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“Sanjiiii! Is it ready yet?” Luffy asked, sticking his head into the kitchen, pulling the most pitiful face the seas had ever seen—completely unfazed by the wooden spoon that smacked him right on the nose.
“Get outta here!” Sanji yelled, adjusting his pink apron, already thinking that next time, he should probably use a Haki-coated spoon. “This is the fourth time you've asked in less than two hours. Have a little patience, will ya?”
“But Sanjiiii, I'm starving!” As if on cue, Luffy's stomach growled loudly.
Sanji rolled his eyes. “Dinner will be ready when it's ready. Stop rushing me!”
Luffy groaned. “At least tell me how much longer I gotta wait, c'mon...”
Sanji closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and looked back at his captain. And for the millionth time since their first conversation about the All Blue back at Baratie all those years ago, Sanji found himself thinking how much he actually liked the annoying bastard—how he'd do anything to help him become the Pirate King, how he'd follow him to the ends of the world if he had to. Just like Luffy would do for any of his crewmates—and Sanji was no exception.
Against his will, a smile crept onto Sanji's face. “Give me one more hour, okay? I'm finishing dessert.”
Luffy's eyes lit up, and a huge, dreamy grin spread across his face. “Dessert? All right, for your desserts, Sanji, I'll wait!” He slammed the door shut behind him, but Sanji could still hear his muffled shouts of, “Sanji's making dessert!” echoing through the ship.
Still smiling, Sanji turned back to the counter where a neat row of ingredients waited: eggs, sugar, milk, vanilla, flour, baking powder, heavy cream, and the most perfect strawberries. Humming a familiar tune that always seemed to surface whenever he cooked, he started whisking the wet ingredients together in a bowl. He never paid much attention to the melody—it was just something that played in the back of his mind—but no matter how much he tried to ignore it, it always won, becoming the soundtrack to his work in the kitchen.
About halfway through the song, Sanji began folding the flour into the mixture, slowly and carefully, until he had a smooth, golden batter. He poured it into a round cake pan, slid it into the oven, and set the timer. The whole process felt familiar—too familiar. But not in the way that reminded him of those first days sailing with Luffy and the others, even if those memories were some of his favorites. No… Making this dessert stirred something else inside him, something deeper, something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. And it was starting to bother him.
Still humming, but with his thoughts tangled up in that strange sense of déjà vu, Sanji moved on to the topping. Heavy cream, whipped fast and smooth until it turned into the fluffiest whipped cream, which he tucked into the fridge to chill while the cake baked.
Sanji leaned against the counter and lit a cigarette, exhaling slowly. He'd never made this dessert at Baratie, had he? No... He remembered everything he'd cooked in that damn floating restaurant, and this cake definitely wasn’t one of them. So where the hell did it come from? And why did it feel so natural, like his hands had always known how to make it?
The oven timer snapped Sanji out of his thoughts. Shaking off the strange unease, he pulled the cake out and left it to cool for a while. Once everything was at the perfect temperature, he carefully turned the cake out of the pan and started spreading the whipped cream over the golden sponge. The dessert was finally coming together, and Sanji mentally labeled it: cake.
“Time for the strawberries,” he said, grabbing a particularly plump, red berry and placing it right in the center of the cake. And the second he did, the memory hit him like a thunderbolt, knocking the air from his lungs.
His vision blurred. His heart pounded unevenly. Every muscle in his body trembled as he doubled over, clutching the edge of the counter with white-knuckled hands to keep himself upright.
No.
No way.
Not after all this time.
Why now?
Why?
No, no, no!
Please.
Please.
Not again.
Please...
“Oi, Sanji!” Luffy's voice pierced through the haze, muffled, like it was coming from underwater. “When's the food gonna be ready?”
Didn’t anyone notice? The world was falling apart, and no one could see it? Why couldn’t they see it? Was he really holding it together that well? Could he get through this dinner without breaking down? The last thing he wanted was to worry anyone—not again. They'd been through enough because of his past. He wasn't about to drag them through it all over again.
Clearing his throat, Sanji wiped the cold sweat from his brow and forced his head up. “Dinner's almost ready,” he said, keeping his voice steady.
He managed to serve the main course, the sides, and drinks without a hitch. No one seemed to notice the storm raging inside him, which was a relief. But no matter where he turned, the cake was always in his peripheral vision—a constant, gnawing reminder. And with that reminder came memories he had buried deep, memories of his father’s contempt, his brothers’ daily beatings, the endless ridicule for loving to cook. His mother’s gentle smile, her warmth, her belief in him—and how she sacrificed everything to protect the boy who just wanted to be himself.
And that cake... The first cake Sanji had ever made in his life. He was so proud of it! So happy to have created something beautiful with nothing but his instincts, without anyone's help. His small hands were cut, burned, and bruised, and it had taken him hours to finish because he was just a kid who couldn’t reach the counter without a stool. But the result was perfect. A soft, golden cake with a shining layer of whipped cream and a bright red strawberry on top.
The first cake Sanji had ever made. The one that was thrown to the floor, trampled on, mocked, and the reason he was beaten unconscious—again—with no one there to stop it. He never even got to taste a bite.
Moving on autopilot, Sanji carried the cake to the dining table at the end of the meal without his usual fanfare. For the first time, he didn’t announce what he had made, didn’t tell them to enjoy it. And as his crewmates dug in with enthusiasm, blissfully unaware of the memories clawing at him, Sanji could only hope it tasted good.
He was so lost in thought that he didn’t notice three important things: first, everyone had left the kitchen after showering the cake with praise and telling him he had to make it again. Second, no one seemed to catch on to the turmoil brewing inside him. And third, a certain swordsman had stayed behind, quietly closing the door and stepping closer to Sanji.
Without a word, Zoro wiped away the first tear that slipped down Sanji's cheek and pulled him into his arms, holding him tightly where no one else could see. Where no one else could hurt him. Sanji was sobbing and trembling in Zoro’s arms, who held him in silence, respecting whatever that pain meant to the cook. Sanji couldn’t keep pretending to be strong for much longer after Zoro hugged him, and he let himself give in, his knees hitting the floor as he curled up, wounded. But Zoro was still there, still protecting him within his embrace, not demanding anything, just being there for Sanji.
After what felt like endless days of painful memories replaying in loops inside his head, Sanji found himself sitting on the kitchen floor, between the sink and the counter, his head resting against something warm and soft, feeling slow, soothing circles being drawn along his back. The sobs and tears had stopped, but they had left behind a terrible headache. He needed a cigarette.
Sanji looked up and met Zoro’s gaze, who smiled at him warmly.
“Hey,” Zoro said softly.
“Hey.” Sanji felt his face heat up but didn’t look away. “So, you noticed huh?”
“Of course I did.” Zoro tightened his arms around Sanji a little. “How are you feeling?”
Sanji took a moment to check in with himself. “Better, I think.”
“Do you want to talk about what happened?” Zoro let the hand tracing circles on Sanji’s back slide down to find the cook’s own hand, playing idly with his long fingers.
Sanji followed the movement, watching their fingers intertwine, and couldn’t stop the wave of love and disbelief that washed over him. He still couldn’t believe that he and Zoro were real, that they were actually a couple! After everything that had happened, Sanji never imagined Zoro would be the one to lose patience first. After Sanji had tried to sacrifice himself in Whole Cake, they reunited in Wano, where Zoro said he would never let anything like that happen again—that he wanted to stay by Sanji’s side forever, for whatever he needed or wanted. When Sanji had said they already had that because they were crewmates, Zoro kissed him, making it clear what kind of partnership he was talking about. Sanji could only smile, because it was everything he had wanted since the first time that idiot swordsman spoke to him.
“The cake I made today,” Sanji started quietly. “It was the same as the first cake I ever made.”
“Whoa, Curly, that’s impressive,” Zoro’s genuine surprise made Sanji smile.
“It was the first cake I ever made, back when I was still in Germa,” Sanji continued, watching as the brightness in Zoro’s face immediately faded, replaced by a scowl the moment he understood the implications.
“What did they do?” Zoro asked, his arms tightening impossibly more around Sanji, pulling him closer.
Sanji shrugged, pretending it didn’t affect him. “The usual: beat me up for cooking, for keeping the rats as company, for not being a monster like them...”
“They’re lucky I never crossed paths with them. Even I don’t know what I’d be capable of if I saw any of them in front of me.” Zoro’s chest rumbled, and Sanji could feel the anger vibrating through every muscle in his body. Conflicting emotions filled Sanji’s heart. As much as he felt lightheaded with the idea of someone willing to go to such extremes for him, he wasn’t sure he wanted Zoro getting his hands dirty because of his biological family.
“Marimo,” Sanji cupped Zoro’s face, forcing him to look down. “They’re not worth your time or talent. I’d say effort, but you’d take them down with your eyes closed and wouldn’t even need your three beauties there,” Sanji gestured at the three katanas at Zoro’s waist. “But thanks for offering, my dear.” Sanji pressed a kiss to Zoro’s chin, which immediately softened his expression.
“What they did to you is unforgivable. You were just a kid. And this cake thing… hating a child for baking a cake is insane.” Zoro could barely form a coherent sentence, his anger and indignation making his words come out choppy.
“I don’t even know if it was delicious,” Sanji murmured. “I didn’t get the chance to taste it before they destroyed it and beat me up.”
Sanji could swear Zoro was burning up. “I have absolutely no doubt it was the most amazing cake that shitty kingdom has ever seen.”
Sanji smiled, running his fingers along Zoro’s face. “Oh, Marimo, who would’ve thought you’d be so good at saying all the right things to comfort me?”
“But thinking about them still gets you down. It’s not fair, Curly.” Zoro pressed a kiss to the top of Sanji’s head.
“No, it’s not,” Sanji shifted just enough to change positions, swinging one leg over Zoro so he was now sitting in his lap, facing him. Zoro’s hands immediately found Sanji’s waist, holding him in place, while Sanji let his own fingers wander through the soft green strands of his partner’s hair. “But you know what? In the end, they actually put me on the right path to having something they never will.”
Zoro’s gaze was lost in the deep blue of Sanji’s visible eye. “And what’s that?”
“Love, Marimo.” Sanji smiled beautifully. “I found you after leaving that hellhole. I found our crewmates. I found Zeff and those idiots at Baratie. And I couldn’t be happier.”
“Ah, Curly, you’re one of a kind, you know that?”
“Since when do you know how to use big words, Marimo?” Sanji tugged at a strand of hair, making Zoro groan.
“Did you know I had dessert today?” Zoro ignored the question.
Sanji looked at him, confused. “So?”
Zoro smirked. “So, I might be able to help you finally find out if it tasted good or not.”
Sanji blinked a few times before the gears in his head clicked into place. And then, his lips curled into a matching smirk. “I don’t know. It’s been a while since dessert...”
“Doesn’t hurt to try... Sanji,” Zoro grinned like a predator and pulled Sanji closer.
“What a low blow, Marim—” Sanji tried to cover up his wide grin with a scolding, but it all went down the drain the moment their lips met.
And finally, Sanji could say that the cake did taste delicious—especially with a touch of Marimo to bring out the flavor.