Archive of Our Own ^beta

Zoro can't sleep.

Instead, he tosses and turns in his bunk in a fruitless search for comfort, scratching at the bandage that wraps around his right side in irritation. Everyone else in the room is asleep, he knows. Normally, the sound of deep, steady breathing and even the occasional snore would send him right off, safe in its familiarity. Even the gentle, rhythmic creaking of Sunny’s timbers as she rocks on the sea like a lullaby has so far failed to work its magic on him, and he remains resolutely awake. 

The worst part is that he's tired. Everyone was when they all fell into their respective beds, worn out by yet another scrap with a Marine vessel who either didn't know or didn't believe the tales of what they were getting into. All things considered, it wasn't a terribly difficult fight in the end — but to their credit, these Marines had held out longer than most. By the time they finally turned tail and fled, the Straw Hats were more than ready for dinner and bed. 

And sleep, Zoro thinks resentfully, as if hoping to bully himself into unconsciousness.  But sleep, it seems, refuses to be intimidated, leaving Zoro to continue staring listlessly at the ceiling above him. He lets out an annoyed huff and scratches at his side again with a frown.

Some Marine had gotten a lucky strike on him during the battle. He'd never even gotten a good look at the man, had only felt the familiar bite of a blade across his ribs before he turned to see a uniformed figure darting away. 

(“Coward,” Zoro mumbles aloud in the darkness of the bunk room.)

He hadn't thought much of it at the time. The kind of life he led, it was just another scar for his collection, really. It was practically routine by now for Chopper to clean the wound, close it with a few quick stitches, and cover it with a bandage, the whole process over and done with in a matter of minutes. 

But then the cold started. 

It's the only way he can think to describe the bizarre sensation gripping the right side of his body, clearly radiating from the slash across his ribs.  Zoro runs hot, isn't normally bothered much by the cold — but there's an ache that accompanies the shivery feeling that currently grips him, like the pain that comes with holding a piece of ice for too long.

But there is no ice. There's only his own skin, chilled to the bone. 

Listening to the sounds of his friends’ peaceful sleep and his ship’s gentle rocking, Zoro lays alone in the dark and shivers.

\\\

Morning finds him sitting on the edge of his bunk, holding his pounding head in both hands. It's not fair, he thinks. On top of the exhaustion, the mind-numbingly endless night of no sleep, and the impossible freezing sensation still creeping with insidious tendrils across his entire right side, he really doesn't deserve a headache as well. 

“Hey, are you… are you okay, man?” Usopp asks, his voice breaking through the fog in Zoro's mind.

Remembering that there are, in fact, other people in the room, Zoro drops his hands.  “'m fine,” he replies automatically.

“Are you sure? You don't look so good.”

“You look like shit, is what he means,” Sanji translates unhelpfully, sparing Zoro a glance as he checks his typically pristine outfit in the mirror.

There's half of an answering insult floating around somewhere in the back of Zoro's unrested mind, but he can't be bothered with the effort of fishing it out. “'s nothing,” he mumbles instead. 

He hops down off of his bunk, and there's a nauseating moment where the world spins horribly around him.  As it finally passes and he heads for the door, he pretends not to notice the look of concern that passes between the other two.

\\\

“And when did this start?” Chopper peers closely at Zoro's stitched wound, his brow furrowed in concern as he prods lightly at the surrounding skin. 

“Sometime last night,” Zoro answers. “I first noticed it when I tried to go to bed.”

“Explains why you look so tired,” Chopper surmises.  Then he looks up at Zoro with the most intimidating little glare he can muster.  “And why didn't you come to me then?”

Zoro shrugs defensively. “I didn't want to wake you up.”

“I'm a doctor. I wake up for medical emergencies.”

“I guess it didn't feel like an emergency.”

“Does it now?” Chopper asks, poking at Zoro's ribs a little harder than necessary. 

Zoro sees it happen - but the skin there is so numb, it barely registers. He swallows hard. “A little.”

Noticing his reaction, Chopper frowns and presses a small hoof into Zoro's side a few times, moving farther and farther from the injury each time. “Zoro, can you feel that at all?”

“Um. No,” Zoro admits. “Not really. It's just… cold. Numb.”

Chopper sits back, his frown deepening with concern. “I don't understand it. All I can think is that maybe there was some kind of poison on the blade? But I've never seen symptoms like — ”

He's interrupted by a loud clatter, and then the door explodes open to admit an overly energetic whirlwind in the shape of Luffy, trailed far more serenely by Nami. 

“Zorooo!” Luffy calls, much louder than Zoro feels like he deserves. “Sanji says you're siiiick!”

Of course, Zoro thinks. Leave it to the cook to rat him out. “Not sick,” he mutters, pressing a hand to his aching head again. 

“He's probably not sick,” Chopper corrects. “But he might be poisoned.”

Feeling particularly contrarian this morning, Zoro very nearly utters another denial as a matter of course. Before he gets the chance, though, he's interrupted by Nami.

“Poisoned?”

With a sigh, Chopper gestures at Zoro's injury. “This is from yesterday's battle. I don't know what yet, exactly, but there's something… wrong with it.”

“It doesn't even look that bad,” Luffy says bluntly. 

Behind him, Nami rolls her eyes. “He means we've seen you take a lot worse, is all.”

“You're telling me,” Zoro mumbles tiredly. 

“Anyway,” Chopper says, gamely steering the conversation back on track, “Zoro told me that last night when he went to bed, the wound had started to feel cold. Now it's spread up and down his entire side — and he's not just cold anymore. He's gone completely numb.”

Head tilted curiously, Luffy stretches a hand across the room to prod repeatedly at his first mate's side, until at last Zoro sighs and swats him away. 

“I can't feel it, Luffy.” He tries to sound unaffected, but the cold is beginning to inch its way across his chest and back now, sending a violent shiver down his spine as he speaks. 

Alarmed, Chopper scurries down off of the exam table and throws open a supply cupboard, pulling out a small pile of blankets that he drags back over to Zoro. “All right, that's enough talking,” he says decisively, back to business. “I need to try and figure out what could be causing this. And in the meantime, we need to keep you warm.” He quickly throws a couple of blankets around Zoro's shoulders. “You should head back to the bunk room — you can sit by the horigotatsu. Hopefully, that'll be enough to keep you warm until…” He doesn't finish the sentence, trailing off nervously. 

Upbeat as ever, Luffy breaks the silence that follows. “I'm gonna go tell everyone what's going on. And then I'm gonna steal you every blanket on the ship!”

\\\

At first, the horigotatsu feels incredible. Zoro huddles close to the heat, wrapped in what he's sure is a comically large pile of blankets, and for a short, precious time, he almost feels normal again. 

But he can feel the malady spreading. Slowly, inevitably, the cold sinks its frigid claws into more and more of him. By the time Chopper stops in to check on him, half of his chest is frozen, leaving every breath stuttering in his lungs. The little doctor wraps him back up hastily, pushing him closer to the horigotatsu, and Zoro lets him, even as he knows it isn't helping. 

The numbness spreads, too. It follows along behind the icy sting with the inevitability of rot, stealing all sensation from his skin, leaving his nerves muted and unfeeling in its wake. 

“Lunchtime, Moss.”

Zoro startles as a thermos appears suddenly in his line of vision, dragging him out of the bleak thoughts. Incredible timing from the cook, as always, he thinks. Nothing like lunch arriving just as he's starting to think he might vomit.

The thermos jiggles in front of his face. “All right, I know the plant life you call a brain is all frozen right now, but your ears still work, yeah?”

With some effort, Zoro works one arm out of his blankets and accepts the thermos. It's heavier than he expects, and he fumbles it for a moment before he manages to steady his grip on it. 

Sanji raises an eyebrow, watching him critically. “You know what? You look so shitty, I'm not even going to make fun of you for that. That's how bad you look, Mosshead.”

Zoro glares at him half-heartedly. “Can still kick your skinny ass.”

“Oh, I'd love to see you try,” Sanji smirks. “After you eat your soup. Because if you waste it, I really will kill you.”

He breezes out of the room before Zoro can come up with a response. Zoro curses his own sleep-deprived brain, and takes the lid off of the thermos. The soup smells amazing, because of course it does — but more importantly, it's piping hot. Upset stomach already forgotten, he begins to take slow, careful sips, letting the wonderful heat warm him from the inside out. 

\\\

Sanji chops, dices, stirs, and seasons on autopilot, another batch of hearty soup appearing as though out of thin air under his practiced hands. As it simmers, filling the galley with its pleasant aroma, he mixes other ingredients, acting more on instinct than thought, and before he knows it, he's kneading a bread dough.

Or maybe pummeling a bread dough is more accurate. He glowers at it as he drives the heels of his hands into the sticky mass repeatedly, until finally he slams a whole fist into it with far more force than necessary.

Panting, he takes a regretful step back. It's probably over-kneaded, he thinks, oddly detached. Probably not going to make a very good loaf. But he'll find some use for it. He always does.

Just as soon as he figures out what the hell it is that's got him so worked up, anyway.

It's whatever is going on with the Mosshead, he supposes. Because they're… friends, or something. Nakama, at any rate. Because personal feelings aside, at the end of the day, either one of them would fight and bleed and kill for the other. They're Luffy's wings, a somehow perfectly matched set in their own bizarre way. 

And that's why Zoro's not going to die, Sanji thinks. The idea is impossible. Inconceivable. Because if Zoro dies then Luffy is grounded. A bird can't fly with one wing. 

And a wing can never soar without its pair. 

Sanji's hands shake as he drops his overworked dough onto a sheet pan and throws it in the oven, breathing just a little too fast.

Running a hand nervously through his hair, he takes all of those thoughts and shoves them away, into the secret lockbox hidden deep inside his chest where all his thoughts of that kind go. Zoro will be fine. Chopper will fix him. The vacant, listless shadow of the swordsman Sanji had just delivered lunch to will be gone; the rough-around-the-edges, sharp, irritating bastard he knows will be back, endlessly pushing and sniping and challenging — exactly where he belongs. 

Sanji shoves that thought into the box, too.

\\\

Zoro can't sleep. He's too cold to sleep. But as he lays by the horigotatsu, shivering in spite of the heat and the blankets, his thoughts drift through a deep haze. The ice has now spread through more than half his body, freezing and numbing in turn. He hurts, and he feels nothing, and he wants to scream. 

“ — has to be something else we can do,” a voice says, somewhere far away. “The blankets don't seem to be helping at all anymore.”

Nami, Zoro thinks vaguely. She sounds worried. It really must be bad. 

“They're not,” Chopper’s voice replies, miserable. “Whatever this is, everywhere it spreads, he stops giving off heat. He's literally freezing, and I can't — I can't figure out why.”

He sounds on the verge of tears. Zoro wants to reassure him, to remind him that this isn't his fault — but the cold is quickly sapping his strength, and in the end, he's too tired to find the words.

Zoro drifts away again.

\\\

The figure lying on the ground is far too still, his only movement the weak shivers that endlessly rack his form. 

Something bitter cold settles in Sanji's own chest as he steps into the room and sees it, sees most of the other Straw Hats gathered silently nearby, trying not to stare. Even Luffy is uncharacteristically subdued, his expression stormy and unreadable.

Zoro probably hates this, Sanji thinks. He hates being the center of attention. 

Ignoring all of them, Sanji marches right up to the ailing swordsman and crouches in front of him. 

“Brought you some hot tea, Moss. You'd better wake up and drink it.”

“Sanji, man, I don't think — ” Usopp starts, but one sharp glare is enough to silence him. 

Sanji grabs Zoro's shoulder through all the blankets and shakes it lightly. “Let's go, Marimo. You know the rules around here. I'm not letting this go to waste.”

“Sanji…” Nami says quietly. “We haven't been able to wake him. He doesn't seem to be able to feel much of anything anymore… even us.”

Sanji lets out a low sound akin to a growl and shakes Zoro again, a little harder this time. “Dammit, Moss! You're going to drink this tea, you sentient pile of plant life!”

\\\

Something breaks through the swirling fog in Zoro's mind, appearing just at the edge of his consciousness. Confused, he tries to follow it — but no matter how hard he searches, he can't seem to find his way. Then he senses it again, stronger. And then a third time, bright and sustained, an anchoring tether in the haze. 

He drifts toward it without a second thought, drawn to it. And then he hears the voice. 

“ — you sentient pile of plant life!”

Plant life? 

Zoro blinks, and finds himself lying next to the horigotatsu in the men's quarters of the Sunny. And more importantly, he finds himself staring into a pair of eyes bluer than the sea, haloed by golden hair as bright as the sun.

As awful as he feels, relief floods his chest at the sight — because what plant life doesn't need the sun?

“Sanji?” he mumbles. 

Those baby blues widen in surprise, and several shocked voices cut suddenly through the oppressive quiet in the room. Zoro ignores them all, his focus locked on the cook. There's something… off, he thinks. Something here he's missing. 

“You gonna drink this tea, or what?” Sanji asks, the thin veneer of irritation in his voice doing little to hide a tone that sounds suspiciously like relief.

With intense concentration and far too much effort, Zoro manages to slowly push himself upright until he's propped against the bench behind him, trembling uncontrollably. He can't feel it, even as he leans most of his weight against it. 

Frowning, Sanji unscrews the lid from the thermos of tea and passes it to Zoro — but the lack of feeling in Zoro's nerves causes it to slip out of his grasp, and Sanji swears under his breath as he dives to catch it, pressing it back into the swordsman's hands just before it can spill. 

As he does, his fingers close briefly over Zoro's.

Zoro inhales sharply as something like an electric shock shoots up his arm. He stares at Sanji, and Sanji stares back. 

“...Moss?”

Zoro's gaze drifts slowly downward, running the length of Sanji's extended arm until at last he lands on the hand still gripping his shoulder through the layers of blankets. 

The warm hand. That matches the warm fingers that had just brushed his. 

\\\

Sanji's heart pounds as Zoro stares at him with an intensity that leaves him oddly breathless, stares at the hand that Sanji had nearly forgotten was still resting on Zoro's shoulder. He snatches it back like he's been burned, pulling away — but Zoro follows, leaning into his space as though drawn to him by a magnet. Sanji isn't even sure Zoro realizes he's doing it. 

And then it hits him. 

“Did you… feel that?”

Zoro gives a small, shaky nod, and again the room is filled with a jumble of excited voices, nearly drowned out by a joyful shout from their captain. Thankfully, Chopper is the first to reach them, holding the others at bay so he can examine his patient. 

“Still cold…” he murmurs under his breath, turning Zoro's hand over in his hooves. “Can you feel that, Zoro?”

“No.” Zoro shakes his head, anxiety and confusion tightening his expression. 

“We all tried to wake you a few minutes ago,” Nami pointed out. “You didn't react to anyone until Sanji.”

Sanji wants to disappear into the floor as every eye in the room immediately shifts to him. Zoro's gaze especially still has that intensity to it, sharp as a blade. “Look, it's — it's great, I guess, that he's not totally numb yet, or something,” he stutters nervously. “But I don't really know what you want from me. I can make more tea, I guess? More soup?”

“Sanji…” Chopper says slowly, carefully. “I think you need to try… touching Zoro again.”

Whatever feeling that thought inspires is quickly shoved into the box, unexamined. Then he makes the mistake of actually looking at Zoro, only to find that the swordsman's face has softened in some gentle, indescribable way as he watches Sanji, waiting for his response.

The box is starting to feel a bit full. 

“Fine.” It slips out almost before Sanji knows he wants it to, quiet and strained. And before he can change his mind, he reaches out and grabs Zoro's hand. 

The reaction is immediate: Zoro lets out a gasp, his eye widening in shock, and latches onto Sanji like a lifeline, suddenly looking more alive than he has in hours. 

“Shit,” Sanji mutters.

“Zoro,” Chopper says urgently, “how does that feel?”

“Warm,” he answers hoarsely.

Chopper immediately rounds on Sanji, apparently done asking now that he sees a chance to help his patient. “You need to stay close to Zoro. You seem to be the only thing that can still keep him warm — you might buy us enough time for me to solve this!”

“Shit,” Sanji repeats with more feeling. 

“Unless,” Zoro shivers, teeth chattering as he speaks, “you d-don't want to. I w-won't make you — ”

“Shut up and move over,” Sanji huffs at the self-sacrificing idiot. 

Next thing he knows, he's wrapped up in the world's heaviest blanket burrito, with a freezing swordsman pressed firmly against his left side. It's probably a good thing Zoro is a human icicle, actually, he thinks, because if not then Sanji would probably be suffering heat stroke by now. It's more than clear that the horigotatsu isn't doing anything for Zoro, even as watching the heat haze rise from it makes Sanji sweat. It's obvious, too, that all of the heat trapped inside their blanket pile is coming from Sanji, Zoro's body no longer giving off any warmth of its own. Sitting next to him, Sanji gets the strange feeling that every bit of heat he emits is being immediately absorbed by Zoro's nearly-frozen form.

Just like a plant in the sun, he thinks, amused. 

\\\

Zoro can't sleep. He's close to it, closer than he's managed all day, even starting to nod off a little — but the cold still won't let him, jolting him awake with an icy shock every time he closes his eye. Frustrated, he lets his head fall onto Sanji's shoulder without thinking about it, too desperate for the cook's warmth to stop himself. 

This isn't exactly how he'd wanted to get close to Sanji, even if it does feel good. He hopes Sanji isn't too uncomfortable with it. Knowing how self-sacrificing the idiot is, he probably hates it, Zoro thinks grimly. 

But he doesn't move away. He can't. Because the entire world around him has dimmed and blurred into a bleak, frigid fog — except for this one, beautiful man, shining like the sun, holding Zoro locked into his orbit. 

Exactly where he’s already been for years.

\\\

This should feel weird, Sanji thinks. Up until the last hour or so, the closest he and Zoro have ever physically been has mostly involved some form of hand-to-hand combat, and a lot of yelling. This should feel weird. 

This might not feel entirely weird.

He shifts slightly, adjusting the position of his back against the bench behind him. Zoro follows him easily, settling in close as ever. This should feel weird. 

This doesn't feel weird. 

Maybe they've matured, Sanji thinks for an optimistic moment. Maybe they can actually start to act friendly toward each other instead of fighting all the —

All right, who is he kidding? Just the day before, Sanji had thrown a whole frying pan at Zoro's head because the shitty swordsman had smirked at him one too many times over breakfast. And then Zoro had the nerve to catch the frying pan and throw it back at him, leaving the rest of the crew to vacate the room before there could be casualties. So yes. This should feel weird.

This feels… good?

Physically, it had been unsettling at first; the sensation of sitting next to an ice cold body certainly wasn't something Sanji had a desire to repeat anytime soon. But gradually, with Sanji's own heat filling the space between them, Zoro had begun to feel more and more alive. 

And then suddenly, he was just… Zoro. Zoro, Sanji's matched pair and perfect rival. Zoro, one of the greatest — and certainly the most irritating — swordsmen in the world. Zoro, with the confident smirk, chiseled jawline, and annoyingly perfect muscles of some kind of ancient god.

Wait a minute. 

It's been a trying day, Sanji thinks, for that secret box, deep down in his chest.

So naturally, Usopp, who's been watching the two of them like a particularly fascinating science project, has to go and make it worse.

“I read this thing once,” he says with a faint grin on his face, apparently immune now to the daggers Sanji is glaring in his direction, “about survival strategies in harsh climates. It said that by far the most efficient way to share body heat is through direct skin-to-skin contact.”

Sanji stares at him in deadly silence for a long, long time. Then he hears a muffled giggle, and his eyes slide toward Nami, who's doing a poor job hiding a smile behind her hand. Finally, he looks to Luffy, who's watching them with a big, goofy grin, much happier than he has any right to be, as far as Sanji is concerned. Not one of them seems intimidated in the slightest by the venomous look he gives them. 

Possibly he has the blanket burrito to thank for that. And maybe the sleepy swordsman tucked against his shoulder.

“You know what?” Sanji says finally. “I think it's time for you all to get the hell out.”

\\\

Zoro stirs from his comfortable spot against Sanji's arm, just in time to hear grumbling and complaints as the rest of the Straw Hats are ushered out of the room. 

“Would you all go find something else to stare at, already?” Sanji is saying, exasperated. “For fuck’s sake, he's not dying yet! Not unless I kill him!”

The door clicks shut, leaving the two of them alone in the room. Zoro musters up a faint smile for the first time all day. “That your p-plan? Get me alone w-while I'm sick so you can finally d-do me in?”

“Shit, I didn't even realize you were awake,” Sanji startles. “And anyway, I thought you weren't sick,” he adds pointedly. 

Zoro gives an exhausted shrug. “Yeah, well. I'm s-something, I guess.”

“You're something, all right,” Sanji mutters, craning his neck so he can look down at him. “Have you slept at all?”

“Hm. I don't think so. Not unless you count the weird coma thing from earlier.”

“No one in their right mind would count the weird coma thing from earlier, Moss,” Sanji sighs. “You need sleep.”

As if he doesn't know that already. “Too cold,” Zoro grunts shortly. He can practically feel Sanji's gaze boring into him, even without looking. “Look, I'll — I'll get some rest later, okay? I'm already f-feeling a lot w-warmer. I'm s-sure I'll be able to sleep s-soon.” It's almost true. If ‘almost true’ really means ‘mostly a lie.’

The tremors probably aren't doing much to sell it, he thinks.

“You are, without a doubt, the biggest pain in the ass I have ever met in my life, shitty Marimo.”

“Thanks.”

Sanji's sighs are becoming more dramatic by the minute. Grumbling a few more obscenities under his breath, he uses his shoulder to nudge Zoro's head until the swordsman has to look up at him. 

“Ow, what the f-fuck do you want?”

Sanji takes a deep breath. “Look, I'm only going to say this once. And I'm only doing it for your own good.” He stares at Zoro for a moment as if daring him to interrupt. 

Zoro, genuinely confused, watches him with mild concern. Is Sanji… blushing? 

“Just… take your damn clothes off. Most of your clothes off,” he corrects quickly. “And don't say a fucking word.”

A hundred different scenarios immediately flash through Zoro's mind, most of which he's definitely way too cold for. 

“What,” Zoro stresses, immediately failing at not saying a word, “the fuck.”

They stare at each other for entirely too long. Sanji's blush spreads down his neck and out to the tips of his ears. Zoro desperately hopes he's still too frozen to do the same. 

“So did you. Um.” Sanji stutters, gives up, tries again. “Did you not hear what Usopp said earlier? About the whole… sharing body heat thing?”

Still busy scraping all the corners of his mind out of the gutter that Sanji had inadvertently drop-kicked them into, Zoro almost fails to answer. “Oh,” he says belatedly. “I… must've m-missed that part.”

“Great.”

“Yeah.” There's another fraught silence, before Zoro asks, as casually as he can manage, “So… I'm s-supposed to get naked, th-then?”

“Almost,” Sanji repeats emphatically. “If your underwear comes off, I'm kicking you overboard.”

“What if I d-don't wear underwear?” Zoro asks innocently. 

Sanji's eyes flick conspicuously downward for just a split second. “Are you fucking — ”

“Relax, I'm kidding,” Zoro grins. “Mostly.”

“Please just stop talking.”

\\\

They're not cuddling, Sanji thinks. That is absolutely, unequivocally not what they're doing. Because that would be weird. And this isn't weird. This is just a man stepping up and helping out a friend. Rival. Whatever the hell he is. Helping out a friend/rival mostly naked, as straight friends/rivals are known to do. 

Sanji rolls his eyes and tries to think about anything else as his inner voice becomes entirely too sarcastic. 

Wait, is Zoro straight?

Oh, for… think about anything else, he tells himself angrily. 

But it's too late, because as it turns out, it's pretty hard not to think about a person when they're sleeping halfway on top of you. Go figure. 

It had been awkward at first, of course, stripping down to their underwear in front of each other and climbing back under the blankets. (Especially when Sanji had caught Zoro eyeing his heart-patterned boxers with a smirk.) But then, they had just… fit. Zoro, too damn cold still to play coy about it, had pressed himself into Sanji's arms like he belonged there, tangling their legs together and tucking his face into the crook of Sanji's neck. And Sanji had just… let him. Draped an arm around his waist to keep him close. Keep him warm. 

And somehow, thankfully, it had seemed to work. Everywhere they touched, Sanji began to feel heat slowly returning to Zoro's body. His violent shivering had lessened, and then stopped altogether, and as it did, Zoro gave a relieved sigh and fell asleep, his breath ghosting feather-light across Sanji's skin.

And as Zoro sleeps, so soft and peaceful in Sanji's arms that he actually looks as young as he is for once, Sanji carefully unlocks the box. 

Okay, so Zoro is hot. Obviously. Anyone with eyes could see that, right? Sanji can still be straight and also acknowledge that Zoro is objectively not bad to look at. Except…

There's nothing objective about wondering what Zoro's lips feel like every time he gets close enough. Or about the thoughts that have been flooding his mind recently whenever he — ahem — accidentally catches Zoro working out in the crow’s nest. Or about the way he’s already pretty sure he wants to sleep this way with this man every night for the rest of his life.

But he won't, he reminds himself, a little more sharply than he meant to. Because Zoro doesn't want him, that much is obvious. He's never seen the swordsman show the slightest bit of interest in anyone — especially not Sanji, the fucked-up mess of a human being that he picks fights with at literally every opportunity.

But for one lingering moment, Sanji lets himself think about what it would be like to keep this. It's a far cry from the grand fairytale romance he's always pictured — until he finds, to his shock, that the fairytale seems to have dimmed somewhat in comparison.

Swallowing past the painful lump in his throat, Sanji buries his fingers in Zoro's ridiculous green hair and aches. 

\\\

When Zoro wakes, he feels… normal. A little too hot, even. He can feel the soft blankets draped over him, the comfortably padded bench he's lying on, the steady heat of the horigotatsu at his back.

Most importantly, he can feel Sanji, warm and strong and perfect, holding Zoro against his chest as he sleeps. Zoro is wrapped around him like a koala. He definitely hadn't fallen asleep like that. 

Heart pounding in his ears, he does his best to remain as still as possible, not wanting to risk waking Sanji. Not wanting the moment to end.

Aching, he lets himself imagine, for one selfish minute, a future where he gets to keep this. He thinks about falling asleep like this every night and waking up like this every morning, about being the first person Sanji turns to when he's hurting, rather than hiding away on his own.

He thinks about being the person who gets to bask in Sanji's light, as much as he needs.

Never fall for a straight boy, he thinks miserably.

\\\

With Zoro's incredible recovery, things return to normal. Chopper is a little disappointed, at first, that he never solved the mystery of what had caused the strange ailment in the first place — but in the end, he's more thrilled to see Zoro back on his feet than anything. 

Life on the Sunny goes on as it always has. 

Sanji is fine. And he'll keep telling himself so until it becomes true. Or until he dies of old age. Whichever happens first. 

They don't talk about that night, because what is there to talk about? So what if we cuddled together in our underwear for a few hours. So what if I'm falling so hard for you I don't know how to get back up. So what if you don't feel the same about me. So what. 

Sanji falls back into old routines, trying to take solace in the familiarity of feeding and caring for his crew — but no matter how hard he tries, it's not the same. The whole shape of the world feels different, he thinks, now that a single glimpse of mossy hair and a steel-grey eye is enough to send him reeling. 

He tries to convince himself that it'll pass, that this is just his MO, after all: he falls hard and fast at the drop of a hat, his head turned by every pretty smile and bubbly laugh. 

But this isn't the same, and he knows it. This is as steady and constant and unshakable as Zoro himself. The swordsman is under his skin and buried in his chest and beating in his heart, and there's nothing Sanji can do about it. 

\\\

It stings a little how quickly Sanji goes back to the same old routines after everything, even though Zoro knows full well he never had a shot in the first place. He'd always known that whatever feelings he had for Sanji, he'd have to carry on his own. It certainly wasn't the cook's fault if that night hadn't meant the same to him as it had to Zoro. And if Zoro had been stupid enough to let it mean something in the first place, he really had no one to blame but himself. 

But how can he help it? In a world where Sanji is just so… Sanji, what can Zoro do but love him? 

He takes a sip of the protein shake the cook had just handed him, peering over the rim of the glass at the man himself, at the brilliant smile on his face as he hands the ladies their specially-made cocktails. He always smiles at them like that. Not at Zoro, though. 

Not that he's jealous, or anything.

“Whatcha thinkin’ about?”

Zoro jumps slightly as Luffy appears next to him as if by magic, having apparently just slingshotted himself halfway across the ship. Thank goodness it was only halfway. Zoro really doesn't feel like going for a swim right now. 

“I'm not — nothing,” he stutters.

“Nothing, huh?” Luffy nods sagely. “I do that, too.” He follows Zoro's gaze, squinting. “It looks like you're thinking about Sanji, though.”

“I wasn't,” Zoro lies. Maybe Luffy won't notice the faint blush dusting his cheeks.

“Hm. Just now, or all the other times I've seen you staring really hard at Sanji lately?”

Maybe he does want to go for a swim after all, Zoro thinks. A really long swim. He can feel himself getting hotter. “I don't think about Sanji. Or stare at Sanji.”

Luffy turns to face him, leaning so close to his face that Zoro almost feels like the captain is looking through him. “Woah, your face is reeeeally red, Zoro! Are you getting sick again? Are you gonna burn up now instead of freezing?”

Zoro is definitely jumping overboard, especially as the word ‘sick’ immediately summons an anxious Chopper to his side. 

“Are you feeling okay, Zoro? Luffy's right, you're all red! Are you too cold? Too hot?”

“I'm fine,” Zoro insists. Then his stomach plummets to somewhere in the vicinity of his shoes as he notices Sanji wandering over, drawn by the commotion. He scrambles to his feet, trying to escape, but it's too late. 

“What the hell's going on here?” Sanji asks sharply, giving Zoro a quick once-over. “You're sick again?”

“No,” Zoro groans. He needs to be literally anywhere else on the ship as soon as possible, especially if Sanji is going to be looking at him like that.

“What the hell are you all red for, then?”

The irony isn't lost on Zoro, who absolutely does not, at that point, run away instead of answering the question, because Roronoa Zoro does not run away. He retreats strategically, or something like that. And then he hides somewhere there's no one around to realize how disastrously in love with the cook he really is.

\\\

Another day, another fight with a Marine ship in way too far over their heads. Or, more accurately, another fight with the same Marine ship in way too far over their heads, apparently still limping around this patch of ocean. 

Must have the world's shittiest commander, Sanji thinks, whether he'd managed to already forget the Sunny in the two weeks since he'd last seen her, or whether he'd actually thought his people would somehow have better luck the second time around.

They hadn't. It was an easy victory for the Straw Hats, sort of a light workout. And okay, maybe Sanji had taken one stupid unnecessary hit when he got distracted — definitely not watching Zoro — but it was nothing he couldn't handle, barely keeping him down for as long as it took Chopper to put a few stitches in it and wrap it up.

Sanji scratches idly at the bandage on his thigh, starting to get a little irritated. 

“Why does it feel like we're in trouble for something?”

Glancing sideways at Zoro from where they're both sitting at the dining table in the galley, Sanji shrugs and makes a vague ‘I don't know’ sound. “What did you do?”

Zoro shoots a glare in his direction. “I haven't done anything. What did you do, Dartbrow?”

It shouldn't feel this good to get a rise out of him, Sanji thinks. It's just that the swordsman has been so weird around him for the last couple of weeks. And hell, Sanji's probably been weird around Zoro, too.

Maybe that was why Nami had thrown them both in here after the battle and told them to wait. 

“I've been a perfect saint, Marimo,” Sanji smirks, flicking his lighter a few times. “I haven't even tried to kick your head in recently.”

Zoro makes an oddly soft noise, staring at the surface of the table. Is Sanji imagining it, or does he actually look a bit… disappointed?

He's definitely imagining it. 

Right?

Before he can get too in his own head about it, the door flies open and Luffy explodes into the room, Chopper clinging to his shoulders, both apparently bursting with excitement. Nami follows them, her expression unreadable.

“Guess what guess what guess what!” Luffy cheers exuberantly as he flings himself into a chair in between Zoro and Sanji. “We solved the mystery!”

Sanji catches Zoro's eye over the captain’s shoulder, and is relieved to find him equally as confused as Sanji is.

“Huh?” Zoro asks eloquently. 

Chopper grins triumphantly down at them both. “We finally know what happened to Zoro two weeks ago!” he explains cheerfully. “Turns out it wasn't poison at all. There's a Marine on that ship with a devil fruit!”

Zoro crosses his arms with a slight shiver, as though he's reliving that day. “Oh,” he says finally. “So… what, we got far enough away from the guy that the effect of it just faded?”

“Well,” Chopper says. “No, not exactly. It did start with the wound you took in that fight, as we suspected. Apparently, any injury he inflicts slowly freezes the victim.” He pauses for a moment, then adds, “...irreversibly.”

“Wait, what?” Sanji scoffs before Zoro can say anything. “If it's irreversible then why isn't the Mosshead here a grassy icicle right now?”

Chopper hesitates, and Luffy opens his mouth as if to answer before Nami quickly steps in. 

“Okay, you brought me in to handle this part, remember?” She turns to Zoro and Sanji and takes a deep breath. “So, it turns out… there's exactly one thing that can unfreeze this guy's targets.”

Sanji doesn't think he likes the look that takes over her face as she speaks. There's a not-so-hidden wicked smile just under the surface there.

“The one and only thing in the whole world that can warm the victim is…” She pauses for a moment to let the tension build. Then she drops the bomb. “...their soulmate.”

The silence in the room is absolute. Sanji can feel Luffy practically vibrating next to him, his head swiveling back and forth between his cook and his first mate as though he's at a tennis match, entirely immune to the ratcheting tension in the room. Determined to not make eye contact with Zoro ever again for the rest of his life, Sanji stares unblinking at Nami, as though daring her to say psych. 

She stares silently back at him, with a smirk that's definitely creeping into evil territory. 

Sanji ends up being the one who at last breaks the silence — and unfortunately, he does it with a loud, uncomfortable laugh, too high-pitched and brittle to sound natural. “That's not — that's not real, though, right? It's not true.”

Nami raises an eyebrow, gaze flicking in Zoro's direction.

Luffy nods seriously. “She's telling the truth, Sanji. That's exactly what the Marine said. ‘The only thing that can undo my power over someone is their soulmate,’” he quotes.

“But — ” Sanji stammers, “ — but soulmates aren't real! That's just kid stuff! Fairytales!” Ironic, really, he thinks. 

“Who says they can't be real?” Chopper asks with a tiny shrug from his perch on Luffy's shoulders. “We've all seen a lot stranger, haven't we?”

“I mean, sure,” Sanji agrees, almost frantic now. “But even if it is real, that means — you all really think that my soulmate is… him?”

Luffy tilts his head to one side curiously. “Why not?”

Because I'm pretty sure he hates me, Sanji thinks, dry-mouthed. 

Nami clears her throat, loud and obvious, and when Sanji looks back at her, she nods pointedly in Zoro's direction. 

Sanji shakes his head a little. 

Nami glares. 

Against his better judgement, Sanji finally looks. 

Zoro, who hasn't said a word this entire time, Sanji now realizes, is stock-still and red-faced, eye still locked intensely onto the woodgrain of the table’s surface. His arms are folded tightly across his chest, hands clenched into fists. Sanji feels his stomach drop at the sight. 

Shit. 

“All right,” Nami says in a tone that brooks no argument. “I think it's time we left these two alone. They either have a lot of talking to do or a lot of killing each other to do.”

And as Luffy grumbles in protest, she grabs him by the collar and drags both him and Chopper from the room, again leaving silence in their wake.

Zoro doesn't speak, doesn't face Sanji, doesn't move. He looks furious. 

Sanji opens his mouth to speak, changes his mind, closes it again. He turns on his heel and walks to the other side of the galley, then back. When words still fail to materialize on his lips, he does it again. 

Zoro doesn't move a muscle. 

“Look,” Sanji manages finally, when the silence has become so oppressive he thinks he might scream. “Look. I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry if I made everything weird these last two weeks. And I'm sorry if — if you're really stuck with me for a soulmate. I get that I'm not what you want — actually, I'm really not sure what it is you want — but it's clearly not me. So I'm sorry. If there was some way I could let you out of this, I'd do it.”

“What?”

It's the first time they've made eye contact since the word ‘soulmate’ had first been dropped, and the longest since that night two weeks before. Zoro's gaze is iron, pinning Sanji in place, locking his feet to the floor. 

“I mean, I know you're upset with me,” Sanji continues to ramble. “And that day was, you know, a lot. And now all of this is… well, still a lot. I'm sorry.”

Zoro frowns up at him, the hard lines of his face softening into confusion. “I'm not upset with you.”

“Oh.” There's something he's missing here, Sanji thinks, something that's keeping them from landing on the same page. “Who are you upset with, then?”

“I don't know,” Zoro mutters, looking away again with a wince. “Myself, I guess.”

“But why? You didn't do anything except get zapped by a stupid devil fruit.”

Zoro lets out a long, slow breath. Then he stands up, walks around the dining table until he's facing Sanji, and looks him right in the eye, close but not too close. 

“Because I'm… I have been… in love with you.”

And Sanji is untethered, adrift, his mind blank and his ears ringing. It sounded like Roronoa Zoro had just admitted to being in love with him, but there's no way in hell that actually happened. 

“You what?”

“I'm in love with you,” Zoro repeats, blunt and honest. 

Sanji splutters, desperate for his brain to start producing coherent words again.

Zoro is in love with him. 

Zoro is in love with him, and he just had to sit there and listen to Sanji rant and yell about how ridiculous he thinks the idea is that he could be Zoro's soulmate.

Sanji is an idiot. 

“How long?” he breathes finally. 

“What?”

“You said you ‘have been’ in love with me. For how long?”

“Almost since the beginning,” Zoro answers, and it's so obvious he means it that Sanji can't breathe for a moment. “I’d never felt anything like it before,” he continues. “I'd started to think — to think I couldn't. That love was something that happened to other people. Then I met you, Curls, and you wouldn't stop getting under my skin, and then…” He shrugs, a tiny, sad kind of smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, full of longing. “And then I realized I wanted you to stay there.”

Something hot and electric is clawing its way up Sanji's spine, tingling out to the tips of every extremity. His mind is suddenly buzzing with a whirlwind of memories, of Zoro picking fights, challenging him, pushing back against him; of Zoro giving him openings to spark up his heels and work out all of his frustration and anxiety and anger. Of Zoro taking every bit of it until Sanji can finally breathe again.

“Moss, that's — that's three years! Why didn't you ever say anything?”

Zoro's gaze is steady, unflinching; he has that look on his face that means he's about to be perhaps too honest. “Because I knew you didn't want me.”

Sanji opens his mouth to protest, but Zoro waves away whatever flimsy argument he was going to make and folds his arms across his chest again, closing himself off.

“You're straight. You've made that more than clear since the first day we met. You want someone sweet and romantic and good at all that lovey-dovey shit — and a woman. And I'm none of those things. So I decided not to tell you. I thought it would be better that way… for you and for the whole crew. I know how much being here means to you, and how important you are to everyone, and I wasn't gonna let my stupid feelings be the thing that fucked it all up.”

There's a hell of a lot to unpack there, Sanji thinks. The idea that this man would rather hurt himself for years than risk inconveniencing his crew is just so very Zoro that Sanji can't manage to be surprised by it, even as it sends him reeling. But at the same time, he feels a spark of irritation ignite in his chest, and — because it's Zoro — he can't help but lean into it.

“So you're making decisions for the whole crew now, are you?”

Zoro's defiant expression again morphs into one of confusion. “What?”

Sanji takes a step closer, stoking the flame in his chest. “What the fuck makes you think you know what I want so well you get to decide for me?” he snarls angrily.

Zoro doesn't back off, because Zoro never backs off when Sanji's in the mood for a flight; instead he matches him perfectly, just as he always does. “I dunno, maybe the years of watching you fall all over every pretty girl to cross your path!” he growls back with just as much venom, stepping forward himself.

They're in each other's faces now, close enough to be dangerous, and burning hot. 

“Well, maybe you don't know shit!” Sanji spits, nearly yelling now as he glares into that one grey eye. “Because you don't know I haven't been able to stop thinking about you for weeks! And you don't know that what I really want is someone who challenges me! Someone who pushes me to be my best!” He takes a deep breath, all the fight suddenly going out of him. “Someone who knows all my stupid, fucked up shit and still loves me anyway… who doesn't think I'm too much.”

For a split second, Sanji sees the moment Zoro melts — and then the swordsman is closing the remaining distance between them, strong arms pulling Sanji into an embrace. 

“Not too much,” Zoro murmurs roughly in his ear, before dropping his head down onto Sanji's shoulder, holding him as tightly as he can. “Never too much. You're perfect.”

Heat rises in Sanji's face and his eyes begin to sting, but he finds that he can't seem to stop smiling. “And you're exactly what I want,” he replies softly. “It just took me too long to realize it.”

With a quiet, curious hum, Zoro asks, “When did it happen, exactly?”

“Oh…I don't know,” Sanji admits. “A while ago, I guess. Probably.” He nuzzles into green hair affectionately. “But I might've just realized it… two weeks ago.”

Zoro lets out a kind of strangled laugh, muffled by Sanji's shoulder. “And when were you planning on saying something?”

Sanji stiffens against him, already not liking this new direction the conversation is taking. “...never?”

And Zoro abruptly shoves him away, openly laughing now. “Then what the hell are you giving me shit for?” he crows gleefully. “Hypocrite cook!”

“Excuse me,” Sanji splutters, indignant, “but there's a difference between me having feelings for you for two weeks, versus you pining after me for three years - ”

“I was not pining!”

“What were you doing then?” Sanji says, beginning to laugh now as he feels himself regaining the upper hand. “Tell me what you were doing that wasn't pining.”

“I was — ” Zoro scrambles frantically for any ending to the sentence that doesn't make him sound pathetic, and deflates as he fails miserably.

Sanji steps back up to him, leaning in with a smug grin. “You don't know what you were doing?”

“I almost said yearning,” Zoro admits. “But somehow that sounds worse.”

Inches away from him, Sanji can't help letting out a little giggle — and a second later, Zoro joins in, letting soft, shared laughter fill the space between them as Zoro's arms wrap comfortably around Sanji's waist, and one of Sanji's hands settles on Zoro's chest while the other cups the back of his head.

“You wanna just agree that we're both idiots and call it even?” Sanji asks.

“That sounds fair,” Zoro mumbles — and kisses him.

Sanji's mind goes blank, the scorching heat of Zoro's mouth on his sending shivers through his entire body as he pushes back eagerly, matching Zoro's intensity with enthusiasm. It's not like any of the women he's kissed before. It's not like anything he's ever felt before. 

It's perfect. 

Zoro is strong and steady and surprisingly gentle, holding Sanji as though he's the most precious thing in the world. He's exactly what Sanji's always wanted. 

…If only his stupid injured leg would just stop itching. 

And that's when it hits him. His leg isn't itching at all. It's cold. 

“Oh,” he says, abruptly breaking the kiss. “Huh.”

Zoro pulls back all too quickly, with a look that's almost nervous. “Was that okay? Should I not have done that?”

“No!” Sanji grabs him before he gets too far, hurrying to reassure him. “No, that was — that was incredible, actually. Kind of perfect. And we will be doing it again, a lot, as soon as possible. It's just, um…”

Zoro's brow furrows with genuine concern. “Sanji? What's wrong?”

Somewhat ironically, warmth fills Sanji's chest at Zoro's worry, as he realizes just how much the swordsman cares for him. It's sweet, he thinks. Zoro in love is sweet. 

Which would be much cuter if icy tendrils weren't beginning to creep across the skin of his thigh, trying to freeze him solid. 

“Well, uh…” he says a little sheepishly. “...if you wanted to test that whole ‘soulmate’ theory… now might be the time.”

“What's that supposed to — ” Mid-sentence, realization dawns on Zoro's face, and his eyes drop to Sanji's bandaged leg. “You're kidding.”

Sanji shakes his head. “I see why you were so miserable that morning. This feels fucking weird.”

“Yeah, you don't say,” Zoro rolls his eye. “How'd you even get hit in an easy fight like that, anyway?”

“If you must know,” Sanji says, flushing slightly, “I got a little distracted watching what you were doing.”

“No shit?” Zoro grins. “I got mine the first time around because I was trying to keep an eye on you.”

“Well, aren't we adorable,” Sanji replies, a bit dryly. “Would you like to try fixing me now?”

“Oh! Right, yeah.” Zoro reaches for him, and then hesitates. “So I just, um…”

Sanji glances down at his own leg, and realizes for the first time just how far up his thigh the bandage winds. He looks back up at Zoro through his eyelashes, and sees the swordsman's breath hitch in his chest. 

“I think you'll have to touch me,” Sanji murmurs, low and tempting. “How else are you supposed to warm me?”

“Right,” Zoro breathes, and without further ado, he locks an arm around Sanji's waist, holding him firmly in his own space. 

Sanji feels a broad hand settle just above his knee. As Zoro leans in and captures his mouth in another deep, lingering kiss, that hand begins to glide slowly up his thigh — and, to his relief, the cold vanishes with it, leaving a tingling warmth in its wake.

It's Zoro who breaks the kiss this time, grinning at the way Sanji chases after him for a split second when they part. His hand, notably, hasn't moved from its new position on Sanji's upper thigh. “Feel better?” he asks, too innocently.

A little stunned, Sanji answers honestly, “Unbelievably so.”

Zoro's grin widens into something joyful and excited that Sanji feels echoed in his chest, melting into his very bones and making his heart soar.

“Me, too.”

\\\

Epilogue: One Year Later

Zoro lingers in the doorway of the galley, watching the most beautiful man he's ever seen at work. He loves this, loves the way the warm afternoon sun streams into the room and makes Sanji's hair shine like gold, loves the way Sanji moves while he cooks, graceful and self-assured, in his element.

Loves the opportunity to take a good, long look at Sanji's perfectly sculpted ass.

He catches the moment the cook finally spies him over his shoulder, smiling as he calls out, “See something you like, Mossy?” He shifts his weight, and Zoro's eye can't help but follow the movement of his hips. “Did you need something?” Sanji tries again. “Or did you just want to stand back there and stare?”

Finally stepping into the room, Zoro replies, “I see a few things I like, actually,” and gives Sanji a slow, suggestive look up and down, enjoying the dusting of pink that colors his cheeks. 

“Yeah, well, some of us do actual work on this ship, you know,” Sanji says, his dismissive tone belied by the grin that still hovers on his face. “Maybe I'm too busy for your nonsense right now.”

Even though he knows he's joking, Zoro grumbles as he wraps his arms around Sanji's waist from behind, pressing as close as he can and nuzzling into the crook of his neck. “But I'm hungry.”

Sanji chuckles, patting the spiky head that rests on his shoulder. “Hungry like you want a snack, or hungry like you want attention?” he asks teasingly, because he knows Zoro will say the same thing either way. 

“Hm.” Zoro hums as though he needs to think about it, and nips lightly at the side of Sanji's neck. “The second one.”

“Ow! Go sit over there, you animal!” Sanji swats him off, giving him a shove in the direction of the bench. “I'm almost done here; I'll join you in a minute.”

Laughing to himself, Zoro obeys, stretching out and closing his eye while he waits. A short time later, he feels Sanji pulling at him and allows himself to be repositioned until he's laying across Sanji's lap, nestled comfortably into his arms. 

“Hey, Curls,” he murmurs, grinning up at him. 

“Hey yourself,” Sanji answers, leaning in to kiss his forehead. “Is this what you needed?”

“Yeah,” Zoro says. “Missed you.”

“You saw me this morning, Marimo,” Sanji reminds him, amused. “I was that guy you woke up in bed with? Draped all over like the world's heaviest weighted blanket? Does that ring any of your grassy bells?”

“I remember,” Zoro says, wrinkling his nose dramatically. “But that was hours ago.”

Sanji laughs, bright and warm, and Zoro’s heart does a little somersault. He loves this man so, so much. 

“I, um. I actually had something I wanted to talk to you about,” he says finally, sitting up to face Sanji and moving in as close as he can. 

“Oh? Sounds serious.”

“It is serious. It's important.”

“Okay.”

“Last week,” Zoro says, “when you weren't feeling well, you gave me your shopping list so I could resupply the ship.”

“Yes…”

“On the back of that piece of paper,” Zoro continues slowly, “you had written something.”

He sees the exact moment that the answer dawns on Sanji, sees his eyes grow wide as saucers, and has to fight to keep a straight face. 

“No,” Sanji says, his voice unnaturally high. “Tell me I didn't — ”

“You doodled ‘Roronoa Sanji’ on the back.”

Sanji stares at him, pale. “Shit.” He drops his face into his hands. “Shit.”

“So I started thinking — ” Zoro had planned this. He really did. Unfortunately, his plan involved being able to get a word in edgewise. 

“Look,” Sanji interrupts him nervously. “I know it was stupid — you don't have to say — ”

“Say what?” Zoro asks. “Marry me?”

Sanji winces, flushing a deep red. “I know it was dumb and silly, and I swear, I don't spend all my time doodling your name like a lovesick teenager — ”

“Curls, I'm trying to — ”

“It's just that I've never gotten to have a family name that I actually wanted, and I might've had a little bit to drink, and — I don't know, it seemed like a good idea at the time — ”

“Okay, so then why don't you just ma— ”

“Please, let's just forget about this, okay? This has been going so well and I don't want to make things weird. I'm sorry if I freaked you out or anything — ”

“Sanji!”

Shocked at hearing his actual name from Zoro's mouth of all places, Sanji’s panicked rambling falls silent. 

Trying not to laugh, Zoro reaches for him again, hands settling at his waist. “Do I look like I'm freaked out?”

“...no? Wait, why aren't you freaked out? Pretty sure this is where most of my past flames would've run screaming.”

“Sure, the cowards,” Zoro grins. “I'm calmer than I've ever been in my life, Curls.” With a fond look, he reaches up and carefully removes one of the three gold earrings from his left ear, holding it out to Sanji like a promise. “Marry me.”

Sanji stares at him blankly for a moment. His eyes travel slowly from Zoro's to the earring sitting in his palm and then back. “Fuck, you're actually asking.”

“Yeah, I'm trying to!” Zoro says, exasperated. “It's not going very well so far!”

“You bastard!” Sanji shoves him in the chest, laughing. “You're not romantic at all!”

“Who cares? I'm asking you right now. I know you don't want the name you were born with, so take mine. It's yours. Take me.” Zoro grabs Sanji's hand, pressing it to his own heart, and continues, open and earnest. “Shit, Curls, you've already got me. Just — just keep me. Let me keep you?”

Sanji leans in toward him irresistibly, looking a little breathless. “Okay, well, that… that wasn't bad,” he manages shakily, and uses the front of Zoro's shirt to drag him into a kiss.  

Laughter rumbles in Zoro's chest, spilling over into the kiss, and as Sanji joins in, Zoro wraps his arms around him and draws him in close, burying his nose in wavy, golden hair. 

“I love you, Curls.”

“I love you, too, Marimo. Now, where's that earring?”

Zoro holds it out again. “I mean, it was just an idea I had. You don't have to wear it. I'll get you a real ring if you'd rather — ”

“Now who's rambling?” Sanji teases, and takes it from him, holding it up next to his ear, where it shines just as brightly as the rest of him in the sunlight. “Roronoa Sanji,” he says happily, trying out the name. “What do you think?”

A fierce, wild joy bursts in Zoro's chest like fireworks, sending warm shivers through his entire body. 

“It's perfect.”