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It became somewhat of a regular occurrence for all kinds of different people to crash on the Thousand Sunny every now and then, while the ship was docked and the party on the deck continued into early morning hours. So when the Strawhats find themselves welcoming yet another random crew on board, Zoro doesn’t bother with anything more but a shrug. Watching his nakama, he notices different sorts of reactions to their predicament but most of those remain positive, either way. The only exception is Sanji, who looks much more irritated than anything else. The Swordsman can’t really blame him, though, as it’s obvious the more crowded the ship, the more mouths to feed.
Throughout the evening, Zoro keeps a careful eye on the Cook. As per usual, his first instinct is to approach and force Sanji into their regular banter. However, seeing the blonde work this relentlessly despite clear signs of exhaustion, the Swordsman surprisingly decides against it. The two of them may fight a lot but, in all fairness, when it comes to the important stuff, the understanding and respect between them is like no other.
Perhaps, it’s a subconscious action on his part (surely, if asked, he’d claim so) but Zoro sticks close by as if trying to make sure their Cook doesn’t feel abandoned throughout the course of this chaotic night.
It seems like an eternity has passed when the ship finally quiets down, the noisy pirates deciding they’ve had enough drinking, feasting, dancing and gambling, and the only treasure left on the horizon is the warmth of their own bunk. Except, for many here, “own” is not the case, as Sanji gets brutally reminded of, soon.
He’s drained—both physically and mentally. While the rest settled down for tonight, he still stayed up for a while longer, knowing that, at the very least, cleaning the galley could absolutely not wait until the morning. And now, he’s here, swaying on his feet as it slowly dawns on the poor Cook that his bed appears to be already taken. Grumbling under his breath, Sanji doesn’t bother trying to wake the guy up and force him to move elsewhere. Even while standing a few paces away, the smell makes it clear just how intoxicated said man is.
The blonde sighs in resignation as he looks around, searching for other options. Obviously, there aren’t many.
Despite himself, Sanji feels a secret pang of jealousy thinking about Nami and Robin—these two can enjoy their whole quarters all by themselves, meanwhile, the room he finds himself in is bursting at the seams. Briefly, he does consider retreating to the galley and trying his luck on the couch there but then his gaze falls upon a familiar greenhead. His chest rising up and down slowly leaves no doubt that the Swordsman had been asleep for a while. Sanji almost feels bad for interrupting his rest—“almost” being the keyword here as the blonde can’t help but prioritise his own slumber.
There’s yet another detail drawing the Cook closer—Zoro doesn’t smell nearly as bad as the majority of the people in the room. Is it possible that he took it easy on the drinks for once? Sanji recalls noticing the Swordsman lurking near him on several occasions during the party so maybe something is different about tonight, indeed.
Sanji reaches out carefully, his hand landing on Zoro’s shoulder. He gives the latter a few firm shakes, which turn gradually more violent when gaining no results. Eventually, however, the Swordsman stirs.
“Cook?” the Mosshead whispers, blinking away the remains of the dream. “Whadya want?”
Sanji's hesitation lasts only for a mere second before the exhaustion makes itself known once more. “All the bunks are taken,” he states as if this short sentence could explain everything perfectly well.
And, perhaps, it could, if it wasn’t for Zoro’s semi-asleep state and therefore inability to conclude. As a reply, he bestows the blonde with a slightly raised eyebrow. “So?”
Sanji huffs in irritation. He didn’t want to have to spell it out but it seems he’s got no other choice. Taking a deep breath to steady himself, he eventually pushes forward. “So, I’ve got no place to sleep,” he spits out. “Now, move over.”
The Swordsman gives him a funny look, still clearly unable to understand what’s happening. “What??” the greenhead mutters, confused.
But the Cook had just about enough of straining his pride, as well as his body. He begins swatting at Zoro’s chest and arms until the Swordsman finally relents, scooting closer to the wall.
“Alright, alright!” Zoro growls, lifting his hands in mock surrender. “I’m moving, I’m moving! Just stop with the manic episode…”
But Sanji couldn’t care less as he finally falls face-flat onto the mattress, his body screaming, threatening to shut down. He turns his head to face the other man. Zoro stares right back at him, a question still in his eyes, obviously wanting to voice it. And just as the Swordsman is about to open his mouth, something else pinpoints his attention. The Cook is shaking.
“Oi,” Zoro murmurs, this time a slight note of concern making itself known in his tone. “You alright?”
“Peachy,” Sanji retorts, more out of habit rather than annoyance. He’s too tired to be starting an argument and the rational part of his mind, which is still somehow awake, reminds him that he’s the one invading the other’s space, therefore he’s in no position to be snapping.
Clearing his throat, he tries again. “I’m fine,” the blonde corrects himself, looking Zoro in the eye. He could’ve sworn there was a flash of something that could be only described as sympathy flowing to the surface within the latter’s gaze. “Just really fuckin’ tired and done with today,” he offers an explanation which earns him a low, understanding hum.
“Fair enough.”
The next thing he knows, the Swordsman is draping a blanket over the Cook, effortlessly pulling him closer so he’s no longer on the edge of the bunk.
“Oi, Marimo—!” Sanji wants to protest but, suddenly, the words fail him.
“Fuckin’ relax,” Zoro grumbles, his voice returning to its normal, annoyed tones. “Stop complaining and go to sleep.” With that, the greenhead’s eye falls back closed, indicating that he’s done with conversing for tonight.
The Cook stares at him suspiciously for a few more seconds, before finally allowing himself to let his guard down fully. “Thanks,” he whispers into the darkness.
*
Waking up, the first thing the blonde realises is just how warm he is. After that, everything else comes back to him. The entirety of the previous night; drinking, cooking, cleaning and… Well, coming to Zoro’s bed while in desperate need of a sanctuary. If Sanji’s skin weren’t as hot as it is from the larger body lying next to him, his face would heat up.
Speaking of other bodies, he risks a sneaky glance over his arm. Judging by their current position, at some point during the night the Cook must’ve turned his back to the Swordsman, who in his turn, pulled him close to his chest. Hence, why Sanji’s about to overcook.
Zoro appears so peaceful, so relaxed. The blonde is pretty sure he’s never seen the Swordsman this content in any situation, not even while napping on the sunny deck of their ship.
He should get up, turn the galley into a presentable state and prepare breakfast which—he would assume—a lot of their guests might be in dire need of soon. But the second he tries to move, the larger man stirs a little, a displeased noise leaving his throat. Sanji sighs, exhaling slowly, silently.
Fuck it. Might as well allow himself to sleep a little longer, he supposes.
Just this once.