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Sanji watches Robin take Zoro's spot in the crow's nest, her second cup of coffee in her hand. The day is now in full swing, his night watch over.
Breakfast has left behind only empty plates. Everyone ate whatever was put in front of them, and the dishes didn't take him more than ten minutes with Brook's help. Free until lunch, he considers what task to get started on in the meantime.
He enters the boys’ quarters with the intention of sorting out laundry, only to see his reflection in the mirror—or barely see it, considering how long his hair has gotten. Sanji tucks some of his bangs behind his left ear, blowing up at the rest of it. Any longer and he'd be scraping it into a ponytail.
For a moment, Sanji allows himself to imagine that. Maybe, after a few months, he might even be able to wear a braid like his father.
He frowns. Why should he cut it? It's not as though it's been bothering him, and he certainly hasn't noticed it until now. Sanji decides that until it's a problem, he'll let it keep growing.
The sun pushes through the window and he winces. He hangs up his suit jacket, already fearful of how much the temperature has yet to go up by. Maybe he'll make some smoothies with the fruit leftover, even if it means he can't use it for dessert.
The door behind him opens, and a freshly-showered Zoro walks out of the bathroom, towel draped over his shoulders.
“Two days early. I'm surprised you didn't want to marinate in your musk any longer, ape,” Sanji comments, unable to help himself.
Zoro glares at him. “Not all of us have the time to spill an entire bottle of perfume over ourselves. Besides, witch won’t do my hair unless it's clean.”
“You're cutting it?” Sanji looks at the green hair that really does look like moss when it's wet, curious. He supposes that it is a little unruly, sticking out in more places than it usually does.
“Yeah, can't let it get too long or it's just gonna be a distraction. One less thing to think about in a fight.”
Sanji watches water drip down Zoro's earrings, his mouth unusually dry. He recovers quickly, annoyed with how quickly the heat has affected him, having hoped for a few more hours of coherent thought.
His foolish hand is reaching out before he can help himself, tugging gently at one of the strands. “Let me do it. Nami needs to go through the books and budget before we land on our next island anyway, and I've got a steady hand.”
“Yeah right,” Zoro scoffs, swatting his hand away. “You'd probably take the opportunity to shave it all off. No way.”
“I don't need to make you look uglier than you already are.”
“Oh, so sorry prince that we can't all look like we're going to a ball every day. Some of us care more about protecting lives than looking pretty.”
Sanji grimaces at Zoro, his lip curling up. “I see the roots from the tree on your head are digging into your brain. That's not true and you know it. I'd give up my life as easily as a tie for anyone on this ship.”
“Relax, curls.” Zoro's words have a soft cadence to them they don't usually. “I would've thought you knew when you're being teased. If you really wanna cut my hair I’m not gonna stop you.”
He can't help his frown. Normally they'd bicker for at least a few more minutes before deciding that the fun's over.
Sanji shrugs it off. “I'll grab what I need and I'll see you in the kitchen, okay? Let Nami know she’s free to do her work in peace without worrying about gardening.”
Zoro's grunt is the extent of the confirmation Sanji receives from him. He supposes it's better than nothing, so he goes to his locker to retrieve what he needs. It's funny how in sync they are to the point that they both considered a haircut today.
He picks up his scissors, Zeff's initials still etched on the side. He remembers clear as day packing his own when he left the Baratie, but he'd slipped his own in at some point.
As soon as Zeff saw his skills with a knife, he'd made Sanji his personal hairdresser until the day he left, and refused to share with the other chefs. It makes him smile, how he could refuse every one of Carne's requests.
Zoro is rummaging through the fridge when he gets there, which irritates him greatly considering he locked the damn thing before he left after breakfast.
The swordsman straightens up with two onigiri stuffed in his mouth. “Hungry,” he says.
“I was going to give that to you in an hour to snack on. Now you'll have to wait until lunch.” Sanji pulls a chair out from the table, placing his tools down.
“Maybe if you'd made more—”
“I'm very familiar with how much you're able to eat in the mornings. If you're hungry, it means you gave some of your food to Luffy.”
Zoro sits down on the chair silently, refusing to admit Sanji is right. Not that he needs the confirmation—Luffy's limbs might snap back in seconds, but his vision is clear.
He places the second-hand cape he got a while back around Zoro's neck, clipping it shut. A towel would work just fine, sure, but hair easily slips off this material, and it isn't as thick either.
Sanji brushes it through, surprised at how well he's washed it, mostly having expected him to just run it under the water and call it a day. Instead, his comb goes through smoothly, meeting little resistance.
He snips gently at the hair at the base, evening out the mess there. The hair bends to his will, scissors following the lead of his hands, green wisps floating downwards. To his credit, Zoro mutters no complaints, content to stare at the floor while Sanji works on his hair.
It's easy enough to get a handle on it once he starts, pulling sections up and layering them carefully, hoping to lighten the weight of it for him along with a trim. It's incredibly soft as it begins to dry, flexible in his fingers; for all the jokes he's made about it, Zoro’s hair is well taken care of.
Sanji doesn't tell him this. He focuses on making all his cuts even instead, looking at each section carefully before he moves onto the next one. He lets himself style it a little too, hoping Zoro won't notice why he's taking slightly longer.
“Lift your head up, marimo,” Sanji instructs once he’s done with the nape, which he’s sure Zoro attacked with his sword sometime recently.
As is asked of him, Zoro tilts his head back—though rather than only leaning slightly towards him the way Sanji was aiming for, Zoro’s grey eyes are looking directly into his.
There’s an indented blemish on his upper right cheek; an old wound that scarred over. He has more moles than he did a month ago, the sun having decorated his face since. His eyes are glittering the same way the ocean does when the sun hits it just right.
Zoro’s eager face almost makes Sanji drop his scissors.
“N-Not that much!” he hisses, adjusting Zoro’s head to the position he wants it, albeit with a rougher hand than he should.
The heat hits him again then, flushing his cheeks and increasing the pace of his heart. He hopes a cool day is on the way, because he isn’t sure just how many more times he can adjust his shirt collar.
Sanji moves to focus on Zoro’s hair, threading his fingers through it and eyeing where he needs to cut it.
And as tempting as it is to cut it just a little too short or mismatched so he can get a good laugh, he doesn’t. Sanji keeps his promise, treating it the same as he would his own hair.
Though it's not a drastic difference, it is noticeably shorter when he's finished, neater too. No strands drift in opposite directions, all in line and standing to attention.
“All fit for battle, you one-man army,” Sanji announces, passing Zoro a small, handheld mirror while he brushes off the dead hair around his ears and neck. The rest of the hair is shaken onto the floor when he takes the robe off and he warns Zoro not to step in it as he grabs a broom.
The swordsman still hasn't said anything, not even a thank you, so Sanji resigns himself to cleaning, hoping it’ll calm his still-hammering heart. There isn't much of a mess for once, not in the way the guys usually make, and the floor is clean within a matter of minutes.
Zoro is still seated when he comes back after putting the broom away. He's still looking at his reflection, though with mild disinterest. Sanji stills, confused as to why he's still here.
“I'm all done with your hair. You're free to leave,” he says, poking a cigarette behind his ear as he goes to gather his things from the table. If Zoro wants to stay here, he can, but it's not as though he often hangs out in the kitchen; unless he's looking for alcohol.
Once again, Zoro's head twists backwards, although not as much as last time. “You warned me not to move. Didn't wanna upset the delicate balance of your kitchen and risk a leg aiming for my head.”
Sanji resists a scowl. There's no way he's that obtuse. “I only told you not to step in your own tree clippings. You can get up now.”
Zoro raises his hands in surrender but stands up, grabbing the swords he's leant against the table and securing them back by his hip. Just before he takes his first step, he turns to face Sanji.
“Thanks,” he grunts, short and gruff as always. Sanji isn't surprised by his lack of enthusiasm for a proper conversation, but a thank you is still a thank you.
“Anytime,” he hums, going back to organising all the things he brought up here without glancing at Zoro.
Though this time, it's not an attempt to piss him off or a result of being pissed off.
No, this time Sanji is worried that if his eyes find Zoro's eyes again so soon, he won't be able to look away.
It's not entirely a new feeling, but it is the first time he's been unable to suppress or ignore it—and that terrifies him.
Sanji makes dinner on autopilot. He doesn't make a single mistake, he's not in that much of a daze, but he barely appreciates each step as he usually does.
He hates this. He's so used to keeping his feelings in check, and here they are impeding on his daily duties like they're in charge of him, and not the other way around. Sanji sits down at the table, only just covering up his annoyance.
The food is perfect. Smiles appear all around him, and Sanji is able to breathe a little easier. As long as he's able to do this, then it doesn't matter what sort of storm his emotions decide to brew.
Nami gives everyone a budget update before their next stop, and Sanji's eyes shine when he realises he'll be able to buy that new cooking wine that's been hitting the market scene recently. Apparently, it's ever so slightly more acidic than the usual he uses.
It's easy for him to get excited about possible new recipes. On weeks where it was difficult to get fresh ingredients on the Baratie, he had to make new things with limited stock; there is always an unexplored idea to discover.
Sanji clears the table with a hum, planning out various dishes he could reinvent. He leaves the others to their chatter, happy to have a moment just to think about food and all the different recipes he can make, how his favourite ingredients will react to the wine.
Really, he should be writing all his thoughts down, but clearing up right now is more important. A fresh kitchen for the morning is the only right way to start the day, and Zeff would have his head if he neglected a close.
This kitchen is his restaurant now. It might be smaller, and he might be fully responsible, but it holds just as special a place in his heart as the Baratie does. It's surprising just how many treasures the sea has offered to him in all the years he's been on it.
He can't even begin to comprehend what the All Blue might hold at this point. Already he has been granted so much, and he's only explored half of the world he used to read about as a child.
Sanji nearly drops the plate he's holding when he allows himself to think that far back, so he forces himself back to the present.
The present of glittering eyes and sun moles and old scars.
Well, the distraction from his heart was nice while it lasted, he supposes.
“You're acting weird.” Sanji looks up from the dishes. He's alone in the kitchen with Zoro, an agitated expression on his face. “Are you getting sick or something?”
Fucking feels like it, Sanji thinks, turning his back to him. “I'm fine. Just haven't been sleeping properly.”
“Well I know that much. You're tossing and turning so much I mistook you for waves the other night. Why don't you ask Chopper for some meds?”
“It's nothing that serious. I'll be fine in a few days.”
“You should still check in. I for one think dinner could have used more salt.”
Sanji’s jaw tightens and clicks. He knows Zoro is dangling bait in front of his face, and if it was any other day, he'd bite it.
He scrubs at a few crumbs stuck to a plate with vigor. “Then maybe you should be the one seeing Chopper if your tastebuds are that fucked.”
Whatever retort Zoro has on the tip of his tongue stays put. Instead, the kitchen door slams, and Sanji is left alone again, the prickle of heat on his neck decreasing.
They dock a few days later, when the weather is the nicest they've had in days. The sun is bright and not a single cloud hides the sky from view, but the gentle breeze throughout the island makes the day ideal for exploration.
As always for days when they need to stock up, Zoro and Sanji are grouped together, carrying the heavy things that nobody else will, at least two bags and a box on each arm. But even if Franky, or Chopper in his larger form, could do the same thing, it's an arrangement that works; no point in changing it now.
Currently, Sanji finds himself still in a conversation with a merchant unwilling to sell him a kilo of carrots for a reasonable price. If it wasn't for wanting to respect Nami's budgeting, he'd stuff a few notes of berri right into the guy's mouth and take what he's owed.
Eventually, he gets him down to twenty-five percent less of the original price he offered, even if it's more than he'd like to pay. Certainly, the rest comes out of his private fund.
Zoro pays the whole exchange little attention. He's more concerned with getting back to the ship so he can find a good clearing to practice moves the Sunny isn't able to withstand, the clatter of swords against his hip with every step a sore reminder of the time he's wasting here.
Sanji waves his hand in front of Zoro's face, letting him know they're free to go. The swordsman moves with purpose, glad to be done with this chore.
“You're all done, yeah? No more stupid stalls for us to swing by?” he asks, double-checking that Sanji won't suddenly drag him into another haggling battle.
Sanji looks straight ahead. “Basically. There's this cooking wine I wanted to see about but I haven't seen it anywhere and we've maxed the budget already. Next time, I guess.”
He doesn't say anything else after that, and while Zoro would normally love nothing more than to ignore him for the rest of their walk back, he's forced to confront the undertone of Sanji's words by his stupid conscience.
The cook's been sleeping less, been harder to engage in arguments with, doesn't bother to insult Zoro with a nickname as often as he's used to—all in all, he has several reasons to pay attention when Sanji acts in a way he isn't expecting.
Refusing to hunt down a new ingredient he's been excited about all week is another layer of the iceberg. And a good captain would turn the boat around and find another way.
But Zoro's not a captain, and directions have never been his strong suit.
“What? Spent all your savings on buying clothes to impress girls that don't want you?” Zoro jeers.
Sanji stops in front of him, box of vegetables balancing on his shoulder nearly spilling all over the pavement. He's almost excited at eliciting a bit of anger from the cook.
What he receives, however, is nothing more than a bored stare.
“No, I spent it all on food to keep your dumbass alive, because if you had to feed yourself, you'd just drink sake all day.”
Zoro was hoping for a jibe he could answer with his own—this is anything but.
There's no room to argue with it, no stupid smirk to make fun of. Sanji makes his statement and continues walking back.
He's not sure when things between them shifted like this, and he definitely isn't sure what he's supposed to do with the change. Something is bothering the cook, and unfortunately for everyone on the Sunny, he's going to figure out what.
Sanji stays later in the kitchen than he normally does that day, to the point that it might as well be him on the night watch instead of Franky. He already organised and reorganised the pantry three hours ago, but he can't bring himself to go to the bunks yet.
In the smallest glass he has, he pours himself a second helping of port. It's sweet, verging on the edge of sickly so, but it does the trick.
He remembers the first time Zeff gave him some after a particularly rough shift. Granted, he was thirteen at the time and the last thing he should have been doing was getting alcohol after a brutal day of labour, but pirates have never followed societal rules.
After that, it became something they'd do whenever the day took it out of them. Sometimes it was Sanji who showed up at Zeff's office, or Zeff would find Sanji smoking on deck and replace the cigarette with a fancy, crystal glass.
They didn't always talk. It was enough to share a drink and recognise that both of them had made it through another day.
He won't have a third glass, cause he's sure Zeff would cuss him out for drinking more than he should on a day that could have been much worse, but he does consider it briefly.
After Sanji makes sure everything is ready for breakfast, he locks the kitchen door and finally makes the walk from kitchen to bed. The moon is out tonight, closer to gold than white; still he prefers the view out on the sea.
Everyone in the boys’ quarters is already snoring when he steps in, so he swaps his dress shirt to an old top and throws his slacks over a chair, climbing into his bunk. Exhaustion seeps in then, reminding him that he still has bones that can still ache.
Zoro slips into Sanji’s bunk so quickly and silently that he's unable to kick him out without causing a fuss.
“Something's bothering you, and it's not long before the others notice. I don't care if you don't want to tell me, but don't let it affect your job.”
He stares at the fool, mouth agape. Has he been waiting all this time to pounce?
Sanji glowers at him. “You don't know what you're talking about, stupid marimo. Just fuck off. I’m dealing with it.”
He turns away from Zoro, pulling his duvet up to his chin and shutting his eyes as soon as he's facing the wall. It's bad enough that he's been thinking about Zoro's face every day since the haircut—now he's in his bed?
The thing with these beds, though, is that to fit as many as they do in the room, they're not exactly king-sized luxuries. Sanji might be huddled up to the wall with all his force, but he can still feel Zoro's frame against his back, hot and enveloping.
A hand on his shoulder yanks him backwards, and then he's face to face with an exasperated Zoro.
“Except you're not dealing with it.” Sanji takes in the furrowed brows facing him. “You've been off-kilter for over a week. You don't need to spill your precious secrets, but at least let me help you take the weight off.”
“It's fine. Just leave it, okay? Yeah, I'm not exactly having a ball of a time lately, but it's not something you need to stick your nose into. And it's not affecting my job. Name me one time I've fucked up the food since you've been all up in my business?”
Zoro sucks in a breath, no less agitated than he was three minutes ago. “Curly, I'm not just talking about the damn food. We're also here to protect the crew, and we can't do that when distracted.”
“What are you saying? That I'm fucking unfit to take care of our nakama? Maybe I'm a little distracted, but not enough to let anyone die. So don't—”
“Oi. I'm not saying it to piss you off. I'm saying it now so we don't see the day anyone dies on our watch. Despite popular opinion, I care about you just as much as anyone on the crew. I don't wanna see you spiral.”
There's plenty more that Sanji still has to say to Zoro's accusation, but nothing makes it past his lips. With the few lamps in the room, he can easily make out the concern on Zoro's face.
And if he really focuses, he can see every blemish, every mole and freckle, and every glitter to his eyes.
“So is now a bad time to say that it's your fault we're in this mess?”
Normally, Sanji'd take the opportunity to soak in Zoro's offended face. But he's already taken enough time.
He forces himself to kiss Zoro before he can back out, determined to do something about the distraction that's been a rock in his shoe for far too long. Perhaps, his lips are slightly more forceful than he intends.
Zoro reciprocates. It takes him a few seconds to comprehend what exactly is happening, but once he does, he pushes back against Sanji with what he hopes is an equal amount of force. It's not how he saw the conversation ending when he crawled into the bed, though it's definitely not the worst outcome.
Sanji throws his leg around Zoro's waist at one point, pulling him as close as he can get him. Hands come to rest on each of his cheeks, calluses there he finally has the privilege of feeling.
It's a messy kiss, far from the perfect or experienced thing they'll maybe one day have, but it satisfies the craving beneath their skin. And if it wasn't for the difficulty with breathing, they probably wouldn't break apart at all.
Zoro absorbs the redness of Sanji's cheeks, unbelievably aware of how much it's a sight he wants to see over and over. A thumb makes its way to Sanji's bottom lip, resting.
“You kissed me. Why?” He's breathless.
Sanji swallows. “I gave you a haircut. For once, you looked cute. Couldn't get it out of my head.”
“Honesty's a good shade on you,” Zoro grins. “Maybe sticking my nose in your business wasn't such a bad idea. Got us here.”
“Sure, take all the credit. Not like I kissed you, or anything.”
“You call that a kiss?" Zoro counters, pressing his lips back to Sanji's, hoping that this time, the kiss will finally leave the cook speechless.