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Chapter Text

Zoro sleeps soundly, his arms crossed over his chest, his swords resting within reach. The gentle sway of the Sunny does nothing to disturb him. He’s always been a deep sleeper—years of discipline have made it so. What was he dreaming about? Being in the arms of a man.

Zoro is a homosexual. 

He has always known. From the moment he was old enough to understand what attraction was, he knew he wasn’t drawn to women the way most men seemed to be. It was never something he agonized over. It just was. Like the feel of a sword hilt in his grip or the way the air tasted before a storm, his attraction to men was simply another truth in his life, one he carried without shame or pride.  

The crew knows.  

Luffy had never asked outright, but Zoro suspected he understood in his own way. Luffy never cared about things like that—people were people, and if Zoro was strong and loyal, that was all that mattered. Robin had figured it out before he ever had to say a word, her perceptive eyes catching onto things others missed. Nami had laughed when she realized, teasing him about it once before shrugging it off. “Like I care who you like,” she’d say, smirking. Usopp had been surprised, but his shock had melted into curiosity, then acceptance. Even Franky, with all his bombastic energy, had given Zoro a firm slap on the back and a grin. “Super,” was all he said.  

It wasn’t a secret. Not really.  

But Sanji doesn’t know.  

Zoro isn’t sure why he never told him. He’s never been the type to explain himself, and Sanji, with all his ridiculous declarations of love for women, seemed like the last person who needed to know. Their relationship is built on instinct and fire, on the clashes of wills and strength. Zoro doubts Sanji has ever looked at him and thought about anything beyond their next fight, their next challenge, their next stupid argument over something meaningless.  

And yet, sometimes, the thought lingers.  

Sanji doesn’t know.  

Would it change anything if he did?  

The answer should be obvious. Sanji would scoff, maybe make some smart remarks, but it wouldn’t matter. The idiot would still call him “marimo” and fight him over the last bottle of sake. He’d still kick him in the ribs when they sparred, still shove food at him even when they weren’t speaking. Zoro knows that much.  

But then there are moments—quick, fleeting—when something stirs. When Sanji is standing at the railing, a cigarette glowing in the night, lost in thought. When he moves in battle with a grace that’s almost unfair, the lines of his body—sharp and effortless. When he looks at Zoro with something sharp in his eyes, something that feels like a challenge and something else Zoro can’t name.  

Zoro shifts in his sleep, brow furrowing. He isn’t the type to dwell on things like this. But the thought lingers, slipping through the edges of his dreams.  

Sanji doesn’t know.  

And maybe—just maybe—Zoro wonders what would happen if he ever did.  

—

Sanji loves praise. He thrives on it, basks in it, soaks it up like sunlight after a storm. And why shouldn’t he? He deserves it. Cooking isn’t just some mindless chore to him—it’s an art, a craft, a passion he’s spent years perfecting. Every dish he makes is a piece of himself, an offering. And nothing fuels him more than watching someone take a bite and melt into satisfaction, their taste buds surrendering to his skill.  

The crew knows this. They give him what he craves.  

Robin, with her quiet, knowing smiles, always offers a soft, “This is exquisite, Sanji.” Nami, in her casual way, hums in delight, sometimes throwing him a smug, “At least you’re good for something.” Usopp exaggerates every reaction like he’s tasting food for the first time in his life, and Franky’s booming “SUPER!” rings through the kitchen like a victorious anthem. Even Luffy, dumb as he is, will sometimes pause mid-chew and beam, exclaiming, “Sanji! This is the best thing ever!”—even if he says it about everything he eats.  

But there’s one bastard who never says a damn word.  

Zoro.  

That moss-headed, brainless brute eats Sanji’s food like he’s stuffing coal into a furnace—efficient, mindless, and completely indifferent. No comment, no nod of approval, no reaction whatsoever. Just grabs his plate, devours it like he’s in a rush to get back to his stupid swords, and moves on like nothing happened.  

It pisses Sanji off.  

Not because he wants a compliment—hell no. It’s just basic manners. A normal, decent person would at least acknowledge the guy who feeds them every day. But no, not Zoro. The idiot acts like food is just fuel, something to keep him going, something that doesn’t require appreciation. It’s infuriating.  

Sanji scowls as he slices strawberries into perfect, even pieces, letting his knife hit the cutting board in sharp, rhythmic beats. He focuses on the task at hand—an afternoon snack for his beloved Nami-swan and Robin-chwan. Sweet pastries, golden and flaky, their buttery layers crisp to perfection. A delicate drizzle of honey, a sprinkle of sugar, and the fresh fruit arranged just right. Pure perfection.  

And then, just as he’s putting the finishing touches on the tray, he senses it.  

A disturbance.  

A hand inches toward the plate.  

Sanji doesn’t even need to turn around. "Oi."  

Luffy freezes mid-swipe, his fingers hovering just above a delicate tart. "Sanji, I’m hungry—just one bite!"  

Sanji’s eye twitches. "Hell no!"  

Luffy makes a grab for it anyway.  

Sanji moves like lightning, grabbing a pan and swinging it with precise force. Luffy yelps, dodging just in time, but Sanji is already stepping forward, kicking him square in the gut and sending him skidding back across the floor. "This—" he gestures at the tray, "is for Nami-swan and Robin-chwan, you damn freeloader! Hands off!"  

"But I’m the captain!" Luffy whines, rubbing his stomach. "And I’m dying of hunger!"  

Sanji scoffs, pointing the pan at him. "You just had lunch an hour ago, you bottomless pit! Go bother Usopp if you want food so bad!"  

"But yours tastes better!" Luffy complains, stretching his arms toward the counter for another attempt.  

Sanji kicks him again, this time launching him right out of the kitchen door.  

"Get lost!"  

A distant, “Meanieeeee!” echoes down the hall as Luffy finally gives up.  

Sanji exhales, running a hand through his hair before turning back to his perfectly arranged plates, untouched and pristine.  

At least someone will appreciate this meal, he thinks, shaking off his irritation. He carefully lifts the tray and heads toward the deck, already imagining the way Nami’s face will light up when she sees the fresh fruit, the way Robin’s voice will hum with quiet approval. That’s what matters. That’s what keeps him going.  

But the annoyance lingers, bubbling under his skin.  

He isn’t actually mad at Luffy. He’s used to his antics. It’s the other thing—the real thing—eating at him.  

Zoro.  

The thought makes his jaw tighten.  

Sanji doesn’t even like the guy, so why the hell does it bother him so much? Why does he care that Zoro eats his food without so much as a grunt of acknowledgement? Why does it feel like a goddamn insult every time the bastard sits there, eating in complete silence, never once acting like Sanji’s cooking is worth a single damn word?  

It’s stupid. It shouldn’t matter.  

Sanji pushes the thought away, forcing himself to focus on the present. He steps onto the deck, tray in hand, smiling as he spots Nami and Robin lounging under the afternoon sun.  

It’s fine. It’s whatever.  

—

Sanji marches across the deck, tray in hand, irritation humming beneath his skin. The afternoon sun burns lazily overhead, the salty breeze ruffles his hair, and there—sprawled out like a lazy piece of shit—is him.

Zoro sleeps like he has nothing better to do. His arms are crossed, swords propped up within reach, his stupid face relaxed like he doesn’t have a single care in the world. A light snore escapes him.  

Sanji scowls.  

He has no right to look that peaceful. Not when he’s the one riling Sanji up without even trying.  

Sanji lifts his foot and kicks Zoro square in the ribs.  

"Oi. Wake up, moss-for-brains."  

Zoro jerks awake with a sharp inhale, one hand already gripping the hilt of a sword. His gaze snaps to Sanji, eye still heavy with sleep but already filled with irritation. "The hell, curly brow?!"  

Sanji smirks, rolling his shoulders. "You were snoring. Thought you were choking on your own stupidity."  

Zoro groans, rubbing his side. "You don’t just kick people awake—" His voice stalls as his eyes land on the plate in Sanji’s hand. He frowns. "What’s that?"  

Sanji plops down beside him, setting the plate between them. "Onigiri."  

Zoro eyes him with immediate suspicion. "Why?"  

Sanji exhales sharply, already regretting this. "Because I felt like it, shitty swordsman."  

Zoro squints like he’s trying to see through some elaborate trick. "You kicked me awake to give me food?"  

"Yeah."  

Zoro stares, searching for a catch. A prank. A reason. He finds none.  

Sanji glares right back, arms crossed, waiting.  

Finally, Zoro grumbles under his breath and grabs one of the onigiri. He inspects it—perfectly shaped, simple but balanced—then takes a bite.  

Sanji watches him. Waits.

Zoro chews.  

Chews some more.  

And then keeps eating, like it’s nothing. Like it’s just food.

Sanji tightens his jaw. His fingers twitch against his knee.  

No comment. No nod of approval. No "Hey, this is good." Just silence.  

Zoro finishes the first one, grabs another without hesitation, and continues eating without even looking at Sanji.  

Sanji can feel his pulse in his teeth.  

He leans back against the railing, staring at the horizon, pretending he isn’t grinding his molars.  

Ungrateful bastard.

Minutes pass in silence. The waves roll gently, the ship rocks beneath them. Somewhere in the distance, Luffy is probably causing some sort of disaster.  

Zoro finishes another onigiri. Still doesn’t say shit.

Sanji doesn’t even want a compliment. That’s not the point. The point is— what kind of person just eats without a word?!

Sanji shifts, tilting his head slightly. "Tch. You eat like a damn machine, you know that?"  

Zoro side-eyes him. "What’s that supposed to mean?"  

"It means you’re rude as hell, moss-head." Sanji scoffs. "Most people say thanks when someone makes them food."  

Zoro chews, swallows, and—still—says nothing.  

Sanji’s eye twitches.  

"Are you seriously not gonna say anything?"  

Zoro shrugs. "What do you want me to say?"  

Sanji throws up a hand. "I dunno, maybe ‘Hey Sanji, this is pretty good!’ or ‘Wow, this is the best thing I’ve ever put in my dumbass mouth!’—literally anything other than silence, you ungrateful piece of shit."  

Zoro pauses mid-bite, chewing slowly, like he’s actually considering it. Then, after a long, drawn-out swallow, he finally opens his mouth.  

"It’s fine.”  

Sanji snaps.

"Fine?!"  

Zoro raises an eyebrow at him. "Yeah?"  

Sanji stares at him, barely breathing. "Fine. You’re telling me I kicked you awake, brought you food—good food, by the way—and all you have to say is fine?"  

Zoro shrugs. "What? You expected me to kiss your feet or something?"  

Sanji’s fists clench. "I expected basic human decency, you shitty moss-head."  

Zoro smirks, licking a stray grain of rice from his thumb. "That’s your mistake."  

Sanji wants to launch him over the railing. He wants to knock that smug look right off his face. He wants—  

He wants Zoro to take another damn bite, close his eye for half a second, and just admit it’s good. 

But Zoro just keeps eating, completely unbothered. Like this whole thing isn’t driving Sanji insane. 

Sanji exhales, rubbing his temples. He shouldn’t care. He doesn’t care.  

He glares at the plate. Only one onigiri left.  

Zoro grabs it.  

Sanji doesn’t even blink before his foot shoots out, stopping Zoro’s wrist.  

Zoro freezes, looking up with an annoyed glare. "What now?"  

Sanji keeps his foot there, pressing lightly against Zoro’s arm, just enough to stall him.  

"Say it," Sanji mutters.  

Zoro frowns. "Say what?”  

Sanji meets his eye, dead serious. "Say it’s good."  

Zoro’s expression shifts—just a flicker, barely there, but Sanji sees it. He sees the hesitation, the tension that wasn’t there before.  

Then, just as quickly, it’s gone. Zoro rolls his eye and takes a bite anyway, ignoring Sanji’s foot entirely.  

Sanji watches him chew. Slow. Thoughtful.  

Then—finally—Zoro sighs. It’s small, barely audible, but it’s there.  

"...It’s good."  

Sanji blinks.  

Zoro looks straight ahead, like he hasn’t just admitted it, like it’s no big deal.  

Sanji drops his foot, leaning back against the railing. He exhales through his nose, staring out at the waves.  

"...Damn right it is."  

Zoro smirks, finishing the last bite.  

Sanji doesn’t even realize he’s smiling.  

—

Luffy’s voice shatters the moment.  

"LAND!!"

The entire ship jolts with energy. Footsteps pound against the deck, voices rise in excitement, and suddenly, the tension between Zoro and Sanji dissolves into the chaos of a new destination.  

Zoro pops the last bit of onigiri into his mouth like nothing happened, while Sanji pulls himself back to his feet, dusting off his pants.  

Sanji exhales, rolling his shoulders. Whatever. It’s not like that moment meant anything.  

"Everyone get ready!" Nami’s voice cuts through the noise as she strides across the deck. "We dock in ten minutes!"

The Sunny glides smoothly into port, the scent of salt giving way to the richer aromas of a bustling town—grilled meat, baked bread, the faintest hint of fresh fruit. A lively marketplace sprawls along the docks, and beyond it, cobbled streets wind between buildings painted in warm hues.  

As soon as the ship settles, Zoro stretches, grabbing his swords. "I’m heading to a tavern." 

Sanji barely has time to roll his eyes before Nami’s hand clamps down on Zoro’s shoulder.  

"Oh no, you don’t," she says sweetly—too sweetly. "You are not wandering off alone."

Zoro frowns, crazy witch. "What’s your problem?"

"My problem is that we’d have to waste an hour searching for you when you inevitably get lost," she says, tightening her grip. "So Sanji’s going with you."

Sanji jolts. "Hah?!"

Nami turns to him with a smile that is definitely a threat. "You don’t mind, do you, Sanji?"

Sanji opens his mouth to protest. Of course he minds. Babysitting moss-head on land is even worse than dealing with him on the ship. But before he can argue, Nami tilts her head, expression expectant.  

Sanji deflates instantly. "Okay.”

Zoro scowls, shoving Nami’s hand off. "I don’t need a damn babysitter."

Sanji smirks, shoving his hands in his pockets. "Right, because you totally wouldn’t end up in a back alley six miles from here, wondering how the hell you got there."

Zoro glares. "I wouldn’t."

Sanji tilts his head. "Oh yeah? What town is this?"

Zoro blinks. And looks around.  

Silence.  

Sanji smirks wider. "Exactly."

Zoro groans, rubbing his temple. "Whatever. Let’s just go."

Sanji gestures dramatically. "After you, moss-for-brains."

Zoro mutters something under his breath—probably something very unkind—but starts walking toward the docks.  

Sanji sighs, trailing after him. Babysitting duty, huh?  

Could be worse.  

At least he’ll get to see how many times Zoro almost walks the wrong way before he steps in.  

—

They don’t make it three minutes before Zoro makes a wrong turn.  

“Oi!" Sanji grabs the back of his haramaki, yanking him to a stop. "We’re going this way, dumbass."

Zoro yanks his arm away. “I knew that."

Sanji barks out a laugh. "Right. Sure. You were just taking a scenic route down that dead-end alley."

Zoro huffs, turning in the right direction without acknowledging him.  

Sanji watches him, irritation still simmering from earlier. Fine. The bastard did say the food was good, but only after Sanji practically forced it out of him.  

And now he’s just walking around like nothing happened. Like that whole moment on the ship didn’t exist.  

Sanji grits his teeth. That’s what’s so annoying about him.

Zoro never reacts to things the way a normal person would. He takes and takes—Sanji’s food, Sanji’s time, Sanji’s attention—without ever giving anything back.  

And somehow, it makes Sanji want to push even harder.

They keep walking through the town, the streets lively with merchants and townsfolk calling out their wares. A breeze rolls through, carrying the scent of roasted meat from a food stall nearby.  

Sanji’s about to comment on it—maybe grab a bite—when Zoro suddenly stops.  

Sanji nearly bumps into him. "Oi, what the hell—"

And then he follows Zoro’s gaze.  

Not toward the entrance of the tavern.  

But toward a man standing just outside it.  

Tall, lean but strong, with dark, neatly tied-back hair and sharp, angular features. A confident smirk tugs at his lips as he swirls a drink in his hand, watching the street with an easy kind of presence.  

Zoro stares.

Sanji blinks.  

Zoro—Roronoa Zoro—was staring.  

Not in a way that meant a fight. Not in a way that meant trouble.  

In a way that meant something else entirely.

Sanji’s stomach twists.  

The man notices, of course. He tilts his head, the smirk deepening like he knows exactly what kind of effect he’s having.  

Zoro shifts his weight, jaw tightening.  

Sanji sees the moment he snaps out of it. Sees him shove whatever that was down so fast it might as well have never happened.  

Zoro strides forward, shouldering past the group of men standing near the tavern entrance, shoving the door open and disappearing inside without one word.

Sanji is left standing there.  

Processing.  

What the hell was that?  

What exactly did he just witness?  

Sanji glances back at the man, who—the absolute bastard—raises his glass in a silent toast before turning away and stepping inside the tavern himself.  

Sanji’s fingers twitch.  

Oh, hell no.

Something about that sits wrong.

Not like danger.  

Something that makes Sanji’s skin itch.  

Scowling, he strides forward and follows Zoro inside.  

—

The tavern is dimly lit, thick with the smell of alcohol, sizzling meat, and the faint sting of spilled rum soaking into old wooden floors. The low hum of voices rises and falls around them, drunken laughter and the occasional crash of a dropped tankard filling the space. It’s loud. Chaotic.  

Sanji doesn’t care. His mind is still stuck on what the hell he just witnessed outside.  

He follows Zoro as the bastard strides ahead like nothing happened, shoulders squared, swords clinking lightly at his side. He’s acting like he wasn’t just staring at that man outside with a look Sanji never expected to see from him.  

Sanji watches him slide into a booth near the back, in the farthest corner of the tavern. Typical. Even here, the dumbass is choosing a position where he can see everything. The habit of a swordsman, or maybe just a guy who doesn’t trust the world enough to let his guard down.  

Sanji slides in across from him, arms crossed.  

Zoro leans back in his seat, raising a hand to flag down a passing waitress. "Beer."

Sanji clicks his tongue. "That’s it? Just beer?"

Zoro shrugs. "What else do I need?"

Sanji glares at him. "Maybe some self-awareness."  

The waitress drops off the beer, and Zoro takes a long sip, utterly unfazed.  

Sanji drums his fingers against the table. He’s pissed. Not just because Zoro is brushing everything off like usual, but because—because—  

Because what the hell was that back there?

Sanji exhales sharply through his nose, forcing himself to sound casual. "Oi."  

Zoro doesn’t look up.  

Sanji’s jaw tightens. "What was that outside?"  

Zoro lifts his gaze just slightly, eye lazily focused on Sanji like he doesn’t get why he’s asking.  

Sanji leans in slightly, lowering his voice. "Don’t play dumb, moss-head."  

Zoro huffs. "I don’t play dumb. That’s just how I am."  

Sanji glares. "Funny. Real funny. Now answer me.”

Zoro takes another sip of his beer, unbothered. "Nothing happened."

Sanji grits his teeth. "Bullshit."

Zoro sets his beer down with a dull thunk. "Why do you care?"  

Sanji wants to strangle him. "Because I just watched you stand frozen like a damn idiot staring at some guy like—" He stops. He doesn’t want to finish that sentence.  

Zoro raises an eyebrow. "Like what?"  

Sanji clenches his fists under the table. He’s not going to say it. Not going to say like how I stare at women. Not going to say like how a man stares when he wants something.

Zoro tilts his head slightly, watching him with mild curiosity.  

Sanji exhales, frustrated. "You know what I mean."  

Zoro leans back against the booth. "I was checking him out."  

The words drop so casually, so simply, like he’s commenting on the damn weather.  

Sanji blinks.  

Zoro looks back at his beer, unaffected.  

Sanji stares at him, brain stuttering. "You were—" His voice cracks slightly. He clears his throat. "The hell are you saying?"  

Zoro takes another slow sip. "I said I was checking him out."  

Sanji grips the edge of the table. His pulse is doing something stupid, but he ignores it. "You mean—"  

Zoro sighs, setting his mug down again. He finally looks at Sanji, an expression unreadable.  

"I like men."

Sanji’s world slows.  

The tavern noise fades into a distant murmur, like someone stuffed cotton into his ears.  

He sits there, unmoving. His fingers tighten against the wood beneath them.  

Zoro doesn’t look embarrassed. Doesn’t look nervous.  

He just looks… done. Like he’s carried those words for a long time, and now that they’re out, he doesn’t give a damn what happens next.  

Sanji swallows. "Since when?"  

Zoro shrugs. "Since always."  

Sanji’s jaw clenches. Always.

Sanji grips his knee under the table. His brain is working overtime, flipping through every memory, every conversation, every argument they’ve ever had. Always. That means—  

"The crew knows?" His voice comes out hoarse.  

Zoro nods. "Most of them."  

Sanji tenses. "Most?"  

“Except you."  

Sanji blinks. His chest tightens, and he doesn’t know why. "Why the hell was I the only one left out?"  

Zoro tilts his head, looking mildly amused. “I didn't think it needed to be said.”

Sanji opens his mouth to argue—but stops.  

He catches himself in the reflection of Zoro’s beer mug—leaned forward, tense, shoulders squared like he’s ready for a fight.  

He clasps his mouth shut. Forces himself to sit back.  

His fingers tap against his knee.  

Zoro just watches him.  

Sanji swallows. He doesn’t know why this is throwing him off so hard, but it is. And Zoro sees it.

And that pisses him off even more.  

Sanji exhales sharply, snatching the beer from Zoro’s hand and taking a deep swig.  

Zoro raises an eyebrow. "That’s mine."  

Sanji slams it back on the table. "Shut up."  

Zoro smirks, leaning back.  

Sanji scowls.

After a few drinks, Sanji is dead weight.

Zoro mutters a string of curses as he drags the idiot through the darkened streets, Sanji’s entire body slumped against him like he meant to make this as difficult as possible. His breath is warm against Zoro’s neck, his arm slung lazily over Zoro’s shoulder, fingers loosely gripping the fabric of his haramaki like he’s actually relying on Zoro to keep him upright.  

The realization makes something uneasy settle in Zoro’s chest.  

"You’re the worst drunk."

Sanji hums, head lolling slightly. "M’not drunk…”  

Zoro scoffs, shifting his grip as Sanji nearly slips. "Yeah, and I’m the damn Pirate King."  

Sanji lets out a slow, lazy chuckle, body relaxing further against Zoro’s side. "I’d pay money to see that."  

Zoro rolls his eyes. "Shut up and tell me where the ship is.”  

Sanji squints at the streets, blinking like he’s seeing them for the first time. "Uh… left."  

Zoro follows the direction.  

Two minutes later, they’re standing in front of a brick wall.  

Zoro glares at him. "Are you kidding me?”  

Sanji furrows his brows, tilting his head. "Huh. It felt like the right way."  

Zoro groans, dragging a hand down his face. "I’m going to kill you.”  

Sanji snickers, his breath warm against Zoro’s skin. "You love me too much for that, marimo."  

Zoro chokes.

Sanji doesn’t notice. He just sighs, shifting closer, his fingers curling slightly against Zoro’s chest. "Why are you so warm…?"  

Zoro stiffens. His brain completely short circuits. 

What the hell is he doing? He's going to kill him. Seriously.

Sanji hums, eyes half-lidded. "Feels nice."  

Zoro clenches his jaw, forcibly ignoring the way his stomach does something stupid. "Shut up.”  

Sanji huffs out a soft laugh but doesn’t move away. If anything, he presses in further, like he’s trying to soak up as much warmth as possible.  

Zoro grits his teeth, not thinking about how easy it would be to just—  

No. Absolutely not.

He shoves that thought into the deepest, darkest part of his brain and locks it up forever. 

"Oi." His voice is rougher than he intends. "If you don’t tell me where the ship is in the next five seconds, I’m leaving your drunk ass here."  

Sanji blinks up at him, his expression unreadable in the dim streetlights. For a moment, he doesn’t say anything.  

Then, with a soft sigh,

"Fine, fine…" He lifts a lazy hand, pointing the opposite direction. "That way."  

Zoro exhales sharply, ignoring the way his ears feel stupidly warm, and starts moving.  

They stumble through the streets, Sanji’s weight far too noticeable, his scent annoyingly pleasant—something warm and spiced, mixed with the faint lingering scent of cigarettes. His shampoo was nice. Was it lavender? Zoro grits his teeth, not letting himself focus on that.  

Finally, mercifully, the ship comes into view. The Sunny stands at the dock like a beacon of salvation, the soft glow of lanterns lighting the deck.  

"Took you long enough…" Sanji mutters, voice low and teasing.  

Zoro twitches. "I should’ve left you in that damn alley."  

Sanji just laughs, lazy and warm, like the idea is somehow amusing to him.  

Zoro scowls, ignoring the way his heart does something stupid again.

He really needs a drink.  

Or ten.  

Zoro finally steps onto the Sunny’s deck, dragging Sanji along like a sack of potatoes. His patience is hanging by a single, frayed thread, and if this bastard dares to test him any further, he’s going straight into the sea.  

"Oi," Zoro grunts, adjusting his grip as Sanji sags against him like he’s actively trying to become dead weight. "We’re here. Let go."  

Sanji doesn’t move.  

Zoro exhales sharply through his nose.  

"Sanji."  

No response.  

"Curly brows!"  

Sanji finally stirs, head tilting slightly against Zoro’s shoulder. "Mmm… You're comfortable…"  

Zoro’s entire body locks up.

No. Absolutely not.

"The hell does that mean?!" Zoro snaps, attempting to shake Sanji off. "Get the hell off me!"  

Sanji hums, clinging tighter.

Zoro chokes, is Sanji trying to break his ribs?

"Oi! You—" Zoro grabs Sanji’s wrists, prying them off his haramaki. For a moment, he’s victorious. He manages to push Sanji away—  

—Only for Sanji to immediately grab onto him again, this time hooking his fingers through Zoro’s belt loops.  

Zoro freezes. 

"OI!"

Sanji blinks up at him, looking way too smug for someone committing actual crimes. "Wha’?"  

Zoro twitches. "What the hell do you think you’re doing?!"  

Sanji shrugs, his grip firm like he means to make Zoro suffer. "Holdin’ on…"  

"TO WHAT?"  

Sanji tilts his head slightly, his half-lidded gaze roaming over Zoro’s face like he’s actually considering his answer. Then he hums, like he’s reached a conclusion. "You’re warm…"  

Zoro flushes red.

He wants to shove Sanji away—he really does. But for some reason, his arms feel stupidly frozen in place, and his brain refuses to work properly because—  

Because what the hell kind of statement is that?  

"I swear to god," Zoro growls, shoving at him again. "Let go, or I’m throwing you overboard." 

Sanji, completely unaffected, exhales a slow sigh and rests his forehead against Zoro’s shoulder. "Stop yellin’…"  

Zoro stiffens up instantly.

Oh, HELL no.

"LET GO, YOU DAMN DRUNK!" Zoro yells, but it's barely above a whisper.

"Make me."  

Zoro sees red.

He grabs Sanji’s wrists, pulls them free, and throws him onto the deck. Sanji lands with a graceless thud, sprawling out on his back.  

"Rude…" Sanji mutters, eyes slipping closed.  

Zoro exhales sharply, dragging a hand down his face. "Oh, for the love of—Go to sleep, you bastard."  

Sanji just groans, mumbling something about stubborn swordsmen before curling up like he’s actually considering passing out right there on the deck.  

Zoro turns, done.

And then—  

"Eh? What’s goin’ on?"  

Zoro freezes.

Slowly, with absolute dread, he looks up.  

Luffy stands near the mast, head tilted in confusion.  

"Sanji, why were you grabbing Zoro’s pants?”

Zoro wants to die.

Sanji groans from the deck, covering his face with one arm. "Goddamn interruptions…"  

Zoro ignores the way his face burns. "It’s not what it looks like.”

Luffy blinks, completely unaffected. "Are you guys wrestling? Can I join?"  

“No!" Zoro hisses.

Luffy pouts. "Aww…"  

Sanji finally sighs, rolling onto his side. "Go away, Luffy…"  

Zoro grits his teeth, stomping toward the hatch before he actually loses his mind. He hears Luffy laugh behind him, the sound way too amused for his liking.  

"You guys are weird,” Luffy calls after him.  

Zoro groans and keeps walking.  

He really needs a nap.

Or to just forget tonight ever happened.  

—

Sanji wakes up to the sound of waves lapping against the Sunny’s hull, the occasional creak of the wood beneath him, and a pounding headache that makes him immediately regret being alive.  

He groans, shifting slightly—only to feel something hard digging into his back.  

He blinks blearily.  

He’s on the deck.  

The realization hits him like a sack of bricks.  

Sanji never falls asleep outside the crew’s quarters. No matter how wasted he gets, his drunk ass always manages to find a bed, a hammock, something.  

But right now, he’s sprawled out on the ship’s goddamn deck like a piece of discarded laundry, and his whole body is stiff from a night spent in an unnatural position.  

"What the hell…" he mutters, voice raspy with sleep.  

His skull throbs. He grits his teeth, pressing the heel of his palm to his temple as he tries to remember.

Last night was a blur of alcohol and poor decisions.

He remembers drinking. A lot. He remembers the tavern. He remembers bickering with that bastard. And then—  

Sanji stills.  

Bits and pieces of the night come rushing back in painful clarity.  

He remembers touching Zoro.  

He remembers grabbing onto him. Holding onto his belt loops.

Sanji’s stomach twists.

His pulse stutters as the full weight of his actions slams into him.  

What the hell was I thinking?!

His fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt, gripping hard as nausea rolls through him.  

Not because of Zoro.  

Because of himself.  

Because he let himself act like that.

Because he was clinging to Zoro like some pathetic drunk, acting like—like—  

Like he wanted it. Wanted him.

Sanji recoils from the thought, his whole body tensing.  

No. No, that was just the alcohol.

He was wasted. He didn’t know what the hell he was doing. He would never do something like that sober.  

The idea alone makes his skin burn with humiliation.  

He hates it.  

Hates that he let himself be that vulnerable. Hates that Zoro saw him like that. Hates that, deep down, a part of him remembers how warm Zoro felt.  

Sanji grits his teeth, shoving the thought out of his mind.  

It doesn’t matter.  

It was a drunken mistake.  

A stupid, humiliating, never-should-have-happened mistake.  

And now, all he has to do is pretend it never did.

Sanji pushes himself up with a groan, his body protesting the movement. His limbs are heavy, his head is killing him, but none of that matters.  

What matters is getting his shit together.  

What matters is forgetting.

And making sure Zoro does, too. 

—

Sanji moves on autopilot, hands working through the familiar motions of breakfast prep. Chop the onions, beat the eggs, slice the bread—simple, routine tasks that should keep his mind focused.

But it isn’t working.  

No matter how hard he tries, the memory of last night won’t leave him alone.

The feeling of Zoro’s belt loops under his fingers. The warmth of his body. The way Sanji clung to him.

Goddammit. 

Sanji clenches his jaw and turns up the heat on the stove.  

What the hell was that? Why had he been so—so clingy? So comfortable? It had to be the alcohol. Had to be. There was no other explanation.  

Sanji groans under his breath and focuses on the eggs sizzling in the pan.  

He just needs to get through breakfast. Then he can forget all of this and move on with his life like a normal person.  

He prays for peace.  

Which is exactly why the universe sends him Zoro.

The door swings open, and heavy boots thump against the floor.  

Sanji doesn’t have to look. He already knows. 

His fingers tighten around the spatula.  

The worst part?  

Zoro acts like nothing happened.

He walks in, scratches his chest, grabs a sake bottle from the counter like it’s perfectly normal to drink this early, and drops into a chair.  

Sanji waits. Waits for some kind of reaction. Some comment, some anything about last night.  

But Zoro doesn’t even glance at him.  

Like it was just another night. Like it didn’t matter.  

Sanji isn’t sure if that makes him feel relieved or pissed off.

Then—  

A scent drifts over.  

Zoro’s scent.  

Sweat and steel, a lingering trace of alcohol, and something warm, something heavy. Was he working out this early? Did he not sleep? Ah, why should he even care?

It’s so stupid—he’s smelled Zoro a million times before, usually after a fight or during training—but for some reason, today it hits him differently.  

Sanji barely has time to register it before a sudden warm trickle slides down from his nose.  

At first, he doesn’t realize what it is.  

Then he blinks, feels the wet warmth trailing over his upper lip, and glances down—  

Blood.

Sanji’s stomach churns.

His breath catches in his throat. His whole body freezes.

No.

This doesn’t happen. 

This only happens when he’s around Nami or Robin.

Never—never for him.

His heart slams against his ribs, panic bubbling up in his chest. His hands fly up to wipe at his face, but the moment his fingers smear against the blood, the horror truly sets in.  

Zoro finally looks up, brow raised. "Oi. You good?"  

Sanji nearly dies on the spot.

"Shut the hell up, bastard!" he snaps, spinning away so fast it makes him dizzy. He snatches a napkin from the counter and violently wipes at his nose, pressing it hard to stop the bleeding.  

Zoro leans back in his chair, watching him with that same infuriatingly casual expression. "What’s your problem?"  

"My problem?!" Sanji whirls back around, pointing the spatula at him. "You walking in here all reeking of alcohol first thing in the damn morning!"  

Zoro scoffs, taking a swig of sake. "Not my fault you’ve got the nose of a damn bloodhound."

Sanji bristles. "It’s called being a chef, you muscle-headed moron. Unlike you, I actually have refined senses."  

"Yeah? Then maybe you should use them to make breakfast faster, cook."  

Sanji seethes. "Don’t rush me, you shithead! If you’re so impatient, why don’t you get off your lazy ass and cook for yourself?"  

"Because you’d just bitch about me ruining the kitchen."

"Damn right I would!"

Zoro smirks. "So you admit I’d do a better job."  

Sanji lunges. "I swear to god, I will kick you into next week! That doesn't even make sense!"

Zoro just lifts his sake bottle slightly, like he’s toasting him. "Try it, love cook."

Sanji almost takes the bait—almost lets himself go for the fight—  

But then Zoro stretches, rolling his shoulders, and the shift in movement sends another wave of his scent straight toward Sanji—  

And his stupid body reacts again.

The blood hasn’t even stopped yet.  

Sanji grits his teeth, pressing the napkin harder against his nose, willing the heat in his face to go away. "Just shut up and wait for your damn food."

Zoro chuckles under his breath, but thankfully, he lets it go.  

Sanji forces himself to breathe.

He just needs to get through breakfast.

Then, he can figure out what the hell is wrong with him.

—

Sanji keeps the napkin pressed against his nose, trying to get the blood to stop. The last thing he needs is someone noticing and asking questions.  

But his body still feels weird—too warm, too tense. His chest is tight like he's just sprinted across the deck, and no matter how much he tells himself to calm the hell down, it isn't working.  

Across the kitchen, Zoro still sits like nothing happened, sipping his damn sake. Completely unfazed.

Sanji glares at him out of the corner of his eye. He should say something. Kick him out. Do something to get rid of him.  

But before he can—  

The door swings open, and Luffy bursts in.  

"MEAT!”  

Sanji groans. "For the last time, you dumbass, breakfast isn't ready yet!"

Luffy ignores him completely, beelining for the counter. His hand shoots out toward the pan—  

Sanji moves on instinct.  

"DON’T EVEN THINK ABOUT IT!"  

He whips a ladle at Luffy’s head. It smacks him right between the eyes with a loud thunk.  

Luffy reels back, clutching his forehead. "OW! Why do you always throw things?!"  

"Because you never learn!" Sanji snaps. "Food takes time, dumbass. If you keep trying to steal it before it’s done, I’ll shave your head bald while you sleep."

Luffy gasps, horrified.

Sanji narrows his eyes. "Try me."

Before Luffy can whine any further, Usopp and Chopper enter next, chatting about something, followed by Nami and Robin.  

Sanji immediately straightens, shoving the bloody napkin into his pocket. Focus. Be normal.

"Morning, ladies~!" He turns on the charm, flashing them a dazzling smile. "What would my lovely goddesses like for breakfast today?"  

Nami rolls her eyes, but there's amusement in it. "Just the usual, Sanji. And extra coffee."

Robin gives him a knowing smile. "Tea for me, please."

"Of course, my queens!" Sanji whirls back to the stove, trying to distract himself with work.  

The kitchen fills with noise as the crew settles in, Luffy whining about his lump, Usopp exaggerating some story about his latest invention, and Chopper laughing along. It’s lively. Comfortable.  

Sanji should feel relieved. The more people around, the easier it is to not think.

But despite all the talking, despite the warm, familiar chaos—  

Neither he nor Zoro say a word.

They sit on opposite ends of the room, silent.  

Zoro keeps drinking his sake, eyes half-lidded, seemingly unbothered by the conversation around him.  

Sanji focuses on the food, hands moving automatically.  

They don’t look at each other.  

They don’t speak.  

Sanji moves through the kitchen like a machine. He plates the food, sets everything just right, makes sure the eggs are perfect, the toast is crisp, and the coffee is exactly how Nami likes it. He keeps his hands busy, keeps his mind off of—  

Don't think about it. Just serve the damn food. 

One by one, he sets the plates in front of the crew, his usual flourish missing. He doesn’t announce the dishes like he normally would. No dramatic twirls, no exaggerated bows, no calling Robin a goddess or swearing his eternal devotion to Nami. Just quiet movements.

And most importantly—he doesn’t look at Zoro.  

He refuses to.  

Even when he sets the bastard’s plate down in front of him, he does it quickly, like he’s handling something radioactive. He doesn’t even glance in his direction.  

He turns to leave—  

But before he can take a single step, fingers snag his wrist.  

Sanji freezes.  

A sharp jolt shoots up his arm, like he’s been electrocuted.

Zoro doesn’t grip him hard—just firm enough to stop him. Sanji should shake him off. Should snap at him, kick him, do something.

But he doesn’t move.  

Slowly, slowly, Zoro tugs. Not enough to force him, just enough to make him.  

Sanji resists for half a second—  

Then finally, reluctantly, he lets himself be pulled.  

His head tilts just slightly. His gaze lifts.

And for the first time that morning—  

Sanji looks at Zoro.  

It’s a mistake.  

Because Zoro’s already looking at him. 

Not smug. Not amused. Not anything Sanji expects.

Just calm. Just watching.

Sanji’s breath catches.

His heartbeat hammers against his ribs.  

Then—  

Zoro lets go.  

Like it never happened.  

"Whatever." He grabs his beer, tilts it back, and takes a long, slow drink—like he didn’t just do that.

Sanji gapes at him.  

That’s it? Just—just whatever?! Like he didn’t just make Sanji look at him?!  

Sanji’s body burns with a mix of confusion, irritation, and—something else. Something he doesn’t want to name.  

And then—  

He hears the whispering.  

Sanji stiffens.

He shifts his gaze, just slightly, scanning the room.  

The crew is watching them.  

Luffy's eyes flick back and forth between them, mouth full of food. Usopp and Chopper are hunched together, whispering like kids sharing a secret. Nami is smirking over her coffee. Robin just sips her tea, her expression unreadable, but her eyes are amused.

Sanji's face flares with heat.  

"What the hell are you all staring at?!" he snaps.  

Luffy swallows. "I dunno. You guys are being weird."

"We’re not being weird!" Sanji snaps again, too fast, too defensive.

Zoro shrugs, completely unfazed. "He’s just being sensitive today."

"I AM NOT— YOU KNOW WHAT?!" Sanji grits his teeth, shoving a chair back with his foot. "I don’t have time for this shit."

He storms off toward the pantry, needing an excuse to leave, to breathe, to get away from—  

From—  

Whatever the hell this is.  

Behind him, he can still hear them whispering.  

Away from the heavy stares. Away from Zoro’s infuriating, unreadable expression. Away from the confusing heat curling in his gut, spreading under his skin like an itch he can’t scratch.

What the hell was that?! 

He should’ve kicked the bastard in the face. He should’ve pulled away, made a scene, called him out for grabbing his wrist like that—but he didn’t.

And that’s the part that pisses him off the most.  

But just as he reaches for the pantry door—  

A voice breaks through.  

"Sanji, are you blushing?"  

Sanji whirls around so fast he nearly gives himself whiplash.  

"I AM NOT—!"  

It’s Nami. Smirking into her coffee, eyes sharp with way too much interest.

Across from her, Robin lets out a soft chuckle. "My, my," she muses. "It’s rare to see you flustered, cook-san."

"I AM NOT FLUSTERED.” His voice cracks a little.

Usopp leans forward, eyes narrowing in exaggerated suspicion. "You totally are."

"No, I’m not!"

"Then why are you yelling?"  

"BECAUSE YOU’RE ALL PISSING ME OFF!"

"Wow." Franky blinks. "Sanji really is acting weird today."

"Told you!" Luffy grins around a mouthful of food. "Something’s up!"

Sanji grits his teeth, rage boiling in his chest. "Nothing is up, you absolute morons! Eat your damn food and stop staring at me like I’ve grown a second head!"

Zoro lets out a loud chuckle. "More like he lost one."

Sanji snaps his glare at him, furious. "Shut the hell up, mosshead!"

Zoro just smirks. "What? I didn’t say anything.”

"YES, YOU DID, YOU— YOU—!"

But before he can find a proper insult, Robin hums thoughtfully. "Actually," she says, tapping a finger against her chin. "It’s interesting."

Sanji immediately regrets making eye contact. "What’s interesting?"  

Robin’s lips curve slightly, a teasing smile that makes his stomach twist. "Your reaction."

Sanji bristles. "What about it?!"  

Robin takes a slow sip of her tea. "You only ever react this strongly when you’re trying to hide something."

Sanji freezes.

His stomach drops.

The crew leans in.

Nami’s grin widens. "Ohhh, that’s true. Usually, if we tease you about something, you just brush it off or get all dramatic about it. But today?" She rests her chin in her palm, smirking. "You’re way too defensive."

Sanji hates that she’s right.  

"Shut up," he mutters.  

"He’s avoiding the question," Usopp stage-whispers to Chopper.  

"That means there is something going on!" Chopper whispers back.  

"There’s nothing going on!" Sanji snaps, running a hand through his hair. "Why the hell are you all so damn nosy today?!"  

"Because you’re being weird," Luffy says simply, stuffing more food into his mouth.  

"I AM NOT—!"  

"He’s definitely hiding something," Usopp mutters.  

"Super suspicious," Franky agrees.  

"It’s almost cute," Robin adds.  

Sanji nearly chokes. "CUTE?!"  

"Ohhh, maybe he has a crush!" Nami exclaims, gasping in mock surprise. "Sanji, is that it?"  

Sanji’s brain screams.

His mouth opens, but no words come out.

And the worst part?  

The entire table erupts into laughter.  

He can feel his face burning, his entire body on fire.  

"Pathetic." Zoro takes another swig of sake, looking completely unbothered. "He’s just embarrassed because he knows he can’t win against me."

Sanji snaps out of it instantly. "WIN AGAINST YOU?!"  

Zoro smirks. "You heard me."

Sanji storms forward, fists clenched. "You wanna say that again, you moss-headed dumbass?!"  

"You’re too busy having a meltdown, love cook."

"I’LL SHOW YOU A MELTDOWN, YOU PIECE OF—!"

"Oh, look," Robin muses, sipping her tea. "He’s deflecting again."

Sanji slams a hand on the table. "I AM NOT DEFLECTING!"

Luffy tilts his head. "Wait, if Sanji has a crush, then who’s it on?"  

Sanji feels his soul leave his body.

The table goes dead silent.

Then, slowly, every single head turns—  

Straight to Zoro.  

Sanji wants to die.

Zoro pauses, mid-drink.  

He raises a single eyebrow. "The hell are you all looking at me for?"  

The crew erupts into whispers.  

"Oh my god." Nami covers her mouth, eyes wide with delight. "Is it really—?"  

"Wait, wait, WAIT," Usopp nearly falls out of his chair. "Is Zoro the reason Sanji’s acting weird?!"  

"That would explain a lot," Chopper whispers, eyes huge.

"Oh, this is getting good," Franky mutters, leaning forward.  

"The plot thickens," Brook says dramatically.  

"Okay, now I have to know," Luffy grins. "Sanji, do you like—?"  

"SHUT UP, ALL OF YOU!" Sanji’s voice cracks mid-scream.  

His entire face is flaming. His chest is tight, his hands shake at his sides, and he’s seconds away from either kicking someone through a wall or collapsing into the sea.  

"I DON’T LIKE—!" He grits his teeth, pointing an aggressive finger at Zoro. "—THIS STUPID PIECE OF SHIT, NOT NOW, NOT EVER, SO STOP—!"  

"Deny it harder," Robin says, her smile too knowing.

Sanji blacks out in rage.

In the middle of the chaos, Zoro just sighs, completely unimpressed. "Drama queen."

But if Sanji wasn’t so busy exploding, maybe—just maybe—  

He would’ve noticed the way Zoro’s lips tug up, just slightly.  

—

The kitchen should be peaceful now.  

The others have all scattered—Luffy off to wreak havoc, Nami and Robin retreating to the deck, and the rest resuming their routines. It’s just Sanji and Zoro left, stuck with the post-breakfast cleanup.  

Sanji hates it.

But he scrubs the plates anyway, aggressively, willing the irritation out through his hands. The warm water splashes up his arms, the soap bubbles slide between his fingers, and the entire time, he pointedly avoids looking at the moss-brained idiot next to him.  

Zoro dries each dish without hurry. Without care. Like he has all the time in the world.

Sanji grinds his teeth.

He should’ve made Luffy help. Or Usopp. Or literally anyone else.

But of course, the universe had to curse him with this guy.

And then—  

Zoro lets out a huff.  

A low, almost amused sound.  

Sanji bristles. "The hell are you laughing at?"  

"Nothing."

"No, no, no, don’t pull that ‘nothing’ crap. What’s so damn funny?"  

Zoro shrugs. "Just thinking about how bad you are at lying."

Sanji’s jaw locks. "Excuse me?"  

"You heard me.” Zoro dries a plate, stacks it, and reaches for another. "Every time you try to hide something, you start acting like a damn lunatic."  

Sanji slams the next dish into the water. Soap and water splashes up, dripping onto his shirt. "I am not hiding anything, you shitty marimo."

Zoro smirks. "There it is.”

"There what is?!"  

"Your meltdown."

Sanji snaps. "Oh, you think you’re so damn smart, don’t you?" He shoves a dish at Zoro’s chest, hard. "You think you’ve got me all figured out, huh?"  

Zoro catches it with ease, drying it at his own slow pace. "I mean, I don’t need to figure you out." He gestures vaguely at Sanji’s entire existence. "You wear all your emotions on your dumbass, curly-browed face."

"I do not!"  

"Yeah?" Zoro tilts his head, eyes glinting with challenge. "Then why are you getting so worked up?"  

Sanji hurls another dish at him.  

Zoro barely catches it. "OI—!"  

"Dry faster, then!"

"Maybe if you didn’t throw them at me like a lunatic—"  

"Maybe if you weren’t a walking eyesore—"  

"Maybe if you weren’t an overgrown drama queen—"  

"MAYBE IF YOU SHUT THE HELL UP AND—"  

A loud clatter makes them both freeze.  

They turn their heads in sync.  

There, on the counter, is a plate.  

Perfectly whole.  

But teetering on the edge.  

Both of them lunge for it.

And, naturally—  

They crash into each other instead.  

Zoro grunts, stumbling back as Sanji slams against his side. "Shit—!"  

Sanji yelps, hand skidding across the counter, fingertips barely brushing the plate before—  

CLINK.

It stops moving.  

Right before falling off.  

Sanji lets out a harsh breath, pressing his weight against the counter for balance. "Hah! Beat that, mosshead! Precision! Reflexes! I am a goddamn culinary ninja—"  

"Get the hell off me, love cook."

Sanji freezes.

Because suddenly—  

He realizes just where he landed.  

Pressed fully against Zoro.  

One arm still braced against the counter, the other shoved against Zoro’s chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt.  

And worse—so much worse—  

Zoro’s hand is gripping his waist.

Sanji jerks back immediately, face burning. "WHA—GET YOUR FILTHY MOSS-HANDS OFF ME!"

Zoro snorts. "Tch. You’re the one who ran into me, dumbass.”

"I DID NOT—!"  

"You totally did."

"YOU GRABBED ME FIRST, YOU PIECE OF SH—!"

"To stop you from falling, you ungrateful bastard."

"I WAS NOT FALLING!"

"You were absolutely falling."

"GO TO HELL, MARIMO—"  

"You first, love cook."

Sanji seethes, chest heaving, hands clenched so hard his nails dig into his palms.  

Zoro just stands there. Smirking. So damn smug.

Sanji hates him.  

He really, really hates him.

Sanji and Zoro are still glaring at each other, inches apart, breaths uneven from their latest round of bickering.  

Sanji is seething. His hands are clenched, his face is hot, and if he has to stand this close to Zoro for one more damn second, he’s going to—  

"Oi."

Both of them stiffen.  

Because standing in the doorway—  

Is Luffy.  

Wide-eyed.  

Mouth full of half-chewed meat.  

Staring at them like he just walked in on something forbidden.

A long, awkward silence fills the kitchen.  

Sanji slowly moves back.  

Zoro casually reaches for another plate.  

Luffy chews.  

Then, around his mouthful of food, he mumbles—  

"…Did I interrupt something?"  

Sanji sputters. "WHAT—NO!"

Zoro just groans and rubs his temples. "For the love of—shut up, Luffy."

Luffy squints. "You guys were standing real close just now…"  

"BECAUSE THIS SHITHEAD DOESN’T KNOW PERSONAL SPACE!” Sanji blurts, throwing a wild gesture at Zoro. "HE GRABBED ME FIRST!"

"I stabilized you."

"DON’T TRY TO MAKE IT SOUND—"  

"You literally ran into me, love cook—"  

"I WAS OFF-BALANCE—"  

"That’s the same thing—"  

"IT IS NOT—"  

"Are you two flirting?"  

The words are so casual. So innocent.

But they slam into Sanji like a kick to the gut.  

His brain stops.

Luffy just blinks at them, head tilted. "‘Cause Nami said when two people fight a lot but don’t actually hate each other, sometimes it means they wanna kiss—"  

Sanji chokes on air. "WHAT THE HELL, LUFFY?!”  

Zoro, for once, looks genuinely stunned. "What."

"Yeah!" Luffy grins, still completely unbothered. "She said that’s how it is in romance stories! They fight, fight, fight—then boom, kissing! You guys fight all the time, so I thought—"  

"GET OUT!" Sanji roars, grabbing a dish towel and whipping it at Luffy’s head. "OUT, YOU STUPID, MEAT-OBSESSED—”  

Luffy laughs, dodging the towel with ease. "Okay, okay! Sheesh! But you should just admit if you wanna kiss—"  

"OUT!!"  

Luffy snickers and scampers off, still chewing his stolen meat.  

Sanji stands there, fuming, fists clenched so tightly his knuckles are white.  

He will not turn around.  

He will not look at Zoro.  

He will not acknowledge—  

"Well," a smooth, knowing voice interrupts. "That was fun to witness."

Sanji whirls around.

Robin is leaning in the doorway.  

Smirking.  

Shit.

"How long have you been there?!" Sanji screeches.  

"Long enough." She tilts her head, fingers resting delicately on her chin. "Luffy has a rather unique way of reading situations, doesn't he?"  

"Luffy has the emotional intelligence of a brick, that’s what he has," Sanji grits out.  

Robin chuckles, stepping further into the kitchen. "You seem awfully defensive, Sanji."

"I AM NOT DEFENSIVE."

Robin’s smile widens.

Zoro scoffs and finally, finally speaks up. "You so are."

Sanji whirls on him. "YOU SHUT UP!"

"You shut up."

"No, YOU—"  

Robin clasps her hands together. "You two are delightful."

Sanji freezes. "Wha—NO, WE ARE NOT—"  

"I’m going to go join Nami on deck now," Robin says pleasantly, as if Sanji isn’t combusting in real time. "Have fun with the rest of your dish duty."

She glides out of the room like a phantom.  

Sanji stands there, vibrating with frustration, his head an absolute mess.

After a long, agonizing moment—  

Zoro just chuckles.

Low. Amused.  

Sanji snaps. "WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU LAUGHING AT NOW?!"  

Zoro smirks. "Just thinking how funny it is that you’re proving Luffy right."

Sanji lunges for him.

Zoro dodges.

The dish duty war resumes.

Just as Sanji lunges at Zoro once more, fingers curled into fists, ready to strangle the moss-brained bastard—  

His limbs lock up.

"Wha—?!"  

Zoro grunts beside him, also frozen mid-motion, his towel still raised like he was about to snap it at Sanji’s face.  

Multiple hands have sprouted from their shoulders, their arms, their waists—holding them firmly in place.  

Robin’s work.  

"Now, now," Robin’s voice hums behind them, her tone as calm as ever. "You both still have dishes to finish."

Sanji glares over his shoulder. "ROBIN! LET ME GO!" For once, he isn't swooning.

"Not until you behave," she replies sweetly.  

"I AM BEHAVING—!"  

"You were about to tackle me like a rabid dog, love cook," Zoro mutters, still caught in her hold.  

"SHUT YOUR STUPID FACE—"  

Robin sighs as more hands sprout, firmly placing them back in their spots at the sink. "Wash first. Fight later."

"Robin, c'mon, please—" Sanji tries to twist out of her grip, but the hands on his arms tighten.

Zoro snickers. "This is the first time I’ve ever agreed with her. Wouldn’t wanna waste dishes by breaking ‘em over your head."

"DON’T ACT LIKE YOU’RE SO DAMN MATURE, YOU MEATHEAD!"

Robin hums. "If you don’t settle down, I’ll make you wash with your feet instead."

Sanji stiffens. "You wouldn’t dare."

Robin just smiles.  

And Sanji believes her.  

He grumbles, grabbing a dish and furiously scrubbing. "This is humiliating.”

Zoro, to Sanji’s absolute rage, looks completely at ease as he dries the plate. "Honestly, it’s kinda nice. I should ask Robin to do this more often so you shut up."

Sanji shakes with anger. "I am going to burn your stupid haramaki while you sleep.”

"Yeah? I’ll throw all your cigarettes overboard."

"I'LL SHAVE YOUR HEAD BALD."

"Try it, love cook, and see what happens—"  

Robin clears her throat.

Instantly, more hands sprout on their shoulders. A silent warning.

Sanji grits his teeth, staring at Zoro with absolute hatred. Zoro smirks back like this is the best day of his stupid life.  

The two men continue washing dishes.  

Robin watches them with an amused glint in her eyes, then with a graceful stretch of her fingers—  

The hands vanish.  

Sanji exhales sharply, rolling his shoulders. "Thank the gods—"  

"I’ll leave you to it,” Robin says, turning for the door. "Remember: fight later, clean now."

And just before she steps out—  

"Oh, and Sanji?"  

Sanji jerks his head up. "Yeah?"  

Robin gives him a knowing smile. "Try not to stare too much."

Then she’s gone.

Sanji freezes.

His brain stalls.  

Zoro raises an eyebrow. "What the hell did that mean?"  

Sanji chokes on absolutely nothing. "NOTHING. IT MEANS NOTHING!"

Zoro squints at him.  

Sanji turns back to the sink so fast he might snap his own neck.  

His hands scrub aggressively, his mind screaming at itself.  

Because what the hell did she mean?!  

Did she see something?! Did she notice—  

He is not going down this road.  

Not over Zoro.

Absolutely not.

—

Sanji exhales through his nose as he scrubs the last plate clean and sets it in the drying rack.  

Finally.  

No more dishes. No more awkward tension. No more standing too close to Zoro.  

He did it. He survived dish duty without losing his mind.  

Now he just needs to get the hell out of here before—  

Sanji turns to leave—  

And the world tilts.  

His foot slides forward, catching on something slick. His breath hitches as gravity yanks him off balance.  

"Shit—!"  

His body lurches forward. His arms flail for something—anything—to grab onto—  

And then—  

Impact.

But not with the floor.

The culprit? Soapy water. The two were so immersed in their banter, that they both had forgotten about the spilled water on the floor.

A hand catches his arm. Another grips his waist, firm and steady.  

And suddenly, he’s not falling anymore.

Instead, he’s pressed up against Zoro, chest to chest.  

Sanji’s breath stops.  

Why does this keep happening?

Zoro’s body is warm. Solid. His grip is strong.  

Sanji feels it—his palm, hot through the fabric of his shirt, right at the dip of his waist.  

And—god dammit—he can smell him.  

That same scent from before—steel and sweat and sake, mixed with something deeper, something undeniably Zoro.  

His stomach twists.

His whole body locks up.

And the worst part?  

Zoro isn’t moving.

Sanji’s chest rises and falls against his, his pulse hammering in his ears, but Zoro just…stares. 

No snide remark. No immediate shove.  

Just that dark, sharp eye, locked onto him.  

For the first time, in all the years they’ve known each other—  

Zoro looks stunned. 

And Sanji hates it.

Something in him panics.  

He jerks back, but Zoro’s grip tightens—instinctively steadying him before he can slip again.  

That momentary squeeze—warm and secure—is the final straw.  

"SHIT—" Sanji wrenches himself free like he’s been burned.

Zoro blinks. "Oi—"  

"NOPE."  

Sanji bolts.

"Oi, Sanji—!"  

Sanji doesn’t stop.

His entire body is buzzing, his skin is on fire, and his mind is screaming at him.  

He doesn’t look back. He won’t look back.  

Instead, he sprints—out of the kitchen, up the stairs, anywhere that isn’t here.  

Anywhere that isn’t near Zoro.

Because something just happened.  

And he has no idea what the hell it was.  

But worse than that—  

He has no idea why he’s still feeling it.  

—

Sanji’s gone.  

Bolted like the damn kitchen was on fire.  

Zoro stands there for a moment, staring at the empty space where the idiot had been, arms still half-raised from when he’d caught him.  

The warmth of Sanji’s body still lingers against his chest. His fingers still tingle from where they had gripped Sanji’s waist, where they had felt the subtle give of muscle beneath layers of fabric.  

Zoro frowns and rubs his hand against his pants like that’ll somehow erase the memory.  

What the hell was that?  

Why did Sanji—why did he—  

Zoro scowls and shoves the thought away, storming out of the kitchen and onto the deck.  

He needs air.  

The salty breeze hits his face, and he takes a deep breath, trying to shake off whatever the hell just happened in there.  

But his brain won’t shut up.

Instead, it keeps dragging him back.  

Back to last night.  

Back to the feeling of Sanji’s weight slumped against him, of Sanji’s fingers gripping his shirt, of the quiet, drowsy way Sanji had murmured his name before passing out.  

Zoro grits his teeth.  

Yeah. He’s been trying very hard not to think about that.  

Because the truth is—  

This isn’t new.  

This problem didn’t start last night.  

Zoro’s been screwed since the moment they met.  

He knew he was into guys early on. Just like he knew he had a type: sharp-tongued, infuriating, cocky bastards who could back up their arrogance with skill.  

And unfortunately—  

Sanji had checked every damn box. 

Zoro had felt it the second they squared off at Baratie.  

The way Sanji had moved—fluid, precise, powerful. The way his cigarette had rested between his teeth, the way his golden hair had fallen into one eye, the way he’d smirked at Zoro and gestured for him to come forward—  

Zoro had been done for.

Of course, he hadn’t realized it then.

No, it had taken months—months of fighting, of bickering, of getting right in each other’s faces, of Sanji never backing down, of him always being there, always pushing Zoro in ways that no one else did—  

Somewhere along the way, Zoro had started looking forward to their fights.  

And then, eventually—  

He had started looking forward to Sanji.  

Which sucked.  

Because Sanji?  

Sanji was Sanji.

Flirt, romantic. Ladies’ man.  

The idiot got nosebleeds over Nami and Robin on a daily basis. He spent half his time throwing himself at them. There was no way in hell—  

Zoro exhales sharply, dragging a hand down his face.  

And now?  

These past few days?  

They were making everything worse.  

Sanji was acting weird.  

Avoiding him. Getting flustered for no reason. Bolting like a startled deer every time Zoro so much as looked at him too long.  

And today?  

Today, he had fallen into him. Twice, mind you.

And had looked absolutely wrecked about it.  

Like touching Zoro had messed him up.

Zoro clenches his fists, his heart pounding too hard in his chest.  

He doesn’t know what’s going on with Sanji.  

But he knows what’s going on with him.  

And if this keeps up—  

If Sanji keeps pulling shit like this—  

Zoro doesn’t know how much longer he can pretend it doesn’t mean something.  

The sea is usually the one thing that keeps Zoro grounded.  

The steady crash of waves, the way the sunlight flickers over the water, the scent of salt and wood and freedom—it reminds him of training, of discipline, of the path he’s chosen. A swordsman’s path isn’t clouded by distractions. It’s supposed to be simple. Clear.  

But his head is not clear right now.  

His mind is tangled up in something much more frustrating.  

Sanji.

Zoro sighs through his nose, staring hard at the horizon, as if willing the ocean to scrub his brain clean. It doesn't work. All he can hear is the echo of Sanji's voice from last night, slurred and too close.  

“Zoro… you're warm."

His grip on the railing tightens.  

And then—  

"What's got your panties in a twist?”

Zoro doesn’t even have to turn.  

"Tch." He exhales sharply. "Here comes trouble."  

A teasing grin slips into his peripheral vision as Nami leans against the railing beside him, arms folded, smug.

Zoro scowls. "What."  

"You tell me," she says breezily. "You’ve been standing here brooding for a while now. Thinking," she adds, imitating his gruff tone with an exaggerated frown.  

Zoro rolls his eyes. "You’re annoying."  

She snickers. "And you are acting suspiciously weird." She taps her chin, her eyes narrowing in fake contemplation. "Let’s see… What could have possibly happened to put our grumpy swordsman in such a mood?"  

Zoro exhales through his nose, irritated. "Go away, witch."  

"Now, now," she coos, "is that any way to talk to the only person who knows your embarrassing little secret?"  

Zoro’s jaw clenches.  

She’s not wrong.

Nami was the first to figure him out.  

Before he even admitted it to himself.  

She had taken one look at the way he watched Sanji—how his gaze lingered a little too long, how he always responded a little too fast whenever Sanji challenged him—and she knew.

She’d cornered him one night on deck, arms crossed, an unbearably smug grin on her face.  

"So," she had said, "you like guys, huh?"

Zoro had nearly choked on his drink.  

Then she shrugged like it was the most obvious thing in the world.  

"Not that surprising. You give off a ‘too busy training to care about girls’ vibe."

Zoro had grumbled something about it being none of her business.  

And she had just smirked, finished her drink, and said—  

"You’re in trouble, though."

"For what?"

"For liking Sanji." 

Zoro had stared at her.  

Then scoffed. "You’re delusional."  

Nami had just grinned, patted his shoulder, and said—  

"Call me delusional when you stop looking at him like that."

Zoro clenches his jaw at the memory.  

Damn witch.  

She had been right.

And worse—  

She never lets him forget it.

"Alright," she says now, drawing Zoro out of his thoughts, "spill."  

Zoro tenses. "There’s nothing to spill."  

Nami hums, unconvinced. "Really? Because Sanji ran off like his ass was on fire, and you walked out here looking like someone punched you in the gut. So." She props her chin on her hand, her smirk growing. "Something happened."  

Zoro exhales sharply. "Nothing important."  

Her eyes light up. "So something did happen."  

Zoro clenches his fists. "Nami—"  

"Relax, relax," she says, waving a hand. "I won’t push."  

She pauses.  

Then, with a wicked grin—  

"Too much."  

Zoro groans, dragging a hand down his face. "This is why I call you a witch."  

"And yet," she sing-songs, "you told me first."  

Zoro stills.  

She’s right.  

The first time he admitted it, it had been her sitting next to him. Her, nursing a drink while Zoro muttered, "I like guys."  

Of course, Nami already figured it out already, she told him first, after all. Like she was the one coming out. But, Zoro wanted to know the feeling of telling someone. Telling someone he trusted.

No ceremony. No dramatics. Just the truth, ripped out like a blade from his chest.  

She had only nodded and said, "I know."  

That was it. No judgment. No pity.  

Just acceptance. 

Sanji was a problem.  

A walking contradiction.  

All about the ladies, but still looking at Zoro like that.  

Like today.  

Zoro clenches his jaw, mind flashing back to the feeling of Sanji against him—  

The way Sanji had frozen.  

The way his eyes had darted down—just for a second—before he freaked out and ran. 

Zoro exhales sharply.  

"...You ever seen him act like that before?"  

Nami’s voice is light, but there’s something pointed beneath it.  

Zoro thinks about it.  

Thinks about Sanji flirting with women like it’s his job.

Thinks about Sanji throwing himself at Nami and Robin daily.

Thinks about Sanji never once reacting like this to anyone else.

Zoro’s stomach twists.

Sanji shouldn’t be acting like that around him.  

But he did.

And that means—  

Zoro blinks.  

...Fuck.

Nami smirks. "Figured it out yet?"  

Zoro exhales sharply and looks back at the sea. "I hate you."  

She laughs and pats his arm. "Don’t worry. You’re getting there.”

Then, with one last smug grin, she turns and walks away, leaving Zoro alone with a realization that is definitely going to ruin his life.  

“Sanji likes me too.” Zoro concludes, hiding his face in the palms of his hands.