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There were very few things more embarrassing than having a mental breakdown over an overcooked steak.
At least, that was how Sanji felt when he stormed out of the main dining area of Baratie and straight out of the building, his head pounding from the blowout he’d had in front of a full restaurant of customers.
It wasn’t really about the fact that he’d overcooked a steak, or that just half an hour before that, he’d forgotten a crucial ingredient to their house famous seafood pasta. Namely, the shrimp. In a seafood pasta. It also wasn’t even about how a customer had yelled his ear off so viciously that Sanji couldn’t help but throw his own round of profanities right back. No, it was about none of those things—after all, everyone was capable of having a shitty day every now and then.
But the problem was that he’d been off his game for weeks now; it felt like every dish he made was terrible and every customer he talked to pissed him off and everything made him want to throw a table to the other side of the room.
It was hard. Sanji was no stranger to his own temper, but it has never felt as intense and uncontrollable as it had been recently. He couldn’t pinpoint exactly what had triggered his bad mood, but it felt like a heavy weight was constantly pressing down on him, suffocating him more and more with each day that passed.
Sanji tried to think hard about when last he'd been in a mood like this, and he realized he couldn’t put his finger on it. He’d always prided himself on his ability to maintain his composure, but it was becoming increasingly difficult to manage himself when everyone around him was doing a bad job at not pissing him off.
Every little thing was wearing him down to the bone, and now that he felt like the walls were closing in, even the simplest tasks felt like hurdles he couldn’t overcome.
As Sanji walked towards his car, the salty breeze from the ocean brushed against his skin. A shiver ran through him as he sighed, his shoulders dropping. It felt like the world was against him, and he couldn’t shake the helplessness that consumed him now.
How could he have let that happen? He’d taken out his anger on an innocent guest, and then stormed off before he could apologize or explain himself, leaving everything for his Uncle Zeff to clean up.
Over the years, Sanji had become the kind of friend that could be depended on, and that was largely because he’d found someone to depend on in a way he’d never been able to before, and his heart opening in one direction meant it had the opportunity to expand even further. But now that he found himself drowning in a pool of emotions he couldn’t control, he felt like reaching out for support himself was impossible.
Being reliable had become important to him, but how could he expect his friends to rely on someone who was clearly a mess? The thought of burdening them with his struggles only added to his frustrations, and he was filled with anxiety and worry about how he was going to keep his feelings under wrap for another evening and present himself in a respectable way to the one person he wanted to rely on him most.
Deep down, Sanji knew he needed to confront whatever demons haunted him, to unravel the tangled mess of emotions that threatened to consume him whole. But he couldn’t—he didn’t have the time, or energy, or even the desire to figure it out.
There was so much he had to think about all the time, from his relationship suffering from his emotional state or his career crumbling because he couldn’t control himself, which was creating a bad reputation for Baratie. Trying to quit stress smoking had once been on his list, but lately he’d been smoking more cigarettes than he cared to admit even to himself.
Sanji didn’t want to spend the entire drive home thinking about his misery, so he let his mind drift away from the chaos of the disappointing day and decided instead to focus on what was waiting for him at home.
He could imagine it now: the scent of his husband’s skin against his nose, the gentle touch of Zoro’s hand as he held him, his large frame taking over his body entirely as he curled up around him.
With each street he passed during his drive, Sanji’s anticipation grew, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. He was happy thinking about seeing Zoro, even if that meant he was going to spend his evening putting on a mask and doing his best to keep his horrible experience from earlier a secret.
He was determined to not ruin the mood tonight.
As he parked the car and made his way to the front door, the aroma of food wafted through the air, catching him off guard. Sanji stopped in his tracks, and for a second he wondered if he’d somehow driven to the wrong house in his state of insanity, because there was no way that delicious smell was coming from their house.
Zoro didn't cook. Not unless it was a dire emergency and there was literally no way Sanji could physically make it to the kitchen, which had happened one singular time and had resulted in Sanji eating half cooked pancakes and eggs with shells in them.
As he made his way closer to the house, his confusion only increased. He paused to inhale deeply, trying to figure out what Zoro was up to, but that was enough to send him running toward the house.
Mixed in with the delicious scent that made his stomach growl with desire was the smell of something burning.
He fished around his pockets for his keys, almost forgetting to take them out of the lock as he threw the door open and burst inside. When Sanji turned to speed-walk into the kitchen, his eyes widened in surprise as he took in the scene in front of him.
There stood his husband, the man of his dreams, the person he loved more than anyone else in the entire world, with tomato sauce splashed all over his shirt, a burnt kitchen towel in his hand, and a deep frown plastered on his face.
Sanji’s eyes traveled to the stove where something bubbled over, violently sputtering and causing the stovetop to hiss as it burnt the red sauce into a crisp almost immediately.
"What the hell is going on?" Sanji blurted out, rushing to the stove to move the pot to another burner, his brain confused about whether to be concerned or confused at the mess. The answer was both, he decided, as he added, “Well?”
Zoro stepped out of the way and looked at him, a sheepish grin spreading across his face as he shrugged helplessly. Sanji cautiously mixed the contents in the pot with a wooden spoon while he waited for Zoro’s explanation.
“I thought I'd give cooking a try," he admitted, gesturing towards the charred remains in the other pots that were spread around the stove. "But I may have underestimated how hard it would be…”
Despite the burnt offerings before him, Sanji couldn't help but chuckle at the sight.
So the house was in fact not burning down, and Zoro had done another thing that just proved he was the best partner in the world.
In that moment, all his worries and frustrations about being respectable and perfect seemed to melt away, replaced by the simple joy of being home with the person he loved. He couldn’t keep the mask on, not with Zoro.
He stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Zoro, pressing against him and closing his eyes.
“Hey, you’re going to get sauce on all of your clothes.” Zoro frantically tried to separate them, but Sanji held on tight. Zoro eventually sighed in defeat, and Sanji melted against him.
“I don’t care about that right now. I just want you to hold me.”
Zoro cocked his head to the side, realizing for the first time that something was wrong. Then, without another word, he wrapped his arms around Sanji and pulled him close, tucking Sanji’s head underneath his chin and rubbing his back.
“What happened?”
Sanji was silent for a moment as he pressed his face harder against Zoro’s chest, the words struggling to come out.
“You don’t want to talk about it?”
Sanji sighed and broke the hug, his eyes darting every which way before they met Zoro’s.
“I’ve had a shitty week,” he began, before immediately pressing his forehead against the other man’s hard chest.
Zoro put his hands on Sanji’s shoulders and gestured to the living room couch, the two of them making their way to the comfortable seating.
Sanji dropped himself directly into the couch, wishing he could melt into it before he had to unleash his emotions.
At that moment, he looked at Zoro’s concerned face, Sanji decided he couldn’t hold it in any longer; the weight of everything he was dealing with was something he wanted to be in companionship over.
"Zoro, it's been a disaster," he began, his usually chaotic demeanor crumbling into nothing more than sadness and defeat. “I’m fucking up everything and snapping at everyone over every little thing and it’s driving me nuts.”
Zoro listened attentively as he continued talking, recounting every moment he’d spent over the week trying to figure out how to manage his stressful emotions.
When Sanji was done, Zoro placed his hand on Sanji’s thigh supportively and squeezed. "You need to take a break, Sanji.” His voice was firm, but gentle. "You can't keep pushing yourself like this."
Sanji sighed, running a hand through his hair. "You're right. I just... I need to reset, to clear my mind and figure out how to get back to a state where it feels like things are in my control, you know?”
Zoro's eyes softened. "Then let's have an easy night. No stressing. Just us."
Sanji glanced at the burnt food on the stove, a comical reminder of the night that Zoro had tried to plan for him. “What was that cooking even for?” He asked.
Zoro laughed, running his hand through his hair. “You wouldn’t believe I was trying to surprise you with a romantic dinner…” he trailed off, then winced. “You’ve been about off for the last few days and I thought that would be a nice dinner to come home to.”
“Was burning it part of the surprise?” Sanji laughed deeply.
“No, but you laughed about it didn’t you?” Zoro smiled mischievously. “Maybe it was all part of the bit.”
“And was burning down our house going to be part of that?”
Zoro shrugged. “Maybe,” he replied. “But the good thing about this is neither of us have to cook tonight—the kitchen is definitely out of commission.”
Sanji raised an eyebrow, contemplating whether to push back against Zoro’s comment, considering all they needed to do was toss the burnt rag, clean the stove, and salvage what they could of the tomato sauce. But then he thought about it: the idea of an easy night in his husband’s arms with nothing to worry about but the food that was already made.
"Okay,” he finally said. “Let’s order food—" at the sight of Zoro’s triumphant expression, he added, “but first we have to clean up the kitchen.”
”Done.” Zoro nodded. “Next time I’ll leave the cooking to the professional.”
As the two of them cleaned the kitchen together, Sanji couldn't help but feel a sense of gratitude wash over him.
Here he was, with Zoro by his side, facing life's challenges together and finding humor in every little task, even if it was scraping burnt onions and garlic cloves from the bottom of the pan. Despite the mess, despite the failures, and despite the wasted food, there was a calmness in his heart that he hadn't felt in a long time.
And as he looked at Zoro, Sanji knew just how lucky he was to have him.
When they were done cleaning and washing the dishes, the two of them collapsed onto the couch, tired and relieved that they didn’t have to enter the kitchen for the rest of the night.
“What will it be, then?” Zoro turned to Sanji as he asked this, a small smile playing on his lips. “What are we having for dinner?"
Sanji met Zoro's gaze, a flicker of amusement dancing in his eyes. There was one place he always craved no matter how often he ate there, and he knew Zoro felt the same way, because no matter how much they tried to deny it and make attempts to adventure out of their comfort zone, they were creatures of habit.
The two of them locked eyes for a moment, sharing a silent understanding as they uttered one word in unison.
" Baratie ."