He places a kiss on Sanji’s cheek before going to their room.