Archive of Our Own

don't you dare look at me that way

I don't need reminders of how you don't feel the same

They were alone.

Just the two of them.

It was one of those rare mornings aboard the Sunny where Zoro found himself wide awake during the wee hours, the soft glow of the dawning sun filtering through the galley's porthole.

This always seemed to happen, every now and again, when the crew managed to finally convince Zoro to relinquish the watch to someone else and get a decent night's rest. They would push and shove, moan and whine, persistently pestering him until Zoro eventually grew tired of Chopper's buzzing voice explaining the importance of real sleep over quick naps. In all honesty, Zoro didn’t care, nor did he particularly believe that something as miniscule as sleep would cause his detriment.

Even so, it was nice he supposed, to know that they cared.

Still, it always appeared that no one was quite clever enough to accommodate his body into these situations. No matter how good their intentions, Zoro had been wired to function on as little as four hours of sleep since he was young. Forcing him to rest at such an early hour tended to make his internal clock run a little rampant, leaving him stressed out and concerned over some inevitable danger his paranoid brain was so sure would arrive.

Thus, just like every time Zoro was unable to surrender to the embrace of his dreams, he found himself seated in the ship's kitchen as the birds chirped outside and the crackle of the stove flared to life whilst the Cook worked his magic. Wado rested securely in his hand, gleaming under the soft morning light as the cotton swab dabbed idly against the beauty of her steel. The Cook moved about the kitchen as he did every day during the sunrise, diligently preparing dishes to satisfy their Captain's ever insatiable appetite once he awoke.

And, as with every other time, the silence between them stretched on.

Suffocating.

Zoro was well aware that it would’ve been an odd sight to comprehend, but the truth remained that the Cook and he did in fact know how to keep their mouths shut in each other's presence more often than most would suspect. Sure, they argued with a fervour unmatched whenever in the company of others, but that simply couldn't be helped. There was something about the watchful gazes and the countless eyes tracking their every movement, that without fail, seemed to trigger such relentless bickering between them. It ignited a fire inside each of them, a blaze that refused to be extinguished, constantly burning as the flame grew brighter under every insult or attack.

It was intoxicating in a way that made Zoro feel alive.

Yet, despite it all, when left alone there was not a barb or taunt to be exchanged. It was always quiet, more often than not. Zoro would like to claim that it was a comfortable silence. Something akin to the feeling he got when he leant against the Sunny's rail and basked in the gentle aura that was Luffy, his Captain’s presence never failing to wash over Zoro from his place silently perched on the ship’s figurehead during the late hours.

However, that would be a lie, and Roronoa Zoro was not one to tell lies.

Being with the Cook was a different sensation altogether. Some would say awkward, riddled with tension and an energy which would no doubt send lesser men into a spiral. Others might describe it as uncomfortable, like rope seamlessly tangling and coiling itself around their throats, just waiting for bated breath in order to yank—

Zoro would call it captivating.

They worked at opposite ends of the room, although Zoro had the fortune of being able to observe in ways the Cook couldn’t. Zoro was able to watch. Trace how he moved, elegant and graceful, in ways that were never expressed even in the height of battle. The Cook’s fighting was a different story, one told of old wounds and new beginnings. A tale the Straw Hats were not yet privy too.

Soon, Zoro kept thinking, but never was he right.

No, the way the Cook moved when he worked was nothing short of astounding, capable of leaving even the most skilled men in awe. His fingers, thin and nimble, easily curled around any tool he needed with the expertise and precision that would make even a sniper envious. Slender, agile, light on his feet, he seemed to glide across the floor as he moved gracefully from one station to another. Each step was a testament to his prowess. Footwork that could only be admired. A fluency and insight that not even the most accomplished dancer could hope to replicate.

His mind, sharp and quick, kept track of every ingredient and utensil scattered around the space that the Cook affectionately called his domain. The swift dart of his pupils and the coordination of his brain were fascinating to spectate, magnetic in ways that were impossible to withdraw from. He worked with the proficiency of a master, a person who had refined his craft through nothing but the sheer talent he was born with and the skill he had conquered. When the Cook operated, he was in his element, entirely and unequivocally unmatched. Even in their wildest of dreams, nobody could ever hope to compare to the swift hands and the astute gaze that blessed him at that instant.

For that reason, these moments were more of a pleasure to Zoro than he would’ve deemed any battle to be. Watching him cook, buried in the capability and passion he held for his trade, was something only few would ever be able to witness in their lifetime.

Mornings like these were a gift.

The sensation that entangled them at happenings like this was hauntingly mesmerising as the moonlit glow. Nonetheless, just as the moon brought beauty, it also carried its fair share of torment and grief.

Melancholic, bittersweet, solemn — Zoro would also deem these mornings similar to a curse, dreadful as the floods that gushed in the lunar’s wake.

Zoro watched on… for that was all he could do.

He stared and stared and stared.

Zoro followed the smile that adorned the Cook's lips as the boy hummed an idle tune, a melody that had been dancing within his mind throughout this aching dawn. Zoro caught the glint of light that flashed beneath the Cook’s eyes as he meticulously plated, pleased to see his creation come to life by none other than the treasures he held so dearly to his heart. Zoro gazed on mournfully as the boy spun, the inevitable silence between them finally ceasing as the flames of the hob flickered out and the final touches graced the beauties the Cook had forged.

He approached, a plate held securely in his grasp, as the waft of smoky aroma enveloped them. A scent that Zoro had come to cherish even more than the salty air that graced the oceans they traversed. The click of glass meeting wood resonated against the sheathing of steel as the Cook placed his dish before the swordsman.

The spark of a lighter caught his ears, and Zoro looked up to meet the gleam of sapphire.

Sanji grinned.

“Go ahead Marimo, tell me how it tastes.”

Dreadful and captivating indeed.

oh, the burning pain

listening to you harp on 'bout some new soulmate

"she's so perfect," blah, blah, blah

oh, how I wish you'll wake up one day

Dark hair, bright eyes, long lashes — exactly the Cook’s type.

The fact that she ran the current fruit stall they were looking at was just an added bonus.

She was one of the rare ones, a person not immediately taken aback by the Cook's excessively flirtatious and doting personality. She giggled, a light thing, causing hearts to dance within the Cook's eyes and an enamoured smile to grace his lips. They talked for a while, but Zoro wasn’t entirely sure what about. Despite standing merely a foot away, he chose not to listen. His ears dulled, muffling the sounds almost as if instinct were shielding his mind from the inevitable heartbreak their light-hearted banter was sure to evoke.

His eyes, however, refused to pity him in such ways.

They remained fixed on the duo, silently observing their interactions. The girl had long hair, a deep shade of brunette that wrapped around her finger as she spoke. Each strand twirling, twirling, twirling under the Cook’s vision as he shamelessly looked on, utterly transfixed by the purposefully sensual motions.

The Cook's grin widened as he animatedly talked, gesturing to the fruit cradled with utmost care between his palm. It was how the Cook treated all his food, nothing but consideration and protection, akin to the way one would handle a newborn — gentle and sheltering. Zoro was certain the Cook was in the midst of one of his rants, after all, his fingers had begun to twitch in the ways they always did when delving too deep into the intricacies of cuisine cultures and concepts. The woman didn't appear the least bit perturbed by the onslaught of commentary, be that as it may, it didn't necessarily mean she was truly listening to a word the Cook was prattling on about.

Zoro followed as her gaze wandered across the wisps of blonde hair and the distinctive jagged edges of the Cook's ridiculous fringe, desperately attempting to catch a glimpse of the counterpart to those vibrant ocean waves. It was a pointless endeavour. Zoro had long suspected that the Cook had glued the damn thing to the side of his face when he realised the way the hairs barely shifted even amidst the heat of battle. It was only during a late night where they all laid in their bunks that Zoro had for the first time witnessed the other eye concealed beneath that stubborn curtain of hair.

Across from his own bed, with golden locks spread out across the pillows, the Cook dozed soundlessly. Zoro had been fortunate enough to be awake at that moment, watching as the blonde's head shifted ever so slightly, head tilting in his direction, causing the detested fringe to finally part. His eyes remained closed, yet it was no less beautiful to see the Cook's entire face revealed in such a way — peaceful and serene, dreaming about who knows what as the faintest and smallest of smiles laced his lips.

The woman persisted in her appraisal, gaze stretching along the contours of the Cook's lean physique and defined calves, before inevitably settling on the Cook's hands — soft, pale, and impeccably flawless.

As well as firmly clasped around Zoro’s.

Reflexively, Zoro started to withdraw as the intense, burning scrutiny of the woman beared down upon their entwined fingers. Yet the moment the slackened grip echoed against the Cook’s hand, azure blues snapped up to meet him.

“Oi Marimo, what did I say about wandering off!” The Cook’s voice sounded as he cut his speech short and immediately turned away from the stunned woman. “Nami-san said we only have a couple of hours and with your shitty sense of direction we’d have a better chance at finding the One Piece before we do you!”

Zoro's gaze shifted away from the startled girl, who stood frozen by the abrupt change in the Cook's behaviour. The man now stood glaring as his eyes filled with nothing but irritation and brows furrowed deeply. Nevertheless, his hand still pressed warmly against Zoro's all the same. If Zoro had never felt the curse of impending doom dawn upon him before, this moment would surely have marked his downfall.

“Shut up, if you’re so worried about time then hurry up with the damn shopping. We haven’t even hit the liquor store yet.” His voice came out stiff as he belted out as much of an insult as he could muster with the woman’s eyes still hovering over his form. Zoro wasn't one to typically buckle under the prying stares of others, but there were times like this where even he wished he could simply do without it.

“Shitty barbaric swordsman…” The Cook muttered under his breath as he turned back to the woman. She was silent. The carefree expression and flirtatious smirk she had worn just moments ago had vanished, lost to the sight of the Cook’s fingers slipping between his own. “Sorry, my darling! It appears our time has been cut short, I can only hope one day our paths will cross again!”

She looked disappointed, her mouth open as if making one last attempt to beckon the Cook for more of his attention. However the man had already pivoted on his heel, making his leave within the second as he dragged Zoro in his wake. He watched as the Cook smiled, once again, eyes dreamy as the words spilled from his lips.

“Oh, she was so perfect, you couldn’t even understand! She knew all about Densuke, they’re not native to this region, you know? Someone must’ve planted an orchard here years ago! Oh, and the way she spoke! So lovely and elegant, simply wonderful. She told me about some of the ways the people here prepare the fruit, I bet dearest Robin-chan would especially enjoy—”

Zoro watched and listened, his heart clenching ever so slightly as every word slipped from the Cook’s tongue. This was the way it always went. After every new girl they met, a newfound soulmate would linger within the Cook’s heart. He would chatter ceaselessly throughout the day, reminiscing on every spark exchanged until they returned to the Sunny or, by some miracle, the unlikely appearance of a new beauty would present themselves to fill the lovesick chef's dreams.

It was a struggle for Zoro to endure the endless monologue. Every syllable carried an elegance which only emerged when the Cook's affections were involved, and with each word Zoro found that a fragment of his futile hope faded away. His chest ruined with a torment that seared through every fibre of his being, relentless and all-encompassing.

Regardless Zoro subjected himself to the torture, willingly and without regret, despite knowing the agony that was horrendously bestowed upon him after each wailing second. After all, for every moment it scorched him to watch the Cook's delight, simply being able to witness that radiant smile was worth every flame that singed his soul.

Together, as they walked, the hand in his had never felt so heavy.

and I sound like a loon, but don't you feel it too?

confess I loved you from the start

Blood.

Thick and ominous, it dripped onto the floor as they entered. A primal instinct honed from childhood sounded within him as the metallic scent burnt his nostrils. It was the first thing Zoro witnessed once stepping foot inside the floating restaurant their Captain had crashed through, a man soaked in a shade of scarlet that rivalled even the finest of rubies.

The next thing his eyes caught was blonde.

Neat and orderly, it glimmered in the sunlight that streamed through the open doors, acting as a spotlight that led straight towards the imposing figure before them. The boy stood with a steady stance and broad shoulders, his hand gripped tightly around the neck of the man hanging limply in front of him, the weight seemingly meaningless to the blonde as he spoke.

His voice was resonant — deep, rich, and smooth. It echoed within Zoro’s ears, demanding any of his remaining attention that hadn't already been captured by the scene before him. There was no shouting, nor any overt anger in his tone. No, the boy’s voice was simply pronounced, an authoritative and calm thing that signified how little regard he had for the scum in his grasp. It was the voice of someone lecturing another, looking down on them and their entire existence — worthless.

It was the voice of a person forced to explain one of life's most obvious and basic truths.

“Don’t waste food.”

Puffs of smoke blew toward them as the wind swept into the restaurant. The smell was strong — consuming. The lingering sting of tobacco sent a spike straight down Zoro’s spine as he continued to watch the scene unfold. Despite the collective tone of his voice, it was evident to anyone with eyes that the blonde was seething. His focus was unwavering as his gaze locked onto the only thing enrapturing his attention at that pressing moment. He disregarded the quiet gasps from other patrons and the reprimands from his coworkers, his vision narrowed as it traced the measly individual who dangled helplessly from his grip. A predator stalking its prey. Curly eyebrows furrowed as his pupils bored into those of the pink-haired man's.

At last, he spoke, delivering each syllable which escaped his mouth with careful precision, ensuring that they penetrated the very depths of the other's soul.

“At sea, provoking a cook is the same as committing suicide. Remember that.”

It was then that something deep within Zoro shifted.

“Whew, I’m stuffed!” The Cook announced sauntering over as the lingering taste of alcohol prickled the back of Zoro’s throat. It wasn't the worst drink he'd ever had, its burn offered a welcome distraction from the discomfort of his itchy bandages and the biting ache of his wound.

Try to surpass me! Roronoa Zoro!

Not merely a wound, a vow. A new oath Zoro had sworn to follow, sealed against the glint of Wado’s blade and the tears that had traced his cheeks as he screamed to the heavens above.

Got any problems with that, King of the Pirates?!

The only excuse for Zoro to ever deviate from this promise would be nothing short of death itself.

“Sometimes it's nice to only eat!” The Cook sighed, his voice nonchalant amid the bustling and cheers emanating from the village behind them. A subtle smile graced the Cook's lips as he settled down, his back finding support against the pillar across from him, head tilting up to meet Zoro's gaze.

The Cook’s grin, Zoro found himself noticing, was nice to look at.

A firm and natural thing that tugged at the corners of his mouth and showcased the slight glisten of his teeth against the village lights. Undeniably a pleasant sight to see. Handsome, some people would say, an innate charm that was fused in every flash of white. The Cook’s eyes were no different, Zoro soon realised. They were just as alluring to stare into — bright, blue and oh-so alive. A spark of compassion hovered beneath them, pure and brimming with sincerity. It was the kind of emotion that Zoro had once believed to be lost in the world until he stumbled his way onto Luffy’s crew.

At the Baratie the Cook had been different, cold and dissociated. Constantly arguing with customers, chefs and even his own father. Not to mention belittling Zoro’s dream and criticising his ability, it had been irking at the time, having to listen to yet another person reduce his ambition to something as insignificant as stupidity. Zoro had almost questioned whether Luffy had made the right call in wanting him aboard their ship.

Yet, like all things, Zoro had come to understand after joining his future King — Luffy was never mistaken when it came to people.

When Zoro had met up with the Cook again, it had been no less exasperating than back at the restaurant, filled with incessant swooning over Nami and a barrage of shitty comments. Zoro had wanted nothing more than to cut the bastard down right then and there. Although, as the day progressed and the battle with Arlong unfolded, Zoro had finally witnessed what had captivated Luffy with the shitty Cook in the first place.

Why do you suppose Nami-san was crying?

It was known that at times, their Captain was as naive and trusting as one could be. Repeatedly granting others the benefit of the doubt when their deception and falsehoods were so plain to see. It seemed insane to Zoro at first, how little Luffy worried about betrayal or trickery, yet somehow the boy continuously managed to prove Zoro’s overly distrustful mind wrong. Defying the odds and expectations of life and looking past what blanket of lies others wished to hide behind, and now, Zoro was beginning to understand that their Cook was not much different in that regard. Looking into those eyes, Zoro could tell that the Cook possessed a kindness that failed to bless many in this world — admittedly even himself at times.

Do you honestly believe Nami-san killed Long-nose?

His heart tightened slightly at the realisation.

The pretty boy ahead of him smirked, peering up from beneath long lashes and half lidded eyes.

“Are your wounds all better now, Zoro?”

It appeared that Sanji was quite different from what he had first imagined. As his gaze followed the glimmer of the boy’s smile and the depths within his oceanic eyes, a breath hitched in his chest, and Zoro quietly mused to himself.

Zoro, huh?

Perhaps it wouldn't be such a bad thing if he was wrong.

unrequited, terrifying

lovе is driving me a bit insane

A sigh escaped his lips as once again Sanji flipped onto his side to face the Marimo across from him. It was a strange thing to think about, how pretty Zoro looked when he slept. The word itself was peculiar — pretty. Such an odd and gentle thing to relate to the brute of a man that was their swordsman. In fact, nobody who wanted to keep their life would even dare refer to him in such a way, though be that as it may, Sanji couldn’t help it.

Zoro was, without a doubt in his mind, truly and utterly pretty.

Idle wisps of green danced across his forehead, swaying side to side against the gentle rise and fall of his body. Zoro was known to be a heavy sleeper, able to drop dead at any time and any place of his liking. Regardless of wind, hail, thunder or rain, the boy would never fail to look entirely at peace when he dozed. Even now, in the dim light of the boys cabin dorms, he slept without a twitch of movement. Whilst he remained just as still and entirely composed as he would be when awake, the tension leaked out from his bones and his brows relaxed without the added stress of their morning adventures.

Sanji’s heart twinged as he carried on staring. He shouldn’t be doing this, Sanji knew it was a strange thing to think about, especially when regarding the Marimo of all people. He’d never had this problem until meeting the bastard, and even then it seemed that only the swordsman was able to arouse such sensations within him.

Sanji loved Luffy, the boy had gifted him a life he had craved for years to gain. Sanji would die for his Captain and whilst that should be obvious enough, the rubber idiot still failed to evoke the same feelings that Zoro seemed to grant him.

Endless amounts of euphoria that blessed him day in and day out. When their eyes locked, it was a different type of sensation altogether, a feeling of completion. A strange pumping of his heart, like his body secretly knew that nobody else in this world would ever be able to bring to light such things from him. If it was anyone else, Sanji would assume this thing to be kinship. A type of emotion shared between comrades, fuelled by the ongoing fights and protection they distributed seamlessly for one another.

Yet it wasn’t just anyone else. If it had been Usopp, Luffy, or any other boy they’d met on their travels who could make his stomach drop and his lungs seize with the simple glint of sweat on chiselled abs or the sharp smirk tinted with bloodlust, he might have simply brushed it off. Cast it aside and never think about such a thing again.

But it was Zoro… and Zoro had always been something different.

Different from any boy Sanji had ever met.

It was a known fact that Sanji loved women. Women were everything and anything to him, deserving to be cherished and worshipped as the goddesses they were all born to be. Caring for them came as easy to Sanji as breathing, perhaps even more so. It had been ingrained into his life for years now, the dos and don'ts of how to treat such divine beings were as good as common sense. They were perfection personified: Never to be disrespected; Never to be disobeyed; and most importantly — Never to be harmed. Sanji stood by these facts for years and would continue to stand by them until his dying breath.

Sanji loved women, that much was clear… but men?

Frankly, he could hardly give a shit about any of them.

Sure there were the odd few who had weaselled their way into his life. The Geezer, the shitty cooks, Luffy and the other idiots in their crew — but that wasn’t anything serious. They were family, friends, allies. People he could fight alongside and share a laugh with over dinner. He would hardly go to the lengths he would for a woman for them, not without reason at least. That’s what Sanji had always believed, what he had always lived by.

Women? Every single one should be treated with the utmost consideration, admiration and love. There were no exceptions.

Men? There were some who deserved his attention and most who didn’t. Simple as that. It would take a lot for one not to meet the sole of his shoe at even the slightest ounce of annoyance. Consideration had to be earned and admiration was something reserved for even fewer.

And Love?

Love was an impossible feat.

Never to be reached and never to be achieved even in their wildest of dreams. It was a joke of a question. Something that shouldn’t even be entertained. It’s not like he had anything against those who did love men, it’s just the plain and simple fact that Sanji wasn’t like that. He never would be. Never, in all his years of living in this godforsaken world, would Sanji ever, ever, ever fall in love with a—

When I decided to become the strongest swordsman, I decided to devote my life to it.
Since it was my decision, the only one who can call me stupid is me.

Scars on the back are a swordsman's shame…

Until the day I defeat him and become a master swordsman… I will never be defeated!

There's a man I need to meet up with.
Until I see him again my life can't be taken away even by Death himself.

Well… It turns out that there may just be one.

Across the room a boy with obnoxious green hair snored and Sanji’s heart skipped in tandem. He growled in frustration as he slammed his pillow over his head and turned away from the dozing swordsman.

It just had to be him, didn’t it?

Out of all the fools who graced this brutal world, Sanji had to go and fall in love with their resident Marimo.

Sure there were moments where the sun would shine oh-so brightly and cast a glare of light that reflected dazzlingly within the boy's silver gaze, but there were just as many (if not more ) moments where Sanji would look over and catch the idiot drooling onto his own shirt as he slept. It was repulsive and always made Sanji want to tear his hair out whilst wondering how he managed to become infatuated with such a disgusting beast of a man. The train of thought would continue ceaselessly throughout the day as he cooked, cleaned, fought until ultimately the sun would set and Sanji would come to the same conclusion he did every night, deciding once and for all he would rid his mind of such pointless affection towards the shitty swordsman.

Every night he would try.

Every night he would fail.

As much as the boy was a hygienic horror story to witness during the day, the night presented a view Sanji had involuntarily grown accustomed to admiring before he slept. It was cruel to see just how truly charming Zoro was whilst he rested. His gentle breathing, his soft skin, his messy hair. The way in which their usually uptight and unyielding swordsman became utterly relaxed as the sound of the crew's snoring and the creek of the Sunny sang a lullaby of safety and protection around him. It was awe inspiring to see the vulgar man let everything go and trusted in the people around him to keep him safe as he napped.

Vulnerable.

That was the word.

Zoro was vulnerable and Sanji would never be able to honestly explain why that thought gave him such a high. It was the same sort of feeling he would get when in battle with the other. Standing back to back, there were no words in this world to ever properly encompass the sensation of confidence bestowed upon him by the other. Just as Sanji trusted the man to protect his treasured hands, Zoro trusted him to watch his back — to ensure that not a single scar would ever stain his precious honour.

It was intoxicating.

Sanji shoved the pillow away from his face and turned back to face the boy, eyes sliding over Zoro’s quiet form. Why did it have to be him? Why was it he who managed to make his brain twist in such ways, whether it be love or anger, Zoro never failed to evoke something from him unlike any other. Sanji could never just exist by his side without his heart pulsing unsteadily regardless of if it was caused by the sight of his muscles or the sense of his barbarity. It was hopeless to live like this now with every sensation within him going haywire at anything the Marimo did, so how was he expected to continue living in such a way until they found the One Piece? How was he supposed to keep it together until Luffy became their King, until Zoro became the world’s greatest, until Sanji found his All Blue…

Until maybe even after that too?

Suddenly Sanji felt his stomach plummet and his eyes snapped back towards the patch of moss across him desperately for an inch of involuntary reassurance.

Would there be an after for them?

Would there even be a them?

Grief washed over him in that instance as he stared mournfully at Zoro’s still form. The boy was here, dozing soundlessly as the Merry rocked on… but for how long? How long would Sanji be blessed with this sight? Luffy would be their King, that was a fact which not even God themself would be able to change if the Strawhats had any say in it, but after that? Nobody had ever mentioned the after, but then again, of course they haven’t. With a Captain like Luffy living in the moment was the only road to sanity you could allow yourself to take without worrying yourself aimlessly with what-ifs or hypotheticals.

Nevertheless now that Sanji's started, he can’t find it in himself to stop.

Zoro would be with him after everything was said and done, and no doubt their bond would grow even closer upon the passing years, that much was certain even to Sanji’s overactive brain. No matter what fate lay at the end of it all, the Strawhats' destinies would always remain intertwined.

The crutch of the matter was the simple question of how close?

Just friends? Just rivals? Was that the only possibility for them to achieve? Was Sanji doomed to eternally pine over their idiotic swordsman, waiting for the day someone else inevitably caught the attention of their emotionally unavailable Marimo and sweep the bastard off his feet.

Fuck, Sanji’s heart felt like it was about to combust by the idea alone. The concept of someone out there suddenly swooping in and staking claim on Zoro so haphazardly sent a wave of fury straight to his soul. Who did they think they were? What right could they possibly have? As if Sanji wasn’t the one who fed him every morning and night. As if Sanji wasn’t the one who stood by his side as they both fought for the sake of their idiotic Captain. As if Sanji wasn’t the one who claimed his rightful spot as the shitty swordsman’s unmatched rival. As if Zoro wasn’t his—

His… His…

That's right, he wasn’t anything, now was he? Not technically at least.

Zoro wasn’t his anything, yet.

Of course they were friends— fucking hell they were nakama, a thing that went far past family, friends or even romance. No outsider could ever come close to comparing to the bond they held.

However, who was to tell how long such a thing would last?

What if someone else caught Luffy’s eye along their journey and they joined the crew, then what? What if someone who Sanji didn’t even know as of right now snuck their way into the idiot Marimo’s affections and ripped his heart clean out of his chest. Where the hell would that leave Sanji?

A pining mess over a boy who wouldn’t even look his way less it be for an argument or spar, that’s what.

The mere thought was enough for him to release an irritated snarl on instinct alone. Like hell would Sanji ever let himself amount to such a pathetic and disgraceful thing because of some idiot man and his foolish sentiments. Definitely not when Zoro was still right there standing before him, not yet to stray from his side, so close within his reach it was almost laughable. Zeff would probably kick him upside the head for even wallowing about this for as long as he had. Why leave such desires out to soil under the setting sun? If Sanji wanted something then the only way to get it was to chase it. He had this problem before and he promised the Geezer he wouldn’t ever wait again. Not with the All Blue, not with his cooking, and now definitely not with these shitty ass feelings.

If Zoro had a problem with his affections then the bastard just had to shut up and deal with them. Sanji was tired of waiting for nothing. He was tired of watching from afar. They were on the Grand Line hunting after the impossible, what kind of pirate would he be if he let his fears keep him from his hopes? If Luffy knew about this he’d probably laugh in his face before shoving the two of them together to deal with it.

Sanji had to do this, if not for his own sake, then for his shitty Captain’s dumbass resolve.

He needed to confess.

that when I talk to you, oh, cupid walks right through

and shoots an arrow through my heart

Nothing compared to the sound of blood rushing through his ears. It was an overwhelming sort of sensation that left little to be missed. It flooded into every crevice of the mind as the world around dimmed into a buzzing sense of insignificance. Sanji thrived on it, the high it unleashed within him as he focused his attention; not on the sound of gunfire or canons but instead on that of shrieking metal and the rush of air leaving lungs.

Hands in pocket, he could only reach out to pull a puff from the cigarette dangling carelessly in his mouth as he observed the fight around him, all the while feeling his legs ache with the need for more movement as they cursed his idle stance.

In all honesty ‘fight’ was a generous term, the Marines which came after them were lacklustre in terms of skill more than anything but the added adrenaline was welcomed nonetheless. At least Luffy seemed to be enjoying himself as he catapulted to and fro the enemy ships. Nami too appeared more than delighted herself as she yelled at the struggling Usopp to hurry up in loading the treasure the two of them managed to swipe somehow or another. Robin seemed content in defending the Sunny alongside Chopper whilst Franky took to finishing up on board another ship to their right.

Sanji released a drag as he flicked his fringe to the side, his gaze landing on the only figure left standing amongst the piles of bodies and pools of blood. Zoro’s work was always the messiest. Blood, limbs, clothes were constantly torn and shredded whenever he fought. Sanji knew it couldn't be helped. No matter how precise and efficient the Marimo’s swordwork was, people often got desperate when facing their demise causing them to lash out in the most bothersome of ways. It was just one of the things that happened during battle, so much so it was almost routine by this point to see crimson splattering riddle their swordsman’s opponents. Same goes for his own pile of broken bones or Luffy’s strange assortment of battered bodies. Honestly their fighting styles were so different from one another it was almost bizarre how seamlessly they fought together. Speaking of which—

Sanji dashed into a running jump as he aimed a kick towards the imbecile who was trying to sneak up on the Marimo’s flank. The resulting crack under his heel left a smirk slipping onto his lips as he slid gently into a spin, all at once turning to face the frowning blockhead before him.

“I would’ve had it.” Zoro grunted irritatedly whilst he cleaned his katana briefly on his pants leg, uncaring as ever as the blood stained the dark material. Sanji was never more glad that Nami forced everyone to bathe after intense battles such as these, only God knew how long those disgusting marks would have remained otherwise with the Marimo’s pathetic excuse of a shower schedule.

“Sure, you would’ve.” Sanji shot back, unable to keep the smugness from lacing his tone as he beamed at the frustrated idiot before him. It was always a pleasure to one up the bastard in situations like these. The ever incessant urge to compete with the man in any given situation always brought about an unrelenting fire blazing within. “Whatever you say, you shitty swordsman—”

It was then that he could sense it coming, a presence rushing up from the floor behind him drawing closer than he had initially predicted. Most likely one of the morons they were fighting had pretended to lay dead until given the right chance to strike from behind their backs. A cowardly move no doubt, but what else was to be expected when dealing with the same bastards who actively chose to work for their corrupt government.

Fortunately for him, and quicker than even Sanji had time to react, a swift gleam of steel descended from his left. With a spray of blood and a gut wrenching scream, he could only watch absently whilst the man before him howled in pain, the hand previously gripping his sleek dagger thudded lifelessly onto the wooden floorboards below. Sanji could already feel the telltale burn weld within his chest at the sight of the bastard below him writhing in pain. His leg shot out in instinct as the back of his foot whipped harshly against the side of the man’s skull. Sanji didn’t spare the foot soldier another glance as his screams died out within the instance, his gaze instead shooting up to glare at the cocky green-haired bastard standing before him.

“I would’ve had it—” His mouth opened to argue back without thought before his brain eventually caught up to the familiar words which had just left his lips.

“Sure, you would’ve.” Zoro grinned, the tone of his voice shamelessly mocking whilst his lips curled further into a teasing grin. It was neither the sharpness of his teeth nor the joyous ring in his voice which made Sanji halt in his retort, but rather the way those grey orbs always so hardened with resolve seemed to melt ever so slightly in this moment as they stared into his. Suddenly Sanji felt aware of his exhaustion, the way his lungs rose and fell under the heat of the sun shining down on them. The blood sticking to his skin felt rough and tacky as it dried, and the sweat dripping down the side of his face brought a chill to his skin.

One way or another they always seemed to find themselves here, standing side by side as the world around them tittered into the background of their subconscious. The softness of Zoro’s gaze bored into his as they continued to watch, yet despite the growing silence and tense atmosphere neither of them chose to look away… It almost felt like neither of them could. To tear his eyes from that silver-plated stare would be like ripping the very skin of his bones — a needless and agonising action, bringing far more pain than he could bear to withstand.

Almost immediately Sanji could feel his heart clench. An ache manifested within his gut, clawing and tearing at every fibre of his being as his very breath halted within his lungs. His eyes seemed to unconsciously track the glisten of sweat that trailed down Zoro’s face whilst his nose inhaled on instinct, yearning for the firm scent of steel to singe his mind. He felt consumed, betrayed by his body as it left him utterly defenceless against his inhibitions and a pawn to his own desires. Nonetheless, despite all the harrowing thoughts that came his way, the worst remained the fact that Zoro’s eyes had yet to leave Sanji’s own. He felt the jolt of where they roamed, down his arms and across his abs, a fleeting shock which sparked his skin as those stormy irises traced the blood on his cheek.

It became unmistakably clear to him then, that just as Sanji allowed his eyes to wander, Zoro too had no intention of averting his own.

The thought alone lit his cheek ablaze.

Zoro’s eyes widened at the sight, his lips dropping embarrassingly low to leave his mouth agape as he took in the man before him. The careless way the Marimo gawked with an unseeing gaze did nothing to help Sanji’s unfathomable predicament, in fact it only seemed to make the red rise higher as it raced to the tips of his ears. What the hell was happening? Since when did he fucking blush? It was so unlike him that the shock from the sheer absurdity of the situation nearly distracted him long enough to grasp his bearings once more. If all had been right with the world, that would have been the end of it. Sanji would leave to lick his mortifying wounds as he raced back to the ship, and this moment would be left to sink beneath the waves of their memories.

However their world had never been right, and Sanji was instead made to choke on his own spit as his retreating gaze locked, with miserable precision, on the sleek tongue which slipped past Zoro’s teeth as the man across from him absentmindedly licked his lips. All the while silver eyes remained distantly glazed as they stalked down his figure with a focus that felt far too deliberate.

Sanji knew he should react. He knew he should punch the idiot, scream and yell until his lungs gave out, but every bone in his body was frozen stiff from the anticipation coursing through his veins. It felt like nothing was more important than Zoro at this moment. Nothing could pull his attention away from looking – waiting – to see what could happen next. Would he step forwards? Would his eyes race up to meet Sanji’s expecting blues? Would the swordsman reach out, softly and gently as though not to break the tension hovering fervently within the air around them.

What would Sanji do?

Even now he couldn’t envision his next options. He felt as though he were a ghost trapped within his own body as someone else took the reins, forced to helplessly watch as his muscles tensed and limbs moved without his say. Would he be the one to reach out? To glide his hands faintly under that ridgid jaw for the sole reason of watching the tension leak from Zoro’s bones. How would it feel, he wondered, to be the one to cause such a ruthless man to collapse helplessly by the mere touch of his finger.

Fuck. The thought alone made his stomach churn in desperation, he needed to find out. His mind needed to be soothed by the knowledge of what Zoro’s skin felt like under his grip. He wanted to discover what other emotions would dance within those grey eyes once he was close, so close that not even a wisp of air could snake past their bodies as they leaned in.

Would he be surprised? Would he be shocked? Or would everything melt into place as if he had awaited it all along?

Without his say Sanji could feel his hand twitch in response to the notion, Zoro’s stare drawn to it in an instant before snapping up to meet him once more. Something seemed to envelope them then as they watched at each other, an newfound understanding, so small and feeble, dawned on them both. They moved in sync, like they had a million times before, hands slowly reaching out and drawing higher and higher towards the other. Sanji couldn’t explain the sudden confidence, there were no words known to man which would be able to define the knowledge which laced both their minds. Sanji’s hands shook and Zoro’s muscles tensed yet neither of their movements faltered for a second. Sanji could feel it now, the heavy breath on his face, so reminiscent of all the fights they’ve had, yet completely unlike anything he’s ever experienced before. Did Zoro’s breath always feel so warm? Did his hair always look so soft? Were his eyes…

Were his eyes always so scared?

“ZORO! SANJI!”

Sanji could barely turn around before a humanoid mass of rubber tackled them both onto the bloody deck. He could hear Zoro groaning in annoyance as Sanji tried to spit out the tuft of black hair that landed in his mouth. Luffy looked as oblivious as he was pleased, joyfully laughing into both their ears whilst he sat up carelessly jabbing his knees into their chests.

“Why are you guys just standing around? Nami was calling you for ages!”

Nami-san?

Instantly Sanji’s head snapped over to the Sunny to see their dearest navigator leaning over the railings of the ship, frustrated as she screeched at them to hurry aboard before the Marines reinforcements arrived. It was then that everything seemed to slot into place as the world around him rushed back to life. The crashing of waves hitting the starboard, the groans of enemies wallowing in their injuries, and Luffy’s cheerful voice beckoning them back to their ship.

Almost like instinct his eyes snapped over to Zoro’s figure the second he remembered where he had lost his mind mere moments ago. The other boy looked composed as he lifted himself off the ground, chuckling alongside his captain before the younger bounded towards their home. Sanji momentarily felt envy at the man's ability to reign in his emotions so quickly. Did it truly mean nothing to Zoro? Was it simply the sheer heat of the moment which consumed him into almost breaching the impossible boundary that stood between them? Though, any and all doubts which seemed to plague his overthinking mind screeched to an immediate halt once his gaze met that of silver steel. Zoro's eyes looked down upon him, shining with nothing but deep resignation and pitiful longing. It was a sight he had never thought would adorn their brazen swordsman, yet here he stood ever so clearly trying to suppress the torment in his heart.

The instant Sanji laid witness to such a life altering look, it vanished within the blink of an eye, leaving only the boy’s typical smirk of confidence in its wake. Zoro reached out a hand and it was only then that Sanji realised that he was still lying on the blood-soaked wooden deck. The Marimo grinned down at him with tousled green locks falling messily across his face and blood smearing his cheek.

“Need a hand, Cook?”

God help him, Sanji needed much more than that.

confess I loved you

The steady stream of flowing water soaking his hands was the only thing keeping his heart from running rampant inside his chest. Sanji tried his best to focus on the cooling sensation yet his mind could not help but stray to thoughts of which made his stomach drop and blood rush to his cheeks. It was like the small bottle inside his chest containing every ounce of his feelings had finally reached its limits. The lid was ready to burst at the seams and the glass walls were cracking under every second that ticked by.

The crew had all retired for the night as they usually did after another rowdy dinner session filled with screams, laughter and ultimately empty plates scattered across the table. Surprisingly enough, Sanji didn’t mind the chore of tidying up the room at the end of the day. It brought him a sense of satisfaction to see each and every meal he had put countless thoughts into cooking devoured so readily, to the point where even the cutlery were licked clean so that not even a stain remained in the aftermath of it all. It also helped that the moment of solitude gave him a break from their ever so energetic lifestyle, a chance to wind down and soak in the final hours of the day all to himself in his own sweet haven.

Or so it usually did.

As of right now his mind was a mess, far from the serene atmosphere he craved during these late hours. His head instead dived hastily into the barrel of anxiety he had built for himself piece by piece. It was staggering to think it had only been a week since the day they fought the Marines. Since the day Zoro and he had fallen so deeply into their own impulses they almost had committed to something irreversibly life-changing.

Something Sanji desired so deeply in his soul, even at this very second.

From that day he could not help but wonder what could've been. Would they have truly kissed? Would they have confessed to each other that night once they had returned to the ship? It was a cruel thing, just how easily such a painstakingly beautiful fantasy could've come about. If only Sanji had simply been a little faster or if Luffy had gotten distracted a little earlier or if Zoro had been a little more hasty… How different would his life be at this very moment?

His chest clenched with the dreams of another lifetime. The fact of the matter was that he wasn’t faster, Luffy hadn’t been distracted and Zoro had been slow and attentive in a way Sanji had never seen before. He knew it was not wrong to dream, yet he also knew it was an unsightly thing to have regrets. Regrets were a thing that ate away at your very being, diverting you from reality and taking your eyes off the myriad of new possibilities that could be forged in their wake. Sanji had countless regrets in his life – Zeff’s leg, Reiju’s freedom, craving Judge’s approval – unfortunately those were things he would simply have to take to his grave. They were moments in his life he could not alter, nor return to. He had learned to live with them over time, either by his own hand or alongside the help of others. So yes, Sanji knew regrets very well.

Which was why he never wanted Zoro to become such a thing.

He needed to amend his mistakes and soon, but how could he possibly go about such a thing? It wasn’t like he had ever properly confessed to someone before. Despite his forward nature towards women, those feelings were courtesy at best and incomprehensibly separate from the sensation which their idiot Marimo somehow managed to extract from him. He couldn’t afford to prattle on about good looks or sweet voices, Zoro wouldn’t give a shit about any of those things. The boy was far from a romantic like himself and while that typically was something Sanji preferred about the other it seemed like such a trait was coming back to bite him.

Should he just kiss him?

No, surely not, that was too far even for him. While Zoro was as pragmatic as a person could possibly get, doing something so impulsive wouldn’t be the best idea. He would most likely take it as a joke or some new ploy to fuel their endless cycle of petty getbacks. Anything too direct would only backfire and hurt any chance Sanji might’ve had. Their relationship was far too complicated, and Sanji knew that even the smallest misstep could spiral into a string of misunderstandings, which he was greatly desperate to avoid.

Getting rejected would already be painful enough; there was no need to make it worse by doing something as foolish as kissing him.

Sanji felt his heart plummet at the thought. Rejection was something he was significantly prepared for. After all, the chances of reciprocation might have seemed promising a week ago, but that was then. If Zoro had simply been running on adrenaline, he was likely just looking for a quick fuck at most. There was no true guarantee that this was anything close to love for the swordsman. Then again, if that was the case, was risking a confession even worth it?

Before his mind could wander any further, sudden warmth replaced the cooling flow which encased his hands.

Sanji flinched as his senses snapped back into focus only to be met by distinct green and the screech of their faucet closing. Zoro was there, standing next to him, with one hand wrapped gently around his hands as the other fiddled with the sink taps. The boy turned to face him frowning, eyes darting over Sanji’s fingertips as his calloused own traced the small ridges which were beginning to form.

“Your hands will prune, idiot.” A soft voice breathed against his ear, and it was only then that Sanji realised just how close the Marimo had gotten.

“Wha–” Sanji exhaled in awe before catching himself, a flush rising appallingly onto his cheeks. “What the hell?! When did you get in here you bastard!”

Zoro didn’t seem in the least surprised by the outburst, instead his eyes rose up to stare into Sanji’s. The action only lasted an instant but it was enough to send his heart racing. Whatever Zoro was looking for he clearly found it as not a second later the boy released his hands and took a step away.

Sanji forcibly ignored the instinct to pull him back.

“Losing your touch, Cook?” Zoro smirked, the smug voice far from the gentle tone he had previously used.

“As if, I was busy thinking that’s all.” Sanji scoffed, wiping his hands on his apron before tugging the thing over his head to set aside. “I’m sure it’s a foreign concept for a Marimo like yourself but maybe one day you’ll understand.”

He attempted to uphold the annoyed facade but Sanji couldn't keep the grin off his face as Zoro let out a rare chuckle at the insult. It was uncommon for the other to join him at this time of night, usually he would be tuckered out in his hammock or hidden away in the crowsnest for training. Nonetheless there were exceptions, like tonight, where the man would accompany him under the candle lit kitchen. It was always a treat for Sanji, to be able to relish in his presence as Zoro either helped out with the dishes or tended to his swords.

This evening seemed like neither however as Zoro plopped down onto the kitchen island and merely rested his head against his crossed arms. He sat in silence for the most part, occasionally tossing out an idle comment or remark, nonetheless generally opting to stay quiet and observe Sanji as he busied himself with the last of his kitchen duties. It was peaceful in a manner they rarely got the opportunity to be. Hidden away from the prying eyes of others and left to their own devices, Zoro and he often didn’t fight.

It was as if there was no reason to anymore, not when it was just them.

Sanji wouldn’t say that the way they acted in public was a front. That would simply be a lie. It was purely the fact that whilst held under the attentive gazes of the numerous people shadowing their every action, it was hard not be engulfed into the spark that seemed to combust within themselves. He found it hard to describe, it was almost like a flame that was forbidden to be smothered, constantly searing as it grew more radiant under each taunt or assault.

It was addictive in a way that made Sanji feel alive.

Be that as it may, when it was just the two of them, there was no need for such a thing. Being near Zoro felt like a miracle in its own right. Like the soft rustle of leaves in a quiet forest or the gentle allure of the serene evening tide. It made him lose all sense of self, as he reveled in every second spent side by side. Sanji could lose hours in the quiet ripple of time they shared, without so much as a single word passing between them… because to him, Zoro's presence was more than enough.

This was it wasn’t it? The reason he loved this stupid boy so dearly.

Zoro never failed to call forth something from him unlike any other, so much so that Sanji knew it was hard to even survive by his side without his heart pulsing regardless of the situation.

Yet, despite it all, they managed to still exist together, effortlessly, without the need for words.

Be it affection, fury, or whatever other emotion that might consume them in a given moment, Sanji could always rely on the unshakable truth that at the end of the day, they would always have this — this serenity that enveloped them both. It was a soothing balm to his ever-frenzied mind, to be able to know with certainty that Zoro would always grant him this. It made no difference if his feelings were unrequited, a part of him knew that Zoro would never push him away due to it.

It was unspoken, but undeniable, that just as much as Sanji cherished this, he could tell Zoro did too.

It was fulfilling, to finally realise it, that Zoro wouldn’t abandon these moments they shared. He wouldn’t break the bond they had built nor flee from their fate. Roronoa Zoro was no coward, and Sanji had never been more thankful for their ever so stubborn swordsman. No matter what happened, he would always have a part of Zoro, and even if it was not in a romantic sense Sanji knew that just having him close would always be more than enough.

Because Zoro was always enough.

Sanji couldn't repress these feelings any longer. He was never the type to hide his heart and stay quiet about such things. Sanji loved deeply and completely, he knew that, and holding back was only breaking his soul as the days went by. He longed to show Zoro his love in every way he could; through his food, through their bickering, through each and every battle they would share from this moment onwards.

Sanji wanted to love Zoro.

Completely, unapologetically, and without restraint, Sanji wanted to love Zoro… and for the boy himself to know it too.

Sanji took a deep breath before he formed his resolve. Turning around he walked forwards to face Zoro so the only thing separating them was the kitchen island.

"I— damn it, I don’t even know where to start." he muttered, running a hand through his hair. He forced himself to tear his eyes away from the hardwood floors to look into that familiar grey. His heart sped up and his throat ran dry, yet somehow facing Zoro’s firm gaze gave him more courage than he could ever hope for.

“You… Zoro, you make me happy.” He began warily, noticing the distinct shift in Zoro’s posture as he processed the words. “It sounds insane I know, but I can’t keep this to myself any longer. It– It hurts… too much in fact, to try and hide this for even a second more.”

Not wanting to lose his bravery Sanji pushed forth, ignoring any reactions as best he could.

“It’s hard to explain, I’ve never felt this way before but I know that it feels… right. Just being around you, everything seems to fall into place.” He let out a shaky breath, trying his best not to buckle under the dawning pressure of Zoro’s silence.

“I don’t think you realize how much it means to me.” Sanji couldn’t avoid the wistful sigh that escaped him nor the usually pleasant warmth that thawed within him. “How grateful I am for everything we have together. Every fight, every argument, every moment shared between us is more than I could ever ask for. Just the thought of you alone makes me feel things I’d never wish to part from. It’s a craving, so deep rooted and unmatched within my chest, yearning for you in ways I can't properly put it into words.”

Sanji's hands tightened into fists at his sides as he tried to hold back the flood of emotions threatening to spill over. He paused, swallowing hard, his throat dry as he gathered what was left of his shattered thoughts.

“I… I guess the only way to explain it would be to say that it’s love.” He confessed, his voice raw. “A type of love different from friendship, different from nakama, different from anything I possibly could have fathomed before I met you.” His voice cracked slightly as he spoke, and Sanji’s eyes darted away from Zoro as the weight of vulnerability suddenly fell upon him.

“Fuck– What I’m trying to say is…” He faltered slightly, chest tightening as he fought to push back the embarrassment and fear that was slowly nestling within him.

His palms were sweating, and the thudding of his heart rang so loudly in his ears that it almost drowned out everything else. Finally, he broke through the ultimate barrier of his feelings, his voice laying bare everything he’d kept unseen for so long.

“I love you, Zoro.”

The words froze dead in the air as the silence dragged on.

Sanji could feel the heat of embarrassment burning his face as his gaze remained fixed on the floor beneath them. His heart continued to race within his chest as he refused to look up, deathly afraid of what he might see. Whilst the weight of his secret lifted off his shoulders Sanji was now burdened with the new feeling of dread which hung a thousand times heavier than before.

The tension in the air was suffocating.

Zoro still hadn’t said a word.

Sanji shuddered and braced himself. He knew rejection was a possibility but facing such a thing head on was much more terrifying than he imagined. However he owed it to Zoro to trust him, to not be afraid of the possibilities which might come about but instead have faith in the things that would always remain constant between them. Finding his new light, Sanji let out a shaky breath as he slowly lifted his gaze until his eyes finally met the other’s once more.

Zoro was smiling.

Such a soft and tender thing. The quiet warmth in his expression made Sanji’s breath catch. Yet before he could say anything more, Zoro leant in, so easily closing the distance between them with soothing confidence. At the soft press of their lips and the shallow brush of their noses, Sanji’s eyes fell shut.

It was gentle yet so full of life, as if all the unsaid words between them had at last found their place. The world seemed to slip through his senses, leaving just the two of them stranded in each other's embrace, their souls aligning under the steady beat of their heart.

Zoro was the first to pull away, and Sanji reluctantly pried open his eyes, his vision met with nothing but the familiar gleam of silver. For a moment, time stood still as the air between them swelled with unspoken emotion.

Then Zoro smiled once again and the soft curve of his lips soon parted to bless Sanji with words he had never longed for more.

I know I've loved you from the start