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It didn’t have to be sunny outside.
It didn’t have to be loud with Luffy, Usopp, and Chopper’s laughter across Sunny's deck.
It didn’t have to be humid; the salty, damp air clinging to every pore.
It didn’t have to smell like sweet bread, something the cook was testing out for the ladies of the ship.
But it was.
Zoro thought about it; all that floating around his senses and making him think. He didn’t want to think about stuff like this.
Every detail mattered. Every detail of the ship, of the crew, mattered. It all subconsciously slipped into the swordsman’s mind, filtering through each crewmate’s identity, creating a thick image in Zoro’s brain.
It was the cook who said he doesn’t use his brain. That all that exists in his empty skull is bundles of extra moss that end up growing into his hair. The man laughs at Zoro when he argues about that. Of course, they end up fighting afterward.
Zoro sits against the railing of the Sunny, his swords leaning next to him, just in arm's reach. He listened closely to his surroundings, filtering out the soft breath of the waves and sea wind, focusing on the sounds of his crew. This counted the humming of Robin reading her book in a folding chair. Of Nami trimming the leaves of her tangerine trees. Of Ussop, Luffy, and Chopper throwing giggling fits as they threw water balloons at each other. Even of Brook in the crow’s nest playing his violin.
Zoro took a deep breath, taking in every sound and sensation. He felt his heart calm, and his meditative state ease. He was counting on staying this way for at least another hour. However, of course, he couldn’t have just that.
He felt the wind rush in around him again when something clacked against the wood next to him. Zoro peeked open his eye, glaring down at what had to have woken him. He planned on it being something that the three younger crewmates were throwing around, but he paused when he fully understood what he was seeing.
Next to him, lay a small porcelain plate, signature of the cook. On it, sat a couple of small buns, each shiny and perfectly round. They smelled delicious, thick of butter and yeast.
Zoro glanced up, eyeballing without a doubt, the cook, glaring over him. Zoro was about to grunt a small questioning sound, but just the next second, the man was walking off, hands in his pockets and an impassive look on his face.
Zoro raised an eyebrow in question but didn’t bother with the inevitable fight. Instead, he looked down at the plate, inspecting each item critically. He could’ve sworn the cook had said he was making sweet bread.
The man knew Zoro had an aversion to sweet things, so why did he give him a serving?
Why did he give Zoro a serving at all?
Zoro furrowed his brows further, refusing to touch the food until he knew what the man was doing. Still, Zoro felt his hand moving towards the bread anyway, directly opposing his mind.
He immediately felt how soft the thing was, its warmth seeping into the pads of Zoro’s fingers. It sure smelled amazing, but Zoro was still skeptical. But despite everything, it was still the love cook’s food, and Zoro knew better than to push it aside.
He sniffed accusingly at the thing, eventually letting himself take a bite.
He grunted, preparing to taste a flood of sweetness. But once he kept chewing, he realized it didn’t taste sweet at all. In fact, it seemed to have some type of green herb in it from the look of the inside. Zoro swallowed, his brain tangling in thought. What was this? Did the cook make something like this for everyone and he just didn’t say it?
The swordsman looked around him, eyeing the others still up to the tasks he observed before. None of them had any of the bread. At least, not the women, who also had a small plate, but their bread looked darker in color, and more square. That was the sweet bread, right?
Zoro grits his teeth, his mind working overtime trying to contemplate what the hell the cook was playing at. Did these breads have some sort of poison in them? Zoro knew of course that to be extreme overkill considering the man, but he still couldn’t figure it out.
He huffed, shoving the rest of the roll into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully. Damn, it was good…
Zoro hummed at the subtle taste of it, still like bread, but slightly different. He shoved the second piece into his mouth right after the first, chewing more slowly this time.
He almost didn’t even realize again when another shadow seemed to creep up on him.
Robin stood there, staring down at him with some sort of gleam in her eye. Zoro looked up, his cheeks full of the bread, but his eyes narrowing.
“What?” Zoro grumbled, muffled from the food he still hadn’t swallowed.
Robin just smiled like she knew something the other didn’t. It made Zoro wary, so he quickly swallowed, wiping the remains of butter from his lips.
“I see cook-san has made you a gift as well.”
It took Zoro a second to figure out what she meant, but even then, he was still confused. Why did she have to point that out? It was weird to Zoro too, but he wasn’t about to let it show.
“What about it?”
Robin chuckled softly, making the hair on Zoro’s neck stand up. Damn this woman for being needlessly creepy. “Nothing at all. It’s really a beautiful thing, how much he cares for you.” Her voice was a silky velvety sound, her eyes looking wistful as she seemed to think about something.
Zoro took a moment to contemplate that, scoffing in the end. “The hell are you talking about, woman?”
Robin paused, looking like she was observing the man deeply. “Hm…You don’t know.”
It wasn’t a question, and Zoro was more confused by those words than what she said before. What didn’t he know? Robin was always being needlessly mysterious anyway. She never just said what she thought out loud.
Without letting Zoro respond, she continued. “Do you know what love means, swordsman?”
Zoro was struck in place. He felt his brain stop processing, and his body still.
What the hell was that? Why was she talking about love ? To Zoro of all people?
“Ask the cook about that shit, not me.”
Robin chuckled softly into the back of her hand, making her look too feminine. Zoro rolled his eyes, just wanting her to get to the damn point already.
“I’m not meaning to ask Cook-san. I’m asking you.” Robin stared down at him with those sharp, peering eyes that would make any of the strawhats want to slither back into a corner. But even then, Zoro tried to stand his ground. Or rather, where he was sitting.
“Why the hell would I know that?” Zoro grumbled, looking over to the side behind Robin, observing Luffy and Usopp topple a bucket of water over Chopper’s little head. Just to avoid that damn piercing stare.
Zoro heard Robin sigh, crossing her arms softly over her chest. “I think you should consider that, then,” she mentioned softly, before turning her attention to the side and walking off.
Zoro sat there in complete bewilderment. What the hell was she even getting at? Asking Zoro about love . That was one of the stupidest things anyone could ever ask the swordsman. Why would he care about something like that? That seems more like the cook’s avenue than anything else. All Zoro is good to ask for is swords, fighting, and drinking. What’s with all the love shit?
All Zoro could think about for the rest of the day were those exact fucking words.
Do you know what love means?
Zoro wanted to pull his hair out by dinner time; everyone crowded around the dining table, shoveling food into their mouths, chatting happily. Zoro sat with a mug of booze in one hand, his fork in the other. He stared down at the table, his mind racing with answers.
Love… That’s the shit the cook moans on and on about with women, right? He hears that word most often alongside him.
Zoro let his mind contemplate further, until associating Sanji with love was starting to hurt Zoro’s chest. He grunted, his empty fork still raised above his full plate. He didn’t even sense when the blond man himself stepped up behind Zoro’s chair and flicked him sharply across the back of his head.
Zoro snapped back to himself, his hand shooting up to cover his head. He glared behind him, his eyes focusing on the cook’s stare of criticism. “The fuck was that?”
The blond was shooting daggers into Zoro’s eyes, but Zoro felt he could see something vaguely behind those crystal blue eyes. “Eat your damn food, Mosshead. I don’t cook just for you to stare at it.”
Zoro gritted his teeth, glancing down at his plate to only just then realize he hadn’t touched his food, and his fork was still empty, his booze still undrunk. He turned back forward, shoving a fork full of food into his mouth, feeling his heart soften at the flavors. Even wanting to protest the man, he really couldn’t when eating food that tasted this damn good.
Sanji rolled his eyes at Zoro’s immediate shoveling, finding himself smirking softly, the rest of the crew dulling around him. “Just eat, mossy,” he said gently, brushing absently at Zoro’s hair before stepping away.
Zoro paused while chewing his food. the brush of Sanji’s fingers through his hair making the back of his neck heat. What the hell was that?
He chewed slowly, trying to erase the ghostly sensation, but just feeling his face heat further.
He’d never had this kind of reaction before…
By the time everyone was heading to sleep, Zoro was making his way down the crow’s nest ladder. He watched idly as the rest of his crew stumbled off to their rooms, Brook laughing loudly at some skull joke he probably made, and Luffy giggling wildly in response. He looked across the way towards Nami who was trying to vent to Robin about something, her face pinched, and her limbs moving around helplessly.
The stars glistened over the deck, and with the blanket of darkness surrounding him, he felt the calm stretch across him. His crew was safe today. His crew was happy today.
Zoro took a steadying breath, making his way to the kitchen, intent on getting some fuel for the night if he was going to be on the first watch. He found the lights still on through the windows, shining faintly through the glass and reflecting warmly onto the wood of the deck. It made Zoro feel equally warm, seeing that as a sign that the cook was also safe, even if he didn’t watch the man enter the bunkrooms to rest like he did the others. It was more of an assurance. He knows if he didn’t have an eye on everyone that way, he wouldn’t be able to sit still. Something would be wrong. The cook would be missing.
Zoro shook his head, scratching at his shoulder. He cursed himself for thinking about the cook like that. He would argue to hell and back that he wouldn’t care if the stupid love cook went missing randomly one day. But just the thought of the man running off to get married before was enough to get Zoro’s blood boiling again.
Never mind.
Stepping into the kitchen, Zoro looked around carefully, mapping the space of the room. He walked up to the counter, leaning against the edge with his hip, his arms crossed idly over his chest. With a deep breath, he perked up when he heard the clink and clashes of porcelain against porcelain.
Not too much later, the blond had stuck his head out to eye Zoro, his gaze curious for a second before shifting in understanding.
“Bottom shelf,” the cook said resolutely, sighing exasperatedly, like the man was hoping for something else. Doesn't he always come in for booze? But usually, he ends up doing a walk of shame back to the crow's nest empty-handed. On a normal day.
Zoro grumbled out a small sound of thanks. After grabbing the bottle, he moved towards the door, ready to not argue, and accept this treasure with quick feet.
However, he thought about it. He felt bombarded with that same earlier question. That damn question. It would leave his mind until he said something about it, huh? Upsettingly, he turned to Sanji, the man's back facing him as he continued with the dishes. Zoro wanted to ask the man but immediately could predict his answer.
Love is a hurricane!
All the beautiful women of the world are to have my love!
Nami~Swan has all of my heart! My sweet Robin-chan too!
Nami swan!
Robin Chan!
Nami
Robin
Women
Women
Women
Love
Love
Love
Fuck… Zoro's head hurt.
“Headache?”
Zoro turned his head swiftly to the blond across the room, the man’s brow furrowed, his crystalline eyes shining with something odd. Zoro looked just as confused for a moment until he realized his hand was gripping at the roots of his hair. He slowly lowered the limb, swallowing carefully.
Odd. That this dumb thing was plaguing Zoro this badly. It was just ‘love’. Maybe he was sick.
Zoro grumbled, shaking his head in answer. The blond was still looking over Zoro skeptically, his face doing nothing to hide his concern. Why did the man care?
Sanji carefully set down the soapy dish he was washing and dried his hands off on a nearby towel. Zoro silently watched as the cook walked around the counter, his long legs crossing and swaying with each step. Zoro only blinked and looked up when he realized he was staring.
Sanji stopped at the dining table and pulled out one of the chairs.
“Sit.”
Zoro wanted to just go back to the crow's nest, then, and down his booze in peace. But damn it, if he wasn’t drawn to the wooden chair like some sort of magnet. He scoffed weakly, staying where he was, the neck of the bottle in his grip.
“Why? Was gonna go back to the crows nest for watch,” Zoro explained gruffly, watching the cook’s mouth tighten into a thin line.
“Sit, marimo. I’m not arguing this.”
The way the man sounded was getting on Zoro’s nerves. He wasn’t the best at reading those bits of people, but something inside of him told him the cook sounded worried . Zoro felt something in his chest tug at the strangely vulnerable tone, so he slowly made his way over to the table, sitting down into the offered seat, clinking the bottle onto the table.
He watched as the cook walked over to the cabinets, pulling out two glasses. Zoro furrowed his brow at the man’s back, keeping his eyes from glancing downwards. When he turned around, Zoro felt his mind processing the cook’s movements.
If he wanted to talk, Zoro was skeptical about what. The man didn’t just always sit with Zoro and chat over a cup of Sake like they were best pals or anything. Especially since he looked so weirdly fragile. The cook’s face was still drawn passive, a clear distinction between his usual scowl or smile. Even his soft expressions surpassed this one. This one made Zoro’s skin crawl weirdly.
Two glasses were being filled, and then Sanji sat down in the chair next to Zoro with a push of one glass towards him, Sanji’s eyes discreetly tracing the lines of Zoro’s face.
“What is it?”
Zoro stared for a moment, not knowing what the cook was on about.
“What is what? Just wanted the damn booze,” Zoro grumbled, a bit annoyed at the man’s prodding, taking a quick drink of the glass.
The man’s eyes looked glazed, but he kept trying to pry. “I saw you pulling at your hair. You looked in pain,” the cook whispered, like he was trying to keep the conversation on the down low. Zoro didn’t know what was wrong. Sure he was apparently grabbing at his hair for some reason, but what was the problem?
Love. That was the problem.
Zoro grunted at the thought, trying to expel it before it took over again.
“Fine. Just thinking about something from earlier. Can I go now?” Zoro said quickly, understanding he didn’t need to ask the man’s permission for anything. If he really wanted to leave, he could.
The blond quickly grabbed at Zoro’s arm just as he was about to take action on his last thought. Zoro glared down at the hand gripping his forearm, his heart feeling like it was palpitating out of his chest. Even so, he felt himself glued to his spot. The skin where the cook touched was warm. Was his hands warm? Or was his own body warm? Zoro spent a bit too long contemplating that detail, not feeling his body melt back down into his seat.
“Come on, mossy…I try once to bother asking if you’re feeling okay,” cook complained, his teeth biting down around a cigarette nub that Zoro had not seen him light. The end glowed a soft red as he sucked it, his lungs inhaling deeply.
Zoro watched him closely, eyeing the way the cook’s chest spread under his collared shirt with the inhale, then flattening at the exhale, watching the soft trails of smoke wisp from his lips in an enticing pattern.
Zoro bit his tongue, snapping back to attention, not even aware he was staring. What the hell was he staring for anyway?
The blond was staring back at him, his cigarette perched in his mouth ominously, his hand now laid softly over Zoro’s arm. It felt so soft.
“You don’t have to talk,” Sanji said quietly, patting Zoro’s arm softly, reassuringly. His face was a bit downturned, his eyes dancing with concern.
The tone was a bit aggravating, but not so much to make Zoro snap back. He felt his chest jerk at the contact; both his eyes and his hand. His precious hand.
Zoro thought hard. Which he admittedly didn’t take much time to do. He stared across at the blond’s face, tracking over every wrinkle, line, and twitch. He had always observed the cook just like he had everyone else on the crew. The cook had his own personal file in Zoro’s brain, and he couldn’t help it if it just so happened to be a bit more full than the others.
The man usually had that look on him when he wanted to talk, but didn’t want to be a bother. His brows would pinch, and his lips would tighten, like he was afraid to speak. This felt like that moment. And Zoro felt oddly pained causing the man to make that face.
His mouth was still unmoving, looking the cook up and down for signs that he was wrong in his assumption. Zoro followed the line of the cook’s lips, the gentle arched curve of his Cupid’s bow, dipping to his pink bottom lip. He watched the way the man’s eyes looked almost heavy, with something behind them. They were brilliantly blue, like the ocean, Zoro thought. Like the All Blue would be. Zoro gritted his teeth.
He cleared his throat quickly, finding his own hand fidgeting under the cook’s. His fingers were picking at each other, twisting in soft tendrils without his knowledge.
Sanji looked down briefly, watching Zoro’s thick fingers twirl and wind like gentle ballerinas. His hand slowly moved down Zoro’s arm, to lay like a lace blanket over Zoro’s twitching hand.
Zoro glanced up almost immediately at the warm contact, his silver eyes blank on the blond’s face. He felt his heartbeat picking up; a bit concerning. He chewed on his tongue, part of his brain keeping him from saying anything, lest he stupidly ruin whatever was currently happening between them.
“Robin asked me what love means.”
Zoro bit his tongue, realizing that was his stupid mouth that said that. What the fuck-
“Love? That’s easy.” The cook immediately answered, smiling widely at the thought. Zoro felt his stomach churn, so he looked down at the wood grain. “Love is something beautiful. It’s soft, and warm, and makes you feel like you can fly,” Sanji said wistfully, his eyes vaguely turning into hearts. “It’s something so complicated, but so stunningly gorgeous, even you wouldn’t be able to look away, mosshead.”
Zoro perked up at the stupid nickname, narrowing his eyes. He wasn’t so sure about the whole, whatever the cook was talking about, and he certainly didn’t want to go into detail about himself just feeling that said warmth and softness from before.
“To love is to experience. It’s such a wonderful, yet diverse thing. It’s…hard to explain in just a couple of words,” Sanji slowed down, eyeing Zoro with something bright and hopeful. “Why did the lovely Robin ask you that?” He sounded much more familiar to Zoro then, his tone accusatory and bold as he eyed Zoro sharply.
“No fucking clue. Just went off about it when I was eating that bread you gave me earlier…”
Zoro only realized what he said when he saw Sanji’s face turn bright red. He also felt Sanji’s hand pull away like he was burned by Zoro’s hand.
“Cook, what?” Zoro helpfully questioned, scratching idly at his chin.
Sanji chewed on his bottom lip, unhelpfully drawing Zoro’s eye back to the cook’s mouth again. He pulled the finished cigarette out of his mouth, crushing it mindlessly. “Did…Did you like them?… The bread, I mean.”
Zoro thought for a moment, reminiscing. The rolls were delicious of course, per anything the cook made. It was more so the reasoning behind them that had Zoro’s brain hurting. And heart.
“Fine,” Zoro mumbled, looking willfully away from Sanji’s stare.
“Dick. I worked hard on those,” Sanji huffed, crossing his arms over his chest, his face still burning.
“Why?”
“Huh?”
“Why did you…make them for me?”
Zoro bit his lip too, cursing his brain for even bringing it up. Clearly, it must’ve been a one-off thing, maybe that the cook did that day to just mess with him.
He watched the man squirm a bit in his chair, before standing up swiftly, making his way smoothly back behind the counter into the kitchen. Zoro decided to follow, resting his hand over his swords comfortingly.
Zoro watched as the cook bent down, and pulled a wrapped tray out from the oven. The thing wasn’t on, and Zoro hadn’t even smelled any bread earlier. He watched him set the tray down, ripping off the cover, and handing another shiny, glazed bun to Zoro.
Zoro squinted suspiciously at the small thing, especially at the tray of them.
“Try it again. Tell me how it really tastes, dipshit,” Sanji said tersely, purposefully pushing Zoro’s hand towards his mouth.
Zoro didn’t know what else to do but take another bite out of the thing, noting it really was the same bread from earlier. He helplessly moaned softly under a grunt at the flavor. It was still something herby that Zoro couldn’t pinpoint, but nonetheless, it tasted delicious. He kept chewing, shoving it wholly into his mouth like before, swiping the butter glaze off of the corner of his lip. He looked back at the cook for a moment, only then noticing the man’s wide eyes and frozen look, the tips of his ears glowing and a thin blush gazing past his cheeks into the collar of his shirt. Zoro swallowed slowly, blinking lazily.
“What?”
Zoro watched helplessly as Sanji seemed to be moving forward rapidly. He was about to run his mouth, but thankfully, Sanji stopped that before it could happen.
The cook’s lips were suddenly cradling Zoro’s, his blond head tilted in just enough of an angle to make Zoro’s head spin.
“Cook, what-“
Zoro was cut off again by Sanji’s soft, precious hands cupping Zoro’s jaw, holding him like he was prepared to run away or some shit.
Why the hell would he be running?
He felt Sanji pull away not but a few seconds after, his eyes looking complex and worried. Zoro wanted to ask why the man stopped, but Sanji was already running his mouth. “Sorry…Shit, don’t- don’t mind that, I…wasn’t thinking,” Sanji muttered, his voice shaky, and his eyes darting back and forth from Zoro to the counter to the ground. He backed up incrementally, putting space between them.
Zoro wanted to bash the cook’s head open at that moment and wanted to shout why he was trying to back away. He jerked a hand out, and thankfully quickly caught Sanji’s wrist before he could completely turn around.
“The hell was that, curly? Where are you going?”
Zoro watched as the cook shook his head, his eyes pleading.
“It wasn’t anything. I realize what I did wrong,” Sanji wavered, his shoulders melting a bit at the statement.
“What was wrong?” Zoro snapped, his brow furrowed, his hand trying to pull him in more.
The blond stood there, staring and fuming all at once. Zoro stared, not knowing quite what else to say, and then the cook blew up.
“I know, I kissed you! It was fucked up of me. Fuck me for assuming you wanted that, just because of my dumb ass thinking you moaning over eating my food was hot! I’m stupid, okay? I get it. You don’t care about me, like that. I’ll give the rest of this bread to you tomorrow for lunch if you want. Now,” Sanji turned, trying to walk away again.
Zoro growled at the stubbornness, the cook’s complaining overriding every bit of Zoro’s last nerve.
“Damn cook, why don’t you think I like it?!”
Sanji froze, slowly turning on his heel, eyeing Zoro with a glare-ish, baffled expression. “You…You didn’t kiss back. You just stood there like a mossy boulder while I tried to,” Sanji paused, but grunted, not wanting to say anymore.
Zoro felt his heart beat a little faster, his wide shoulders rising and falling with each breath. He stared over the cook’s body, really taking in every detail of him. Again. Not like Zoro hasn’t already done this several times before.
Love…
How Sanji described it earlier.
Zoro thought it sounded fluffy and stupid, but he was starting to draw the parallels at an alarming rate.
The softness of Sanji’s hands on his arm…on his hand. On his face.
The warmth of the skin, of Zoro’s skin, of his chest. Of Sanji’s face.
The beauty… of Sanji’s golden hair, his oceanic eyes, his thin-lipped smile, and his smooth pale skin.
The complexity of what Zoro was feeling. It hurt, but it also felt nice. It was scary but also familiar. Zoro wanted more of it, but he also wanted to shove it away with a long stick. He smiled and laughed at Sanji, but would also glare and yell.
You wouldn’t be able to look away, Mosshead.
Zoro couldn’t look away.
He wanted Sanji to keep looking at him. He wanted Sanji to love him like that, how he described it.
Zoro wanted to learn more about love from Sanji.
He grunted, gritting his teeth, and then taking Sanji’s face in his hands, pulling him close, and smashing his lips against the cook’s. Zoro winced for a second at the sound of teeth clacking but soothed when Sanji almost immediately gave in, melting into the action. Zoro felt a soft hand over his jaw again, holding him in place. Zoro relaxed his mouth, realizing the man wasn’t going to pull away. He sighed into the kiss, feeling Sanji tilt his head to adjust the angle, his lips twisting in a heartachingly gentle smile.
Zoro wanted to pull the man closer, so he did, carefully wrapping his arms around Sanji’s narrow waist, pulling him in, wary of the man cursing at him for being any kind of rough. He didn’t say anything though, so Zoro took that as a plus, feeling the blond’s plastic buttons on his dress shirt poke at his own bare chest. Part of him wanted to get rid of the shirt entirely.
But before he could enact any of what his brain was encouraging him to do, Sanji was slowly pulling away, his small smile still intact. He blinked up at Zoro, brushing his thumb over the corner of Zoro’s mouth softly.
“It tastes good,” Sanji mumbled, his eyes grazing back and forth over Zoro’s lips.
“Hm?” Zoro unhelpfully grumbled, his brain needing a moment to catch up to the present.
“The bread. I could taste on your lips. Or, more of the butter glaze I guess,” Sanji, patting Zoro’s cheek resolutely before stepping back and out of Zoro’s arms.
Without thinking, Zoro caught himself asking, “Wanna taste again?”
Sanji laughed, not coming any closer to Zoro. He rolled his eyes, kicking at Zoro’s ankle weakly. He scoffed softly, before turning and handing Zoro another of the bread rolls.
“Here, bastard.”
Sanji must’ve known that wasn’t what Zoro meant, but he was still looking smug about it, waiting for Zoro to take the bun.
Eventually Zoro gave in, taking another bite, the bread somehow still warm and fluffy.
Damn it.