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Small things—that’s how it’s always been between them. No unnecessary words, no exaggerated reactions. Little gestures, singular noises of acknowledgement. Silent communication. That’s what usually matters the most, anyway. Not that either of the two would ever admit just how much these discrete motions help them through the stretching hours, improve their well-being throughout the weeks and push them to survive and carry on, taking it one day at a time.
It’s only natural to carry on as they are, especially when neither is willing to address said subtle shifts in their dynamic, ones happening every now and then. Lack of complaints may supposedly mean no presence of objection. Or, in some cases, perhaps even a note of approval.
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You wouldn’t call it a party per se, nor a feast by any means. Something about the evening feels special though, as the crew stays together talking and laughing way past mealtime. With some drinking involved, the atmosphere quickly shifts into a relaxed semi-slumber, as most of the pirates present seem to forget—just for a second—about any worries that might await them with the first rays of sun appearing on the horizon.
As far as Zoro is concerned, he doesn’t feel like staying fully alert, either. Of course, some awareness still remains; he wouldn’t be worth the title of the “first mate” if he simply let his guard down whenever the occasion allowed. Which is why, upon feeling a change within the space beside him, his eyes snap open.
The Swordsman is looking at a pair of black shoes. For a mere second, he lets his vision adjust to the light produced by the lamps they set up a few hours ago on the deck before his gaze starts travelling up. He stares the figure before him up and down, searching for any signs of an argument that might be about to ensue.
As if reading his mind, the blonde head shakes to the sides, clearly communicating that this is not what he is here for. Zoro doesn’t realise how tense he is, not until his shoulders relax, letting him lean back into the previous position.
Both hold the other’s gaze for a few moments longer before the leaner one finally takes a step to the side, dropping onto the floor next to the pirate hunter. This time it’s his turn to go stiff, as if ready to counterattack if necessary. When said strike doesn’t come, his body slumps back, until the two are seated shoulder to shoulder.
Zoro risks another glance when he hears the snap of a lighter. The sudden smell of burnt tobacco overwhelms his senses only for a mere second. His eyes dare to the latter’s hands, despite himself. He thinks he sees a light tremor running through the pale fingers.
“Cook?” The Swordsman whispers, his voice barely audible among the general racket. Not seeing a reaction, he begins to doubt that the word actually left his mouth but then the addressed man shrugs.
It’s hardly noticeable but the weight of another body on Zoro’s right arm grows heavier. He says nothing more. Neither of them does.
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He’s unsure of how he manages to end up in this situation, nor does he pick up on what might’ve led to such a thing unfolding in the first place. But when Sanji makes his way onto the deck, intending on dragging that idiot Mosshead to the galley for dinner, what he finds is said Swordsman, shaking and whimpering in his sleep.
Now, there’s nothing unusual in Zoro napping in all kinds of random spots all over the Sunny, however, this seemingly favourite activity of his doesn’t usually contain the levels of distress the Cook is currently witnessing.
His movements come to a halt, as Sanji appears completely caught off guard, his regular irritation (that, no doubt, was supposed to be soon taken out on the greenhead) disappearing in an instant. He’s uncertain of what he’s looking at, the questions forming in his mind, one after another. Is Marimo having a nightmare? And if so, should Sanji actually risk waking him up?
The latter query is quickly answered by the notice of katanas laid neatly on the planks, right beside Zoro. One slip-up, one off-movement, and the Cook’s pretty sure he might lose a limb or two. Even if he’d never admit it out loud—not even under the pain of death—he knows all too well that surprising the Mosshead while he appears vulnerable, is one of the more dangerous decisions to make.
Fortunately, Sanji is spared from proceeding with one, as the other man soon stirs on his own, possibly sensing the lingering presence nearby. With his return to the conscious world, any signs of the previously obvious torment also disappear.
The Swordsman glares at the blonde, visibly irritated by his arrival. Maybe he realises what he’s involuntarily shown to the Cook just now. Or, maybe, he’s still shaken and unwilling to be discovered.
“What d’ya want?” Zoro’s voice is hoarse and groggy. Sanji notices the way he suddenly flinches, the grimace of something that might be pain flashing across the other’s face, even if just for a mere second.
“Dinner’s ready,” the Cook informs, shrugging, unwilling to let himself be fazed by the situation. “Thought your sorry ass would appreciate a heads-up.”
He wonders whether the unconditioned movements manifesting in the latter’s demeanour are side effects of some sort of injury. They haven’t partaken in any battles as of recently, nor have the opponents they did encounter proven to be good enough to land a hit. But perhaps a training-gained wound? Or an old scar that decided to make itself known again just now?
Sanji surprises even himself with just how much he’s pondering on the Swordsman’s discomfort.
“Not really hungry right now, didn’t have to bother,” the Swordsman replies, eventually, and this time his tone sounds much less out of it, yet still somewhat strained. “I’ll just stay here.”
The Cook nods, even though he understands exactly nothing. Yes, he acknowledges the fact that a blend of words has just left Zoro’s throat. What his mind doesn’t seem to process, however, is the response.
It doesn’t take that much longer for him to decide that he’s hesitated enough and—believe it or not—he’s running low on patience. Not to mention, the sudden hunger strike is one of those things that he absolutely cannot ignore for the life of him. Just this once, the increasing anxiety overpowers his pride.
Sanji clears his throat, fidgets a bit, uncertain of how to approach the subject. In turn, Zoro bestows him with a raised eyebrow and an unimpressed look.
“Was it… a nightmare?” Finally, the Cook questions, struggling almost as if the words turned into objects and got physically lunged somewhere on their way out. He can’t help but notice subtle shifts and twitches running their course through the latter’s body every now and then.
The Swordsman stiffens, his breath hitching, if only ever so slightly. It’s not that he didn’t expect the blonde to pick up on something but he certainly didn’t expect him, of all the people, to be willingly getting himself involved in Zoro’s matters. Especially those of a delicate nature.
He’s hesitant as to how to react and, not shockingly, finds himself growing more and more suspicious by the second. Which, fair enough, would go along well with their usually presented strained relationship… But they are nakama, after all. And Zoro’s well aware that they’re way beyond trusting each other at this point.
Willing the unwanted thoughts away, he takes one more cautious glance at the other man.
“Nope,” he responds briefly, making it obvious he isn’t planning on elaborating. Or, that’s what it looks like from Sanji’s standpoint, at the very least.
He remains silent for a while longer, allowing the Marimo to say more if he decides to. But nothing more happens.
The blonde shifts his weight from one leg to another, choosing his words carefully. Strangely enough, they aren’t at each other’s throats, yet, which generates some hope for this conversation to go relatively smoothly.
“Look,” he finally settles on a direct approach. He tries to ignore the way the Swordsman keeps on massaging the scar on his chest. “I don’t know what’s up with you and, frankly, I don’t really care,” that’s a lie but Zoro doesn’t need to know that. Sanji feels a bit more at ease upon receiving a regular hostile glare, as ironic as this sounds. “But it is my job to make sure nobody on the crew skips their meals…”
Although ashamed to be truthful on this matter even with himself, it’s hard to deny that he doesn’t like the tension so obviously present in Mosshead’s features. It’s different from when they fight, in a way that the Cook could only describe as exhausted.
This has to be the longest they’ve managed to not fight in a while and he should probably keep this up. But, of course, despite constantly calling Zoro an uncivilised Neanderthal, Sanji cannot seem to conclude this interaction like a normal human being would, either.
“…So, you’ll eat. Even if I have to bring the meal here and force it down your throat,” he huffs before storming off.
As Zoro’s gaze follows the Cook for a short moment, something in his gaze finally softens.
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“Oi, Cook!” The Swordsman enters the kitchen surprisingly gracefully for the amount of alcohol he’s managed to consume so far in the span of these past few hours.
The blonde bestows him with a glance over his shoulder before returning to whatever he’s making now by the stove. “If it’s the food you’re after, you’re gonna have to wait for a while longer,” he replies, the usual annoyance clearly present.
Though, Zoro pauses, picking up on something more than that. There’s a subtle and barely audible edge to his tone. Something the Swordsman’s got a hard time placing in his current state. He shrugs.
“Not food,” he replies simply.
A displeased groan comes from behind the kitchen counter. “Should’ve guessed, you drunkard.”
Sanji’s back is still turned to him, which for some reason makes the Swordsman a bit unnerved. There’s a tug by his heart, then an unpleasant twirl in his stomach. Neither of these, by any means, is related to the intoxication.
To Zoro’s surprise, his mind clears up a little, the thoughts beginning to take actual shapes. His eye narrows, the gaze settling on the back of the Cook’s neck. He’s pretty sure the latter can feel him staring. Which is even worse, considering he lets the pirate hunter notice the shiver running up his spine. Maybe that’s something he’s not meant to do, however, because within another second the blonde snaps.
“The pantry, you moron!” Sanji informs sharply, no longer capable of keeping his frustrations at bay. “Go get it yourself, would you?! Not your damn maid, am I??”
Normally, the anger carried in the blonde’s voice would be contagious and Zoro would’ve surely immediately taken the bait, throwing a retort right after. But right now every single instinct screams that there’s something wrong, not really usual about the whole situation.
Directing his steps towards the pantry, he remains silent. Just before entering, he spares another glance in Cook’s direction, only to realise that the man is too busy boring holes in the counter to react. Again, the Swordsman lets it slip.
It doesn’t take long for him to find the light switch within such a small space. His eyes flicker all over the room, immediately spotting several bottles of booze on the shelf by the furthest wall.
Zoro, however, makes no move to get them, his attention diverted instead to something big and black hanging in the upper corner, just above the rack. Coming closer, he identifies the questionable object.
“Ah,” he mutters under his breath, hands already outstretched to catch the creature. Eight legs stumble in an attempt to escape but the fight is over before it has even really begun. Zoro catches a glimpse of his prey, now completely curled up and still in his hands. He shrugs.
The alcoholic fog already dissolving in his brain, the Swordsman grabs two bottles before leaving the pantry. The longer route that he takes allows him to dispose of his little captive before returning to the kitchen.
Sanji appears just as he left him—tense, seemingly preoccupied and generally in a bad mood. Regardless, he approaches, this time determined to catch the Cook’s eye. Putting one of the bottles on the counter, he leans in close enough for the latter to be unable to ignore him anymore, yet not disrupting his personal bubble.
For once, Zoro waits patiently. A second passes, ten seconds, twenty. Eventually, the blonde looks up, glaring defensively.
“Got it,” the Swordsman states, holding the second bottle toward the latter.
Sanji takes his time staring between the pirate hunter and the offered drink.
“Took you long enough,” he mutters softly, taking hold of it at last.
They both know neither is talking about the booze.
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They find themselves lying side by side. It’s an unusual sight, to say the least, but no one approaches to pester them about it, even though the duo’s current predicament surely must be rather obvious to the rest of the crew. And yet, peace is the only sensation that dares to make itself known.
Even more unprecedented is the distance between the two—or more specifically, a lack of any. What started as a moment of rest on the planks of the deck warmed up by the sunrays, turned into a semi-cuddle situation. Surprisingly, neither of them complains; Sanji says nothing when the Swordsman expends his arm toward him in a seemingly casual manner, and Zoro remains completely stoic while Sanji rolls closer to him.
If asked, neither of the men could name whatever this is, either. They’ve never been big for words when it came to describing whatever was happening between them ever since day one. The irritation, the tension, the unspoken yet present understanding of the other’s habits and instincts, the constant bickering, or the conversations they may or may not have shared while no one else was listening. All that, wrapped in a blanket of their own unique relationship.
At the moment, both of them may be wondering about just that, maybe the position they ended up choosing for this evening is something that can be blamed on a custom... Or, perhaps, neither of the two really cares enough to pay attention.
Sanji, previously lying on his stomach and enjoying the sense of warmth and safety, now prompts himself on an elbow. He stares at the Swordsman’s face, scanning, as if in search of something. All too well does he know that Zoro’s closed eye doesn’t mean that he’s not aware of the blonde’s gaze, boring holes in him. But the Cook’s suddenly too drawn to this one detail on the latter’s features to care about the consequences of watching for too long, whether it’d be a physical altercation (one that wouldn’t mark) or regular teasing.
The Cook’s hand finds its way toward Zoro’s eye or more of what’s left of it. Only now does he realise that he’s never come around to asking the Swordsman if what’s left under the scarred tissue is just an empty socket. On the other hand, he’s not really sure if he wants to know. He’s got questions, of course. How did it happen? Can Zoro still open it? Is his perception off because of it…?
Yet, only one of those steers for Sanji’s throat, rolling off his tongue, at last.
His kempt palm carefully swipes across the defacement. “Does it still hurt?” He voices his worry, even if his tone doesn’t reveal any abnormal type of emotion. At least, from the surface.
The Swordsman doesn’t even bother bestowing him with one glance. He rests, his features relaxed, betraying the positive side effect of a boring week on the seas the crew’s been experiencing. He stays perfectly still and silent; in fact, so much so that for a second Sanji thinks the latter might be asleep.
But eventually, his low, gruff voice sounds throughout the blissful atmosphere. “Not really,” he replies and yes, even his tone confirms how little he cares right now for any issues they may face in the nearest future. “Sometimes it feels uncomfortable if I focus too much on what’s missing, but it’s fine otherwise.”
“Hmm.”
The blonde’s hand continues its gentle exploration, nudging the edges of the scarring, swiping the thumb below the bottom eyelid, his index finger travelling up to Zoro’s brow. All the while, the greenhead makes no move to stop him. If Sanji didn’t know better, he'd have thought the other man was enjoying this.
“Don’t worry, though, one of them is all I need.” The Swordsman smirks, finally opening his healthy eye. His gaze is teasing, searching for entertainment. “Looking at you with both every day would be too much for me to handle, anyway.”
Sanji huffs in response. He’s not certain whether the remark was supposed to be a compliment or an insult.
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To say the battle was intense would be an understatement. The amount of would-be close calls they had, despite several powerful fighters on the scene, is not necessarily easy-to-digest information. But hey, it’s not something particularly new to them, right?
As per usual, Zoro stays mostly silent, either unwilling to admit the impact of the fight or simply not feeling it, yet. The Swordsman merely looks over his crewmates, gathered on the deck now, as if proceeding to assess the possible damage on his own. What he sees are his injured nakama, with Luffy appearing not too bothered (so, normal) and Chopper sprinting in between them in panic (semi-normal, as most often the Doctor needs to tend purely to the Monster Trio).
Speaking of which, what Zoro doesn’t perceive is the Cook standing just a short pace behind him, watching the scene as well. The only difference is, Sanji’s visibly more agitated. But, of course, he tries to push it all back down—nothing abnormal about the occurrence.
Amid a possible adrenaline overload, his body begins to shake involuntarily. Sanji looks at his nakama, his family, and feels himself falling. The sounds are suddenly strangely muffled and his vision blurs, even if just for a moment. The sensation in its whole is sickeningly familiar—he believes he’s detaching.
Cook’s survival instincts kick in, as he forces himself to take a step forward, even when the wood under his feet slips further away from his perception of reality. His hand finds something warm to grip on and only then can Sanji finally release the breath he was holding captive.
The sudden contact startles Zoro, however.
Once recovered, he casts a curious glance toward the blonde, an eyebrow raised in question. Maybe the latter would even voice his confusion if it wasn’t for the haunted look present on the Cook’s face. One that screams of distress but, at the same time, fights desperately to remain hidden. It makes the Swordsman worried, to see one of his strongest nakama display such vulnerability.
He opts to stay silent, being mindful of Sanji’s possible unwillingness to draw any more attention to his current state. For now, the rest of the crew is preoccupied with other things but that won’t last long if the Swordsman does choose to bring this just-noticed issue to the light.
Sanji isn’t looking at him, which proves communicating even more difficult than it already is with words. Zoro moves slowly closer to him, careful not to startle the blonde. The grip on his hand doesn’t loosen, which is not something that he necessarily minds but the need to know why also grows gradually more unbearable.
He’s in the Cook’s personal bubble. In normal circumstances, he would’ve already been kicked away with the force of a flying cannonball a while ago. And that only confirms that these are not normal circumstances.
In hopes of relocating the other man’s focus, the Swordsman brings their clasped hands upward, landing them on his chest. He’s breathing deeply, which adds a soothing motion to the already calming warmth radiating off his body. Or so he hopes, at the very least.
Surprisingly to him, this strategy seems to do the job. Sanji’s hazy gaze travels up, finally appearing to concentrate. And it’s thanks to this that Zoro realises the Cook wasn’t aware of what he’s doing up till this point. Not really. The blonde’s eyes widen slightly, lips parting, suddenly sucking in a shallow gulp of air.
The Swordsman continues to observe, waiting for whatever might happen next. He’s digging further blind, yet one foggy idea slowly starts taking shape in his mind.
Sanji shakes his head as if proceeding to chase away the last effects of dissociation. He still looks very much on edge but there’s at least some sort of contact with him. Which Zoro will take, for now.
Perhaps he should finally ask. Maybe then will his curiosity be fed.
But one more look at the dishevelled Cook halts this intent for good. Sanji’s clearly not ready to talk; not about this, nor anything else for that matter. At the moment, he might just need to be, to feel that he’s here.
Zoro lets him.