Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

I. Sharing Fruit

The crunch breaks the quiet, echoing sharp and satisfying in the thick autumn air.

The flesh of the honeycrisp gives beneath Sanji’s teeth, a streak of golden juice sliding down from the corner of his mouth, tracing the line of his jaw before catching on his thumb. He licks it away absently, eyes half-lidded against the glare of the sun filtering through the apple tree above him. The shade it provides helps, but only just.

Out here near the outskirts of the village, the heat of this island, even in the midst of their autumn season, seems to cling to his skin like a second layer.

Sanji leans back against the rough bark, shirt collar open, sleeves rolled up, and blonde hair curling damply against his temple. The sunlight filtering through the canopy of leaves seems to turn Zoro’s hair into a goldish-green color where he’s sitting beside him, arms folded with his head tilted back.

The swordsman looks half asleep, honestly. One of his knees is bent, one eye half open. His bandana hangs around his neck, dark with sweat, and the field stretches out before them. Grass sways, dotted with flowers in every color Sanji could ever name.

It’s peaceful, despite the scorching heat. But the peaceful silence is broken by the heavy sigh that Nami exhales.

“God, it’s too hot for this,” She sighs, sitting on top of an old barrel a few paces away. She pulls out a new sundress from the paper bags splayed at her feet, holding it up to the light. “If I’d known that this island would feel like a sauna by noon, I would have waited until the night festival to go out shopping.”

Sanji glances over, a lazy chuckle escaping his throat. “But then you wouldn’t have bought that beautiful dress, Nami-san. Which you’ll look gorgeous in. By the way.” He says, grinning around another bite of apple.

Nami hums without looking at him, used to it by now. “Flattery isn’t going to make me forget that you promised to carry my things back to the Sunny,” She retorts, folding the dress back up and tucking it neatly into one of the bags.

“Of course I did,” Sanji replies without missing a beat, shifting his weight a little to make sure the reindeer sprawled against him is still comfortable. Chopper relaxes easily against him, his fur damp from the heat and his eyes shut in sleep. His little hooves are buried in the grass beneath him, a gentle breeze rustling the blazes every so often. “I’d carry the whole damn village for you, if you asked.”

“Good,” Nami says with a smirk, shooting him a playful wink. “Because at that little boutique beside the apothecary, I might’ve gone a bit overboard.”

Zoro snorts faintly from where he’s been absently tuned into their conversation, eyes still closed. “You? Overboard? Never would’ve guessed.”

Nami’s smirk doesn’t falter, but she does make a point of rolling her eyes. “At least I’m not the one who buys swords like they’re collectible toys.”

“That’s different,” Zoro mutters, tipping his head back against the tree trunk. “Swords are useful.”

“So are new shoes,” Nami fires back, brushing off her skirt before turning to inspect a pair of strappy sandals she just pulled from another bag. “Just not to you.”

Sanji grins, unable to help himself. He strokes the soft fur behind Chopper’s ears with his unoccupied hand in slow, continuous motions, mindful not to wake him. “I’d say she’s got you there, marimo.”

Zoro cracks one eye open and squints at him, then down at the apple still clutched in his grasp. “Just saying. Could’ve at least saved some beri for the festival tonight. Their cider tonight’s supposed to be strong, heard they’ve got a spiked version.”

Sanji huffs a laugh before he can stop himself. “Of course you’d only care about that.” He says, and then nods approvingly as Nami holds up a sleeved, floral top next. It’s white cotton, and pattered with tiny red blossoms that match some of the flowers scattered about the field.

“Oh, Nami-san, that’ll be perfect on you,” He croons, leaning forward just a little. Zoro’s gaze flicks from Sanji to the shirt, his expression remaining unimpressed.

“Stop indulging her, curly.” He murmurs, but they both seem to ignore him as Nami smiles sweetly and tosses her hair over her shoulder.

“You know, the festival tonight’s supposed to be their biggest event of the year. We docked at a lucky time.” Nami says, “And that spiked cider you’re talking about, Zoro? It’s supposed to be the best in all of the Grandline. The tavern down by the docks has been making it for generations, and they do a whole ceremony at sundown—pressing apples in front of everyone.”

Zoro’s brow lifts with the faintest arch of skepticism. “A ceremony? For cider?” He asks incredulously, although they’ve definitely attended festivals hosted off of weirder things in the past.

Nami just shrugs, crossing her arms and leaning back again. The barrel shifts slightly underneath her. “For tradition,” She corrects. “It’s the pride of the island. You’re sitting under one of their apple trees right now, people come from all over just to observe the rite.”

Zoro and Sanji both look up in unison, as if they’d simultaneously forgotten where they were perched. Blonde hair falls into Sanji’s face as he tilts his head, taking another small bite from the ripe honeycrisp. “Can’t say I blame them. The apples they grow here are some of the best I’ve tasted.”

Zoro lets out a small grunt and cranes his head back downwards, tugging the dampened bandana off of his heated skin. The motion brushes his arm against Sanji’s with the briefest slide of skin against fabric, and though he barely reacts, Sanji still glances over, his petting between Chopper’s ears stilling for a beat.

Nami, oblivious—or feigning obliviousness—hops off of the barrel in one graceful motion. “Well,” She starts, voice breezy. “If we want to make it there in time we should probably start heading back to the Sunny soon, Sanji-kun.”

Sanji blinks in surprise, but his grin is already morphing into something sheepish. “Ah, of course, my love. You’d like for me to carry your things?”

Nami’s lips curl into a knowing smile, one hand braced on her hip as the other gestures toward the quantity of bags. “You promised, didn’t you?” She reminds, “And that means you’re carrying all of them.”

Sanji exhales with mock despair, but his smile softens with genuine fondness. “Of course. Anything for you.” He says, preparing to push onto his feet, but then he pauses as Chopper mumbles something incoherent in his unconsciousness.

He’s still asleep against him, muzzle twitching faintly in some dream as Sanji brushes a strand of fur from his face. He thinks for a moment and glances over at Zoro, before muttering something soft underneath his breath. “Time to switch laps, mon petit,” He decides, before shifting carefully, sliding one arm beneath the tiny reindeer’s shoulders.

Zoro’s brows lift a fraction when Sanji leans closer, his voice dropping into a gentler register. “Take him, will you?” He says, but doesn’t wait for a response as he settles Chopper gently into the swordsman’s lap. The little reindeer lets out a soft sound that sounds like something between a sigh and a snore, immediately burrowing against Zoro’s thigh.

“Seriously?” Zoro murmurs, low enough not the disturb Chopper. Despite his protest, he catches the small weight with ease, one broad hand braced behind Chopper’s back to keep him in position.

“Shh,” Sanji warns, brushing off his knees as he stands, straightening the creases from his slacks. “You’ll wake him, you idiot.”

Zoro shoots him an unamused glare, but doesn’t say anything else. He only watches as Sanji turns halfway towards Nami, before taking a thoughtful pause to eye the honeycrisp in his palm. He takes one last bite of the apple before tossing the rest toward Zoro without warning. “Here,”

Zoro catches it with a reflexive tilt of his wrist, the fruit landing squarely in his palm. He scowls at the sugary stickiness of it. “Generous. But I don’t want your leftovers.” He says dryly, eyeing the bite marks along the edge.

“Don’t eat it, if you don’t want to.” Sanji says with a shrug, already reaching down to retrieve a few of the heavier looking parcels. “Consider it payment. For babysitting the reindeer.”

Zoro scoffs, but the corner of his mouth twitches upwards in betrayal. “You’re disgusting.” Still, he takes a slow bite, the crunch loud in the muted hush of the field. He doesn’t bother turning it away from the bitten part. Just sinks his teeth into the part where Sanji’s lips had been a moment before, the sweetness settling on his tongue.

It’s still cold from the shade, and he barely thinks about the lingering taste of someone else’s mouth.

Sanji waves lazily as he starts down the flowery slope, Nami strolling beside him, content and satisfied underneath Sanji’s gallant attention. He calls back, “Don’t forget, Nami-san said we’re meeting in the square at sundown! The whole crew! Try not to get lost between here and there, yeah?”

Zoro doesn’t bother responding. He simply makes a mental note, looking away and sighing against the tree. He drapes his sweat-soaked bandana over his knee and begins to mimic Sanji’s petting motions over Chopper’s fur, swallowing the chunk as the cicadas distantly titter.

II. Spiked Cider

The village square is alive and glowing gold with the last light of day by the time of their arrival.

Lanterns sway from ropes strung between rooftops, paper shades painted with apples and blossoms hanging over the cobblestone streets. The air seems to hum with chatter and laughter, the faint pulse of drums traveling from somewhere near the island’s tavern. The smell of baked apples, spices, and sugar hangs heavy over the town, sweet enough to make Sanji’s stomach stir with appreciation.

He’s walking beside Nami, one hand tucked into his pocket as they weave through all of the people. They’ve already spent a good portion of the afternoon together—walking back to the ship and inevitably stopping at more shops on the way. Nami had seized another new top, while Sanji snagged one of the island’s recipes and a bottle of packaged cider for later. Just in case they don’t manage to pick up any tonight.

And true to his word, he’d helped her unpack all of the shopping bags at the ship afterwards—folded the new dresses, stacked her shoes neatly, even tidied the galley a bit before they left.

Now, the sky burns a soft orange rose above them, the horizon swallowing the sun whole as the first stars rouse in the sky. The temperature has dropped significantly as well, finally starting to feel like autumn as a chill lingers prominently in the air.

“Oiii! Over here!” Usopp’s voice cuts through the crowd when Sanji lifts his gaze, spotting the sniper waving near a stall. He’s holding something wrapped in paper that looks suspiciously fried, and Robin’s standing idly beside him with a steaming mug in hand. “Sanji, Nami! It took you two long enough! You have got to try these, man. They’re like dough balls, but with apple inside!”

Nami perks up instantly, heels clicking rhythmically against the stone. “Finally,” She sighs. “I was beginning to think we’d lose track of everyone before the festival even started.”

Robin smiles warmly when they reach her—Sanji halting a step just as Usopp shoves the fried snack into his hands. “You made it just in time. They’re about to begin the pressing ceremony.”

“Perfect timing, then,” Sanji remarks, the wrapper crinkling as he turns the pastry over in his palm. It’s got cinnamon sprinkled all over it, the taste cloying as he takes an inquisitive bite.

“Apple fritter?” He starts, humming in mild approval as he swallows it down. “..It’s a bit sweet. But not bad. They probably fried this in lard rather than butter.”

“Sanji-kun,” Nami says with mock exasperation, grinning as she leans over and pinches a bit of the fritter for herself before he can pull it away. “You can’t just analyze everything you eat. It’s festival food.”

Sanji rolls his eyes, handing the pastry over without comment and deciding to look around instead. The others haven’t seemed to arrive yet, even though the moon has already risen high in the sky. He spots the stall the four of them are standing near, noticing that the vendor is advertising wildflowers rather than fritters. “Where’d you even get that, Usopp? I don’t see a pastry cart anywhere near here.”

Usopp grins before gesturing toward the far end of the square—where a bunch of food stalls surround a massive wooden contraption illuminated by the lantern light. It’s an enormous press built into a barrel, with apples piled high in the baskets around it. The mobs of villagers and tourists seem to be the thickest there. “Over there. That’s supposed to be where all the best food is. And it’s also where they do their little ceremony,”

He nods absently, making a mental note to hit those stalls later in the night. But before he can say anything else, a familiar shout cuts through the bustle. “Guys!!”

Sanji turns, one brow lifting when he spots Zoro pushing through the crowd with Chopper perched on his shoulders—small hooves gripping his shirt collar for balance. The little reindeer’s holding a candy apple so glossy it looks as if it’s been coated in lacquer.

“Zoro! Chopper!” Nami brightens instantly, waving them over while chewing through another bite of fritter. “You two took your sweet time!”

Chopper beams when he spots the rest of the crew, sliding down from Zoro’s shoulders and landing on the cobblestone with a soft thud. His hat tilts slightly over his eyes with the motion. “Sorry! We ran into Brook on the other side of town! He was listening to this band by the tavern and asked us to stay for a song, Luffy was dancing with him!” He exclaims.

“One song turned into like five,” Zoro grumbles, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “And then Luffy spotted candy apples and got the kid hooked.” He gestures vaguely at Chopper, who’s now nibbling happily on the glossy sugar shell, standing by Robin. “We had to wait in line forever.”

Sanji smiles, a mix of amusement and disbelief. “You? Waiting in line for candy? Never thought I’d see the day.”

Zoro just shrugs and shoves his hands into his pockets, eyes roving over the crowded square. “Didn’t have much a choice. Kid was already halfway up the vendor’s counter when I turned around.”

Chopper hums happily where he’s chatting with Robin now, red glaze sticking to his brown fur. Around them, the square is starting to fill to bursting. Villagers, travelers, and pirates alike are all mingling beneath the lanterns that light up the roads. The sky above has deepened to a sunless indigo, while the sound of drumbeats swell and the crowd falls into a rare hush.

Robin turns slightly at the change in atmosphere, tucking a strand of dark hair behind her ear. “Ah,” She smiles softly. “It must be beginning.”

A group of villagers part the crowd and begin to gather around the massive wooden press, a man who must be the elder of the town stepping forward.

He begins the rite with his voice carrying clearly through the quiet—something ceremonial, including words of gratitude towards the harvest gods, the orchards, appreciation of the apple season itself. The crew tunes into the ceremony with different varieties of curiosity and intrigue, before the creaking apple press begins to turn.

The first apple they set down cracks beneath the weight, the sound echoing cleanly throughout the square. The crowd erupts into cheers immediately.

Sanji’s only half-tuned in, watching as the ceremony continues with a brief history of the press and the island’s production of cider. But beside him, Zoro tips his head slightly toward a stall across the square, his priorities set somewhere else.

”C’mon,” He murmurs, just loud enough for Sanji to hear as he leans in close. “Lines’ll be short while everyone’s watching this. Let’s hit one of the cider stalls.”

Sanji hums, pretending to think about it for a moment before smirking. “You just can’t wait to get drunk, can you?”

”Just trying to appreciate the island’s culture, cook.” Zoro ripostes, reaching out to grasp Sanji’s jacket sleeve and already tugging him away from the crowd. Sanji glances down at the contact, gaze softening as he acquiesces to being dragged away.

The thing is, they aren’t together. Not really. Not officially. But it’s been something for a while now. An unspoken thing that shows in situations like this, when they seek out eachother rather than anyone else on the crew, always making sneaky excuses for little touches of contact.

It’s not something they’ve defined, but it’s definitely something thats there, even if they haven’t openly discussed it.

The cider stall, predictably, has only a small line when they reach it. His jacket sleeve is released as Zoro reaches down into his pocket and pulls out a few coins, exchanging easy words with the cider vendor while Sanji lingers behind him. The air here smells different from the middle of the square, the aroma of roasted sugar and pressed fruit more evident.

”Find somewhere to sit,” Zoro says suddenly over his shoulder. “I’ll pay.”

Sanji blinks and hesitates, a little surprised at the offer. “You’re offering to buy me a drink?” He asks incredulously.

”Don’t make it weird.” Zoro shoots him a sidelong glance as the vendor begins filling two mugs with practiced speed. “It’s an apology for dragging you out here before the ceremony was over.”

Sanji raises an eyebrow but doesn’t say anything else. He simply wanders off to the side, claiming a wooden bench half-shadowed by the awning of a clothing shop, and crosses one leg over the other. He slides his cigarette case from his pocket and lights one with a rehearsed flick, inhaling deeply as the first drag eases something in his chest. It’s an easy way to pass time as he watches Zoro from a distance.

But he doesn’t have to wait long anyway. Zoro joins him a moment later, mugs in each hand, with condensation glistening down the sides. He sets one in front of Sanji before lowering himself onto the bench beside him, the oak wood creaking beneath their combined weight.

For a moment, neither of them say anything. The ceremony continues in the background as Sanji takes his mug, plucking his cigarette and letting the rim rest against his lip before he finally drinks.

But there’s a faint pause as he lets the flavor settle on his tongue. It’s good, crisp, and definitely up to his expectations—but the strength of it catches him off guard. He glances over. “..You spiked mine, didn’t you?”

Zoro’s mouth curves into an unrepentant grin, like he’d been waiting for Sanji’s reaction. “Did I?”

Sanji narrows his eyes at him, the rim of the mug still hovering just beneath his mouth. “You absolute bastard,” He mutters, though there’s more amusement than heat in it, and a smile breaks across his face. “You did.”

Zoro chuckles low in his throat, taking a long sip from his own drink. He doesn’t even flinch at the burn. “Your welcome. You can stand to relax once in a while, curly.”

“We have different definitions of relaxing, marimo.” He mutters, but raises it again for another cautious sip. It’s smooth after the initial burn, rich with the taste of apples and cool with spice. He sighs through his nose, resigned, as he tastes the strong undertone of brandy again. It’s good, too good, honestly. And even though he isn’t one to indulge in drinking much, he’s able to appreciate the artistry.

Zoro stretches his legs out, one arm casually stretched across the backrest behind Sanji’s shoulders, a breeze rippling throughout the town. The blonde can’t help but glance over, watching the way Zoro’s throat works as he swallows, the flex of his muscle under tanned skin.

The warmth from the cider must already be starting to settle into his limbs, and he exchanges the mug for another drag of his lit cigarette—content with utilizing the moment.

”You know,” Zoro says finally, swirling his own drink so the liquid glints golden in the lantern light. “If you think that’s bad, you should try mine.”

Sanji glances at him warily, leaning back against the swordsman’s arm and exhaling a plume of smoke. It drifts through the space between them. “That’s ominous as fuck. What the hell did you do to it?”

Zoro shrugs, and Sanji can feel the slyness radiating off of him. “Just told the vendor to make it.. strong.”

”Define strong.” Sanji immediately fires back, eyeing Zoro’s cider mug with blatant skepticism. When Zoro tilts his mug toward Sanji with an implied invitation, the blonde pauses, sighs, and gives in with a curse underneath his breath.

“Don’t make me regret this.” Sanji mutters, setting down his own mug of cider. He snatches the mug from Zoro’s outstretched hand, cider sloshing inside, and lifts it to his lips. He doesn’t exactly know what he’s expecting to get out of this, but then it starts to register as the burn hits.

It’s nothing like the gentle warmth from before, but instead a full-body punch of brandy so potent it nearly knocks the air out of him. He immediately pulls the mug away with a strangled sound that might be another curse or a cough, eyes watering as he thumps a fist lightly against his sternum. “What the fuck is in that?” He wheezes.

Zoro throws his head back and barks a laugh, loud enough to turn a few heads lingering nearby. “Told you it was strong.”

“That’s not cider,” Sanji splutters, shoving the mug back into Zoro’s hand and snatching his own to chase the taste. “That’s—hell, I don’t know what that is, but it has to be borderline poisonous. What kind of psychopath thinks that’s drinkable?”

Zoro’s laughter only deepens at the sight of Sanji’s scowl. He takes his own mug back and sets his lips over the rim where Sanji’s had just been, the indirect kiss going unnoticed as he swallows down the cider, utterly unfazed. “The kind who can handle his liquor.” He answers slyly.

Sanji glares, his cheeks faintly flushed even in the coolness of the autumn night as he recovers from the strength of Zoro’s cider. Maybe it’s from the alcohol already in his system, or from something else entirely. “What is that supposed to mean?”

”Means you’re kind of lightweight.” Zoro grins, earning an indignant look. He tilts his head and eyes Sanji, gaze roving over his softened features.

“Excuse me?” Sanji huffs, as Zoro just grins wider, looking too damn pleased with himself.

“It’s not an insult,” Zoro replies. Sanji snorts and flicks his gaze down in response, glaring down into his cider like it’s personally offended him. “Just an observation.”

“Observation, my ass,” Sanji starts, taking another drag of his cigarette. “I have plenty of tolerance.”

“Yeah?” Zoro shifts, leaning in a little closer now. “You’re already red, cook.”

Their thighs brush and Sanji forces himself not to track the contact. He wills his face not to burn hotter, but of course, it does anyways. He tries to muster something cutting in return, but his words ultimately get caught in his throat when Zoro’s smirk softens into something teasingly fond.

He settles for a sigh, never managing to come up with a clever response. And by the time Zoro suggests another round of drinks—the ceremony is near it’s end, and sundown is long gone.

III. Forehead Kisses

The thing with the Strawhats, is that every time, without fail, they always manage to stay for the organized afterparty. No matter the event.

The square has completely transformed by now. The stars paint the night sky and the lanterns are still swaying with dimmed light, but now strung lower, the music louder and faster from where someone’s started a fiddle. Tables have been dragged closer to the apple press that was emptied hours ago, and the crowd has thinned down to the ones who either refuse to sleep or can’t walk home in a straight line.

Zoro’s cider is long gone. So is Sanji’s—well, several of Sanji’s, actually. They moved from the bench and came back to accompany the crew in the middle of the square after a shared second mug. But somewhere after that, Sanji had managed to acquire more drinks.

Now the cook is decidedly drunk, swaying slightly where he stands, his tie loosened and his cheeks still flushed with color. He’s slouched over a barrel with Usopp and Luffy near one of the game stands, both of whom are equally hopeless.

The three of them have been playing endless matches of ring toss, and Sanji keeps dissolving into laughter everytime Usopp misses his target, or when Luffy tries to bribe the vendor for ‘just one more try’.

Zoro’s posted himself against a nearby wooden beam, arms folded as he grins at the sight. Luffy had reappeared sometime between the end of the ceremony and the beginning of the afterparty, on a sugar high he’d acquired after the consumption of way too many candied apples.

He’s been watching them for the better part of ten minutes now. Just because the three of them right now, with the combination of Sanji’s wastedness, Luffy’s lingering sugar high, and Usopp’s slight tipsiness—are a disaster waiting to happen without observation. The poor vendor looks like he’s on the verge of tears.

Zoro exhales through his nose, shaking his head. The burn from his cider has gone mild now, the buzz from earlier dulled by how long he’s been standing still. He really should try grabbing another mug before the stall closes, maybe drag Sanji back to the ship before he decides to charm his way into another round of drinks. But when he pushes himself off the post, Usopp waves him over.

”Zorooo!” Usopp calls, waving one of the rings enthusiastically. His balance is questionable at best, one hand clutching at Luffy’s shoulder for support as he smiles wide and giddy. “Come on, man, your turn! You’re up next!”

Luffy looks over and immediately joins in, hopping up and down. “Yeah, Zoro, come play with us! Sanji’s terrible at this! Maybe you can beat him!”

Sanji’s head jerks up at that, his awareness sharp even in his drunken haze. “Terrible? I nearly got one earlier!” He slurs, leaning forward until his balance tips a little too far and he has to catch himself on the rim of the barrel. “Zoro, tell him—“

He’s still halfway turned in the direction of the cider stall, but cuts Sanji off with a firm, “No thanks.” He says, gaze flicking to the rigged ring toss stall. “I’m not getting in the middle of your kids games.”

Zoro’s intent on escaping now, before one of them hurls a cheap little plastic ring straight into his face. But he stops when he catches sight of Sanji again.

His blonde hair is mussed from the wind, tie still undone, and he keeps teetering dangerously close to losing his balance. Even though he’s slouched over the barrel for support. It’s a mess. He’s a mess. And way too drunk to be left alone with these idiots.

Zoro curses quietly under his breath.

“Fine.” He mutters, stepping back toward them with blatant resignation.

Sanji blinks back up at him, visibly surprised while Usopp whoops triumphantly and cheers like a madman. “Hell yeah! Come on, Zoro, beat him—“

”—But,” Zoro cuts in, shooting Usopp an unamused glare and then leveling Sanji with a look that means he’s not in the mood for argument. “If I win, you’re coming back to the ship with me.”

Sanji’s surprise morphs into confusion, every emotion clear on his face before he grins smug and lopsided. He barely even considers the terms. “Oh? You think you can beat me, mossy?”

“Don’t get too full of yourself,” Zoro mutters, taking the ring Usopp eagerly presses into his hand. He rolls it over his fingers, studying the glinting glass bottles scattered ahead. It’s a simple setup, definitely rigged in the way all festival games seem to be. But the toss requires at least a little bit of finesse, and Sanji’s way past wasted. So he knows how this will end.

”Alright,” He says, stepping up to the stall and squaring his shoulders. “One shot each.”

Luffy joins Usopp’s obnoxious chanting, and Zoro just sighs as he readies the throw. When he effortlessly releases the ring, it lands perfectly around the center bottle, spinning in place before clinking to a stop.

For a second, there’s a stunned silence. And then Luffy gasps exaggeratedly, leaning over the counter as if he’s trying to see firsthand how Zoro managed the toss. “He did it! He actually did it, first try!”

“No way Sanji’s beating that,” Usopp snickers, clapping Zoro weakly on the back as the swordsman steps away from the counter. He just rolls his eyes, gaze settling on Sanji, who’s clearly affronted by how easily Zoro managed that.

“Lucky shot,” He grumbles, dragging himself up to the counter while swaying slightly. He lines up, snatching one of the blue rings and focusing way too hard on the target. When he throws, the toss immediately bounces off of the bottle neck, clattering pathetically to the ground.

Sanji blinks at it once and then twice, stares at it for a long beat, and then lets out a guttural groan. “That doesn’t count,” He mutters, lips pursing with a pout as he tries to form an excuse. “My hand slipped.”

Zoro can’t manage to hide his smirk, Luffy and Usopp breaking out into fits of laughter behind him. “You didn’t slip.” Zoro says flatly, crossing his arms over his chest. “You just threw like shit.”

”I did not! That’s not fair, you.. you rigged it or something!” Sanji protests, though maybe his tone would sound a little more threatening if he wasn’t still drunk off his ass. He steps back like he’s going to try and approach Zoro, maybe shove him back a little—but he’s stopped when Zoro hooks his fingers securely around his wrist.

“C’mon,” He says, voice quiet and firm for only Sanji to hear. “It’s time to go. We had a deal.”

Sanji hesitates, eyebrows furrowing again with that drunken confusion. His frown deepens as he tries to halfheartedly free his wrist, pulse thrumming fast beneath Zoro’s thumb. “You weren’t serious about that, mosshead?” He mumbles, words slurring together. “I was jus’ startin’ to get good—“

“We can have a rematch when you’re sober again.” Zoro exhales, though not unkindly. “I’m sure you’ll play better then.”

For a moment, Sanji just stares at him like he’s weighing the energy and effort it would take to argue. But whatever stubbornness he has left in him seems to slip away fast with one long, exhausted sigh. “Tch. Fine,” He concedes, eyes dropping to the cobblestones as he lets himself get gently pulled along.

And once they finally step away from the noise and glaring lights of the game stalls, the change in atmosphere is almost drastic. The laughter from the square fades into the hum of cicadas and the soft sound of waves crashing against the docks. The air here seems to shift as well, smelling more strongly of salt, the lanterns behind them shrinking to distant, flickering specks.

Sanji’s pace slows gradually as the weight of the day starts taking it’s toll. His eyelids keep fluttering with drowsiness, the absence of the festival’s thrill the last thing needed to dim him down all the way. He still refuses to look straight at Zoro, but he stays compliant as they walk side by side through the amber light of the docks.

No one else from the crew is back at the Sunny when they finally reach her. They’re all still occupied with the afterparty, the faint creak of the gangplank the only sound that welcomes them.

Zoro lets out a soft sigh, grip on Sanji’s wrist releasing once the wind picks up. Surprisingly, Sanji only manages to stumble once at the plank, muttering something underneath his breath that might be a complaint at the ‘damned uneven boards’ or might simply be gibberish. Zoro steadies him automatically, one hand firm at his back in replacement of his wrist.

“Easy,” Zoro murmurs, eyes tracking the empty and shadowed deck as they finally step into the grass. “We’re almost to the men’s quarters.”

The cook only hums in response, head tipped slightly downward, his eyes still halfway closed as if he’s walking in a dream. His hair falls forward with the sway of the ship and the breeze that rustles the sails. Zoro has to resist the sudden urge to push it out of his face.

The door to the quarters creaks softly when Zoro finally nudges it open with his shoulder. He doesn’t bother moving to light the corner lamp—the moonlight that filters in through the porthole is enough to illuminate the room. By the time they reach the bunk, Sanji’s practically leaning into Zoro’s shoulder for balance.

”Sit,” Zoro guides him down to his bunk, but doesn’t have to support him much as Sanji practically collapses onto the edge of the mattress. He lets out a muffled groan, or something akin to a yawn—his elbows settling onto his knees and his head hanging heavy.

“Ugh. Fuck. The room’s spinning,” He mutters, rubbing at his temples in an attempt to ease the tension.

“That’s because you drank half your body weight in cider,” Zoro replies, crossing his arms as he watches him sulk in place. He knows that Sanji’s going to feel like hell by dawn. The guy’s a lightweight, despite the constant denial. And he’s either going to hate himself, or hate Zoro, for convincing him to try the spiked cider in the first place.

“You’re gonna regret this tomorrow.” He adds anyway, but Sanji doesn’t answer. He only makes a quiet sound of acknowledgment as his hands drop from his face, fingers slackening against his knees.

Zoro waits for him to move, maybe tug off his shoes, settle underneath the blanket. But it’s clear that the haze of intoxication isn’t letting up. And he stands there idly for a minute longer before willing himself to take charge.

“Alright then,” He huffs, dropping to a crouch in front of the bunk. He reaches for Sanji’s shoes without fanfare, carefully untying the laces while the blonde doesn’t even bother to look up. The polished leather slips off easily, and Zoro sets them neatly aside—because even drunk, he knows that Sanji would bitch about them being tossed around.

Zoro gives his shin an insistent nudge. ”Swing your legs up, curly.”

Sanji complies sluggishly, fighting to keep his eyes open as his head hits the pillow. His hand finds the edge of the blanket without conscious thought, pulling it halfway over himself before Zoro takes over with that, too. The swordsman drapes it up to Sanji’s chest, fabric rustling faintly with the motion as the folds catch faint hints of moonlight.

And then, for a moment, Zoro just stays there, with one hand braced on the mattress as he leans on his knee. His eyes trace over the askew strands of blonde, the faint pink still clinging to Sanji’s cheeks. The blonde mumbles something incoherently before he gives in and lets his eyes finally slip shut. And Zoro suddenly realizes, that he looks seldomly peaceful like this.

Even if he knows that it won’t last once the hangover kicks in, Zoro feels a foreign tightening within his chest—and before he can think straight, he leans slightly forward.

His lips press lightly to Sanji’s forehead.

It lands briefly. A quick, impulsive thing that’s gone as soon as it happens. In his state, Zoro knows that Sanji probably barely even felt it. But he still feels his breath hitch nonetheless, and his eyes anxiously trace Sanji’s face for any signs of recognition.

He’s realized what he’s done, the ghost of the touch still tingling against his lips. But Sanji’s already gone. His breath has evened out and the small furrow in his brow has smoothed, as if the contact had lulled him the rest of the way under.

“Idiot,” Zoro mutters underneath his breath, swallowing the knot that forms in his throat without permission. He straightens and steps back from the bunk, staring down at him for a beat longer before exhaling heavily. “..You better not remember that in the morning.”

IV. Sharing Cigarettes

Dawn breaks over the ship with a pretty pale light and the distant chime of a clocktower somewhere ashore. It’s a calm morning, the sky overcast with early sunbeams peeking through the scattered gaps in clouds. But the island is still asleep, at leisure after their biggest festival of the year.

Sanji squints against the brightness, supporting his weight against the Sunny’s railing, a fresh glass of water clutched in one hand. His head throbs with such an intensity that it feels like he bashed it against the bunk frame in his sleep. But that isn’t the case.

Instead, it’s from the hangover that hit him the moment he opened his eyes—dry mouth, aching limbs, the distant regret of spiked cider. And if that wasn’t enough, he awoke still dressed in his suit. That alone gives him room to make a close estimation of how much alcohol he consumed.

The coolness of the water soothes his throat as he sips it dutifully, jaw tight everytime he swallows, and the clinking of ice against the glass worsening the pounding. He’s been up for half an hour now, unable to fall back asleep even after stealing a couple of Chopper’s painkillers from the infirmary.

Everyone else is still sleeping off the night. Sanji remembers seeing Usopp’s mess of curls when he’d first awoken, and Franky sprawled out across the floorboards with the promise of dozing until noon.

Though that’s how it usually goes the mornings after parties. Everyone stays asleep while Sanji himself is always the first one awake, to cook breakfast and balance out everything—jumpstarting a new morning to get everyone back in shape.

But today? The promise of a nice, routine morning is long forgotten. Even the mere thought of cooking seems to make his stomach roll.

He exhales through his nose, setting the glass down on the railing before fishing a cigarette from the crumpled carton in his pocket. He flicks his lighter once, the flame igniting easily with the calm and windless morning. The first drag makes him cough due to the harshness on his raw throat, but the second one is soothing enough to satisfy him.

“Damned cider,” Sanji sighs, pressing his elbow to the railing and letting his chin rest against his palm. He balances his cigarette between two fingers as the smoke curls out over the ocean, his gaze drifting unfocused over the water. He remembers flashes from last night, the things he can vaguely recall.

Like the press of the crowd and the sweetness of everything apple-themed. He remembers the game stall near the end of the night, though he doesn’t exactly remember what he was playing or who he was playing with. There’s a distant memory of Zoro, too, and then the theory of how he must have gotten back to the ship.

He remembers parts of details, like Zoro’s hand on his wrist. Maybe on his back. But everything after that is pure nothingness. He takes another drag, the details blurring out every time he tries too hard to piece them together. It’s annoying as hell, and a harsh reminder of why he never likes to drink. Because every time he does, he always winds up like this. Hungover and miserable.

The sound of a door creaking open is another horrible reminder, the hinges grating enough to make Sanji flinch as footsteps tap the deck. He doesn’t turn right away, just continues to squint at the horizon. He already recognizes the tread anyway, the rhythmic, heavy sort. Zoro’s tread.

The swordsman emerges from below deck with his usual slouch, one hand rubbing the back of his neck and the other stifling a yawn. His hair is a tousled mess, as if he just rolled out of bed, and his eyes are still glassy with sleep.

Zoro spots him at the railing immediately. His brow quirks, faint amusement flickering through his expression. “You’re up early,” He calls, voice gravelly from drowsiness. When Sanji finally looks over, Zoro’s moving past him towards the helm.

He exhales another curl of smoke. “Couldn’t sleep.”

“Shocker,” Zoro replies dryly, and Sanji furrows his brows, opening his mouth to question why Zoro himself is up this early. Sanji knows that he doesn’t necessarily have a consistent sleep schedule, napping constantly and never typically sleeping throughout the night. But Zoro beats him too it.

“Figured I’d pull the anchor and get us moving before Nami starts bitching about the schedule. Said a few days ago that we were leaving the morning after the festival.”

Sanji snorts underneath his breath, suddenly understanding. He lowers his cigarette to tap off the ash. “How much did she even drink last night?”

“‘Bout as much as you,” Zoro says, leaning over the railing to check the linked chain. “She’s probably gonna be asleep until dinner. But it’s easier to move us now and actually leave on time rather than waitin’ on her.”

It’s a rare display of practical foresight from him, and Sanji almost comments on it—but his head hurts too much to bother. He just hums faintly, and takes another drag before holding his cigarette out at an inviting angle.

”Want one?” He asks, offering the pack almost absentmindedly.

Zoro considers, shaking his head but releasing the chain for a moment. “Nah. Just gimme that one.”

Sanji quirks an eyebrow, about to protest, but Zoro’s already stepping closer. He plucks the cigarette from between his fingers without any hesitation at all. Then takes a drag like it’s the most natural thing in the world, and exhales with an easy sigh.

The smoke drifts between them, soft and wispy gray in the pale morning light.

Sanji watches him through the haze, his own pulse hitching for a reason he refuses to acknowledge. There’s just something about watching Zoro’s mouth touch where his just was that makes his chest feel oddly tight, in that way it sort of always feels around him.

He thinks back to the blurry details of his return to the ship—the more vivid memory of the first cup of cider they shared together at the beginning of the festival. Really, in all interactions with Zoro, he seems to feel odd. Not in a bad way, but in.. a weird way. He tries not to dwell on that, filling the silence with a scoff.

“I could’ve just given you one from my pack.” Sanji mutters finally, because that’s what he had meant. He accepts the cigarette as Zoro passes it back, fingers brushing his.

“Too late for that,” Zoro huffs, the corner of his mouth twitching into a soft grin, too early in the day to pose cockiness. “Didn’t feel like lighting my own.”

“..Lazy bastard,” Sanji says with a roll of his eyes, bringing the cigarette back to his lips to inhale the familiar taste of smoke and the subtle trace of Zoro’s lingering breath.

He watches him turn back towards the anchor chain without any more distraction, the deck creaking with the slight pull of the sea current and Zoro’s shifted weight. The swordsman braces himself, starting to haul the anchor up with practiced ease, muscles flexing beneath the open folds of his shirt.

The metal scrapes and clinks against the ship’s hull, droplets scattering across the deck while Sanji stares blatantly. He doesn’t intend too. Not really. And when the anchor finally settles into place, Zoro wipes the back of his wrist against his forehead and exhales through his nose in quiet satisfaction.

He glances back towards the bow, habitually checking the wind, before turning his head back just enough to notice Sanji still standing near the edge. He’s still nursing that last inch of his cigarette, watching in a way Zoro pretends not to notice. He clears his throat. “Finish that,” Zoro starts, tone softening ever so slightly. “And your water.”

Sanji blinks up at him, then down to the glass still sitting on the rail. Zoro jerks his head towards the coils of rope near the mainmast in elaboration. “Then you can come help me with the sails.”

Sanji huffs a laugh. He should have seen that coming. But a small smile pulls at the corner of his mouth despite himself, and he flicks the cigarette butt down into the sea, ember sinking with a hiss.

“Yeah, yeah,” He mutters, the words sounding almost fond. He grabs the half-emptied glass from the railing, the condensation slick against his fingers as he takes another long sip. The headache dulls for a moment when he sets it back down, before he’s following after him, feeling a little more content with the morning.

V. Licking Silverware

In the midafternoon, long after their morning departure, the open sea keeps the air cold, and the ship finally feels awake again. The orchards and fields of the island have faded into the horizon, lush green morphing into cerulean blue.

Sanji stands at the kitchen counter in a light blue knitted sweater that he’d changed into after the morning. Sleeves pushed up to his elbows as the chill seeps in through the open portholes. The temperature feels distinctly different from the scorching heat of yesterday morning—likely from leaving the climate of the island, and from the overcast still in the sky.

His hangover has mostly worn off by now, though. Even if his eyes still feel a little dry and heavy, he still feels better enough to get back to cooking. And that’s why the counter’s currently decorated with peeled honeycrisp apples, flour, sugar, and two different jars of honey.

Robin’s seated at the galley bar, a book open in one hand while her gaze occasionally flicks upward to watch him work. She’s been quiet company for a while now. “It smells lovely,” She remarks.

Sanji hums, still focused on the dough he’s carefully shaping. “Apple pie,” He explains, though that’s obvious from the scent alone. “It’s a specialized recipe from the island. I picked it up yesterday with Nami-san.”

Robin smiles gently, flipping another page of her paperback. “Ah, then I’m sure it will turn out delicious.”

Sanji mirrors her smile, folding the dough neatly beneath his palms without looking up. He brushes a streak of flour off the counter with the side of his wrist. “The shopkeeper told me they only bake it this time of year. Thought it’d be a waste not to learn it while I could.”

The smell of the filling thickens in the air as he moves to stir a bowl cast off to the side. Redolent of cinnamon, sugar, and caramelized honey. He follows the recipe down to the footnotes, focusing halfheartedly on the task as they sit in easy silence.

The baking is kind of a distraction, really. From the significant gap in memory that he’s still trying not to let annoy him. Every so often, a portion of the night will return. The loss at the ringtoss stall, which he can now recall easily enough. And then Zoro beckoning him back to the ship, leading him with a hand on his wrist.

But annoyingly enough, the rest of it won’t return. He stirs with a bit more force, pressing his lips together and forcing his focus back to the pie. But about halfway through the process, his focus inevitably breaks again. When the galley door slides open unannounced.

Sanji glances over just in time, a rush of colder air preceding Zoro as he steps in. He seems more awake now, different from the morning when he’d hauled the anchor in. His gaze flicks to Sanji, Robin, and then to the ingredients scattered across the counter.

”Something smells good,” He calls lazily, voice still rough from a midday nap. “What’re you makin’?”

“Don’t touch anything. It’s not done yet.” Sanji says automatically, averting his gaze as the door creaks shut and Zoro steps further into the room. Robin’s soft laugh echoes from the barstool.

“Didn’t say I would, curls.” Zoro grumbles, running a hand through his hair. His eyes flick to the blue sweater Sanji’s clad in, sleeves rolled up to expose the thin veins that crawl across his forearms. His eyes linger for a beat longer than they should, as he leans against the wall with his arms loosely folded.

“..You look different,” Zoro says after a pause, his tone almost offhanded. Though his eyes don’t leave Sanji, and he misses the amused glance that Robin shoots his way. “That sweater’s new?”

Sanji huffs, not glancing up from his work. “It’s not. You just never pay attention,” He says, voice light but distracted as he smooths his thumb over the edge of the pastry to seal it. He’s moved onto the strips, and the ovens heating in preparation for the pie.

Zoro blinks, scratching at the back of his neck. “Guess not then. Just don’t think I’ve ever seen you wear anything that isn’t a damn suit.”

At that, Sanji does look up with narrowed eyes. “It’s cold,” He says simply, tugging one of his sleeves down an inch for emphasis. “And I was in my suit all day yesterday. Slept in it, too.”

Zoro’s mouth twitches into something amused, vaguely recalling last night—pulling off Sanji’s shoes for him, settling him into the bunk. But never bothering to make him change out of the suit. He swallows a little thickly when he recalls how that ended, eyes suddenly shying away from Sanji’s face.

”Makes sense,” He admits, “Still weird seeing you dressed like an actual person, though.”

Sanji gives him a half-lidded look, unimpressed. “You’re real fucking charming, you know that?”

Robin’s laugh interrupts them again, eyes still fixed on her book. “I think it suits him.” She adds, skimming the last few lines of her chapter before dog-earing the page.

Sanji sighs, expression morphing into a soft smile presented only for the lady in the room. “Thank you, Robin-chwan. At least someone around here has taste.”

Zoro snorts underneath his breath, ignoring the jab. He glances over as Robin slides gracefully off of the stool, tucking the paperback underneath her arm. “Well,” Robin says eventually, “I’ll leave you to finish your baking. Zoro, I’m sure you’ll keep him in good company?”

Both of them blink in unison, catching the subtle undertone in her voice. Sanji pauses where he’s brushing a glaze over the lattice crust, other hand hovering over the oven door handle. There’s a moment of hesitance between them. “Right,” Zoro replies before he can, “Of course.”

Robin’s smile deepens as she moves towards the door, pushing it open to let another chilly gust of air inside. “Enjoy, you two.”

The door slides shut with a soft click, and the galley settles into a peaceful silence despite the rough sound of Zoro clearing his throat. He doesn’t say anything more as he crosses the room in a few strides, sliding onto the newly vacated stool. His elbows settle against the countertop as the silence stretches—pale light from the portholes spilling into the room, creaking open a little wider.

Sanji, for his part, keeps his attention honed on the pie. He moves methodically and adjusts one last strip that’s come slightly askew, before sliding the finished pie into the preheated oven with a pleased hum. He glances back over to the scribbled recipe and sets the timer with a press of his finger, to forty-five minutes exact.

”So,” Zoro clears his throat again, once the quietness begins to feel strained. “Does this mean you’re feeling better? I didn’t think you’d be up for baking today.”

Sanji shrugs, the movement a little slow as he turns to rest his back against the counter. “Wasn’t really in the mood to cook earlier,” He admits, remembering the miserable morning. “But now it helps. Hangover’s better.”

Zoro nods absentmindedly, watching the way Sanji tugs at the ends of his sleeves—no longer needed to be rolled, instead being pulled down again to cover his wrists. It’s a small gesture, almost shy, but Zoro doesn’t comment on it. “Good.” He grunts. “This morning you weren’t in the mood for anything. You half-assed the sails, too.”

Sanji groans softly in response, crossing his ankles while Zoro smirks a little. “Shut up, mossy. It wasn’t my best morning, alright?”

Zoro’s grin widens just enough to show teeth, the glint of his canines. “You can say that again. You looked like you were gonna puke on the deck.”

Sanji tilts his head, half glaring in defense. “Would’ve aimed for your boots if I did.” He grumbles, but the corners of his mouth twitch upward in betrayal. In truth, he’s grateful to be feeling better. And after that—they seem to lapse into an idle conversation that trails in and out of seriousness. Zoro surprisingly stays seated for the wait, as Sanji checks the timer every now and then.

By the time it finally dings, the smell of baked apples and cinnamon has filled the whole galley. Sanji’s cleaned up the mess on the counter, tucking the honey jars back into the cupboards and wiping the counter down with a damp rag.

The afternoon light spills into the room once Sanji slips on a mitt and pulls the pastry from the oven. The crust gleams perfectly golden as he sets it on the countertop, pride washing over him at the sight. It’s a perfect apple pie, no doubt.

Sanji slips the mitt from his hand, setting it aside with a relieved sigh. “Perfect,” He murmurs, “Just needs to cool before we can taste test it.”

Zoro hums, eyes roving over the golden crust hungrily. He watches with his chin balanced in one hand as Sanji retrieves a knife from the rack. “How long’s that gonna take?” He questions.

Sanji glances up briefly, cocking an eyebrow as he reaches for a plate next. “That eager, mosshead?” He says, setting the porcelain between them with a gentle clatter. When he slices into the pastry, steam curls upwards and reveals the tender apple slices beneath the crust, soaked in an amber syrup.

”No. Just smells good.” Zoro mutters, as Sanji huffs a quiet laugh. He’s careful not to let the slice crumble apart, transferring it carefully to the plate. And after a moment of consideration, he reaches for a fork set aside and pushes the utensil across the countertop.

”Here.” Sanji starts, “You get the first bite, just don’t burn your tongue off.”

Zoro blinks up at him, and then back down to the pie. He doesn’t hesitate when he stabs the crust and blows lightly on the bite, proceeding to chew even if it’s still considerably hot. Sanji’s eyes betray him, searching Zoro’s face for a reaction as he leans forward with anticipation. “Well?”

“..Not bad,” He hums, feigning nonchalance, before his eyes close briefly and he takes in the flavor. He groans lightly, swallowing it down and passing the fork back over. “Fine. It’s good. Kinda surprised.”

Sanji glares a little too fast. But his lips quirk into a toothy grin as he reaches for the utensil without a second thought. “You shouldn’t be. Everything I make is good.”

He lifts the fork to his mouth for his own turn, the sweetness of honeycrisp and the faint undertone of cinnamon filling his senses. But something dawns on him halfway through the bite.

They’ve been sharing a lot of things lately. The cigarette this morning, the apple yesterday.. and now this. The fork that they’re sharing without any hesitation at all, without any regard for the implications. His jaw slows mid-chew, eyes flicking towards Zoro, who’s now watching him curiously.

Sanji swallows quickly, forcing a small grin after realizing his previous smile has faded. “Yeah.. yeah, it’s good,” He mutters, brushing off the thought. “Just hot. Forgot to blow on it.”

Zoro shrugs, clearly unconcerned and oblivious to Sanji’s inner turmoil. “Right,” He says, pushing off the counter and stretching his arms behind his back. He’s been sitting for a good hour now, and he glances towards the door with a clear intention of leaving. “You have the rest. Just save me another slice for later, yeah?”

Sanji nods softly, setting the fork onto the plate, out of his peripheral. “If Luffy doesn’t get to it first,”

Zoro chuckles under his breath in response. And a moment later, the galley door shuts with a quiet click. He’s suddenly left alone with the silence, the faint hum of the oven that he hasn’t yet turned off.

Sanji tugs his sleeves a little farther over his hands, leaning against the counter and letting out a long exhale. His eyes eventually drift back to the pie, to the fork lying beside it, gleaming with the light shining in through the portholes.

He suddenly doesn’t know if he wants to roll his eyes or laugh at himself. A soft weight settles in his chest, and he cranes his head forward to press the heels of his hands to his forehead.

Weird, he tells himself. You’re being weird.

But then another image flickers in the back of his mind unbidden. The image of Zoro leaning over him last night, just before everything went hazy. A hand resting over his blanket, a quiet voice murmuring softly over the crash of waves.

And then the soft press of lips against his forehead that he’d half thought was a dream.

Chapter Text

+I.

By late in the evening, Sanji still hasn’t quite managed to rid the memory from his mind.

Dinner’s long over. He’d whipped up something nutritious yet uncomplicated for the meal, to accompany the apple pie that Luffy, predictably, ended up devouring. Though Nami and Robin had managed to get their slices first.

Sanji doesn’t really mind. He’d saved one last piece in the back of the fridge anyway, tucked carefully behind the jars of preserves where Luffy never looks. And now with the crew’s appetites satiated, he sits alone in the aquarium bar, legs crossed and shoulders relaxed against the sofa cushions.

It’s the quietest place on the ship he had managed to find. The faint light from the huge fish tank washes his sweater in shifting blue hues, reflecting light across the book lying open in his lap. But it’s been neglected for a good ten minutes now. He hasn’t bothered to turn a single page, because his mind’s too busy.

It still feels odd—unreal, the memory from last night. The fog of his hangover had hidden it at first, but now that it’s back in full clarity, he can’t stop thinking about it no matter how hard he tries.

Because why the hell would Zoro do something like that? To him?

Sanji turns a page without reading it, eyes fixed on the neat lines of text that blur into illegible nonsense. His thumb rubs absently along the paper’s edge, even the motion distracted.

Zoro wasn’t drunk, he knows that for sure. Zoro was the sober one for once, dragging Sanji back to the ship with a rare show of responsibility. And now that he remembers that part in full clarity—shouldn’t he thank him? For bringing him back? But how the hell does someone thank another man for something like that? Especially when it’s Zoro of all people.

Zoro isn’t the type to cater to others, he doesn’t touch people unless he means too. Doesn’t steady them up the gangplank with a suspiciously gentle touch. Doesn’t tuck them into bed and kneel to tug off their shoes, setting them neatly to the side instead of tossing them carelessly across the room. And he definitely, definitely doesn’t kiss someone else’s forehead when they’re wasted.

He stares up at the rippled blue light moving across the ceiling. His chest feels heavy, knotted with confusion and something else he can’t discern.

Zoro probably doesn’t even remember it. Probably didn’t mean anything by it, either.

Sanji thinks that as he snaps the book shut, the thud muffled against his palm before he discards it onto the nearest cushion. His eyes flick back down to trace the fish through the glass, swimming back and forth without a care.

Damned fish. They have it so much easier than him.

He thinks back to the slice of apple pie that’s still sitting hidden inside of the fridge. The slice that Zoro had specifically asked him to reserve. Maybe.. if he were to use it as an excuse, he could deliver the pie to Zoro and then casually bring up last night. He could use it as a peace offering, even.

The idea hangs heavy as Sanji chews at the inside of his cheek and contemplates, his heel now tapping restlessly against the wooden floor.

But what is he supposed to say even if he did bring it to him? Thanks for dragging my ass back to the ship? Sorry for drinking so much damn cider? Why did you kiss my forehead like some kind of—

He stops that train of thought before it can finish, shaking his head. “Nope,” He murmurs, running a hand through his hair. “Not thinking about that.”

But his legs move anyway when he stands, restless energy pushing him forward. The crew’s laughter drifts faintly from the upper deck—Luffy shouting over something irrelevant, his distant voice overlapping the sounds of bubbles and rippling water. Sanji simply tunes it out as he crosses the aquarium, hands sliding deep into his pockets.

And he’s just about to step out, hand hovering over the doorknob before it suddenly swings open and Jinbe’s broad figure fills the frame.

”Oh—Jinbe,” Sanji greets, blinking up at him in surprise. He hadn’t really expected to run into anyone else down here.

Jinbe offers a polite nod, his usual calm smile set in place as Sanji shuffles back a bit. “Evening, Sanji-kun. Didn’t mean to startle you.”

Sanji exhales, rubbing the back of his neck with the hand that was previously reaching for the knob. “Nah. It’s fine. Just..” He pauses, glances over Jinbe’s shoulder like he might spot the person already on his mind. “You haven’t seen Zoro, have you?”

The question comes out a little too fast, too casual, and Sanji immediately regrets how painfully obvious it sounds. Jinbe’s brows lift just slightly, though his tone remains neutral. “Roronoa?” He rumbles thoughtfully. “Last I noticed, he was near the stern. I believe he was half-asleep against the railing.”

“Figures,” Sanji mutters, forcing a sigh through his nose. It comes out shaky. “Thanks.”

Jinbe hums, stepping aside to let him into the corridor. “You heading out to him?”

Sanji hesitates at the doorway, his expression unreadable for a moment before he shrugs lightly. “Maybe. I thought I’d—” His voice trails off, one hand gesturing vaguely at nothing. “—bring him something. Before Luffy finds it.”

Jinbe’s deep laugh reverberates throughout the narrow hall, and Sanji’s thankful that he doesn’t raise any more questions. “A noble cause, then. Good luck.”

He gives a small nod, sidestepping past him into the dim corridor. The hall is lit with the sconces Franky always turns on at this time of night, illuminating his pathway until he steps out onto the deck. A cold gust of wind sends a shiver down his spine, and he barely spares a glance to where the rest of the crew is gathered. He focuses on the more important matter, making a beeline for the galley.

The fridge whirs mechanically when he finally opens it, reaching in to dig towards the very back. He pushes aside the jars of preserves and sauces, letting out a sigh of relief once he spots the plate. Still there, wrapped carefully, and safe from greedy hands. Perfect.

Sanji balances the plate in one hand before shutting the door with his hip. The kitchen is quiet as he stares down at it for a second, willing his pulse to slow.

All he has to do is deliver the pie and bring up the subject casually. It shouldn’t be getting him this worked up. The task should be trivial, simple. Right?

The Adam wood beneath his shoes creaks softly as he steps back out onto the deck, taking a grounding breath before turning towards the stern.

Out here, he can hear the wind more clearly. The ocean stretches endlessly dark as the waves crash rhythmically against the hull, soothing him only slightly before he rounds a corner and spots the faint silhouette of someone slumped near the railing.

Zoro.

He’s there, true to Jinbe’s word—sitting sideways on the deck with one leg bent and an arm draped over his knee. His head rests lazily against the railing, eyes half-lidded as they track the visible ripples of water below. Sanji hesitates when he notices how the moonlight hits him, silvering his shoulders, catching in his hair. His three katana’s accompany him at his feet.

Sanji’s footsteps come to a halt with his hesitation. The part of him that knows better wants to turn back. He could just leave the pie here, right next to Zoro. And then maybe he could pretend he never came out here at all. But another part, the one that’s been replaying that damn forehead kiss over and over, won’t let him.

“Mosshead,” Sanji starts with a clearing of his throat, mustering the courage as his fingers twist his sleeve in a subtle nervous tic. “You awake?”

Zoro stirs slightly, eye blinking fully open and pulling away from the waves. “..Barely. What d’you want?”

Sanji steps closer, forcing his voice to stay even. He holds the plate out in offering, crouching down to set it between them. The plastic wrap catches the moonlight when he peels it back, revealing the preserved slice of pie. “I figured I’d bring this to you before Luffy found it.”

Zoro’s brow furrows slightly, swords clinking as he shifts his weight. “You saved that?” He asks, sounding admittedly stunned.

“..Yeah. It’s the last slice,” Sanji confirms, leaning back on his heels. “From earlier. You told me to save you one before Luffy could inhale the rest. So—“ He swallows. “Here.”

Zoro blinks slowly, like he’s still caught somewhere between half-asleep and surprised. “Huh.” He scratches at his jaw, a small huff of amusement escaping him as his gaze drops to the pastry. “Didn’t think you’d actually remember that. You came all the way out here just to give me pie?”

Sanji scoffs, crossing one leg over the other as he twists, lowering himself beside the swordsman without invitation. Zoro clocks the change, but doesn’t say anything in protest. “Tch. Don’t make it sound like that, idiot. All I did was save it like you asked.”

Zoro snorts quietly, his mouth curving into that tender smile he seems to only be reserving for Sanji lately. He reaches for the plate. “Right. Sure.”

Sanji’s about to snap something back, but feels the words get physically stuck in his throat. His eyes catch on the way the wind keeps tugging at Zoro’s hair, the way the moonlight sits soft against his face. And his heart stutters, something he feels knot up and flutter in his chest.

When did they get like this?

The odd physicality, the things they’ve been sharing, the newfound comfort with each other’s presence. A few months ago, Sanji’s positive Zoro would’ve just grunted something crude and gone straight back to sleep. Maybe told him to fuck off, find someone else to pester.

But now it all seems strange. How natural it feels to sit here like this, side by side under the night sky. He watches the way Zoro’s shoulders ease of tension as he scrapes the fork against porcelain, stabbing the crust and bringing a bite to his mouth. A few months ago, he probably wouldn’t have even taken a bite without finding something to complain about first.

Instead, he simply looks over, as Sanji’s thumb worries the hem of his sleeve again—twisting the soft knit between his fingers. Underneath the scrutiny and anxiety, he barely notices he’s still doing it.

But Zoro does. He chews thoughtfully before his brows furrow, and then he sets the fork down with a quiet clatter. “You cold?” He asks, placing the plate with his swords.

Sanji blinks, startled by the question as another chilling breeze rips across the ship. “I’m fine.”

Zoro doesn’t look convinced by that. His gaze dips down to Sanji’s hands again, how he’s wringing them together with nervous habit. But what mainly seizes his attention is his fingertips—slightly reddened from the autumn chill in the air. And without another word, Zoro reaches out.

Sanji freezes when warmer fingers close gently around his wrist, tugging his hand free of the knit fabric. Zoro’s hands feel rough, calloused, as he intertwines them easily and lets the heat bleed over.

He blinks down at their joined hands, pulse jumping somewhere in his throat. He hadn’t even realized how cold his hands were until now. Zoro’s thumb brushes idly along the curve of his knuckles, casual in a way that somehow isn’t casual at all.

“I said I’m fine,” Sanji manages after a moment, his voice softer than he intends, wary with nerves. “You don’t.. uh, you don’t have to…”

“Didn’t say I had to,” Zoro replies simply, turning his head to glance back at the waves. But his thumb pauses, feeling the temperature. “But your hands are cold, cook.”

Sanji exhales shakily, following his gaze over the dark sea to avoid any chances of eye contact. The stars are scattered faintly across the water’s surface, their reflections swaying with the ship. And a question rises in his chest before he can stop it.

“Zoro,” He starts, fingers tightening instinctively around the swordsman’s hand. An unintentional, anxious squeeze that he uses to ground himself before he can change his mind. Talk himself out of it. “About.. about last night.”

Zoro then looks back over, interest suddenly piqued. His face is unreadable as always, but something cautious flickers through his eyes. “Last night?”

Sanji nods, bereft of his usual confidence. “Yeah, when you..” He pauses, throat suddenly dry. “When you brought me back to the ship last night. I remembered some of it this morning… After the hangover wore off.”

Zoro doesn’t respond right away, and for some reason that silence feels heavy.

Sanji continues, the words tumbling out in a torrent as he attempts to fill the quiet. “You didn’t have to do all that, y’know. I was fine as I was. You didn’t need to drag me back. Or.. tuck me in like a damn kid.” He says, cheeks warming against the cool air.

The silence continues for a moment before Zoro’s lips twitch faintly, words coming delayed as if he’s choosing them carefully. “Last night? Fine?” He huffs softly. “You could barely walk without tripping over your own feet. I wasn’t about to leave you face-down on the dock.”

The comment makes Sanji huff similarly. Partially out of embarrassment, partially because, of course, Zoro can still find a way to make him feel ridiculous even when he’s trying to be sincere. He recalls the memory easily, tripping over the planks with Zoro steadying him.

“Still,” Sanji mutters, “You went a little overboard, didn’t you? The whole.. taking my shoes off, fixing the blanket. Everything.”

Zoro hums lowly, eyes still settled on him. “Yeah, well. You were too wasted to bother yourself.” A pause. Then, his voice drops quieter, “I didn’t think you’d remember that part.”

That makes Sanji finally turn back, gaze pulling away from the sea to meet Zoro’s eyes head on. “You didn’t think I’d remember?” He questions, brows furrowing in thought. “Is that why…”

He doesn’t finish his sentence. He doesn’t need to. Sanji feels it, in the way Zoro’s eyes shy away from the contact and his hand tenses against his. He seems to notice everything suddenly, with the way Zoro’s jaw shifts and his posture straightens ever so slightly, barely perceptible in the dark.

“Is that why what?” Zoro asks after a beat, his tone deceptively even. But Sanji sees right through it. Sees how Zoro’s nervous now, measuring his words, trying to figure out just how much Sanji remembers.

It feels weird to him. Knowing now that Zoro must’ve been fully aware that entire night, deliberate with his actions. The promise of that makes his heart race—because that means, that there’s a significant chance that Zoro meant something by it. The kiss. If he didn’t want Sanji to remember.. then that means there must’ve been a reason for it.

”Is that why you kissed me?” He finishes, deciding to bite the bullet as the words tumble out.

Zoro goes still. Realization flickers across his face, and his throat works around a swallow. “..You remember that too.”

It isn’t a question, and Sanji nods with confirmation. Zoro’s gaze drops then, somewhere between the deck boards and Sanji’s shoes as if looking anywhere else may make this moment less suffocating. His thumb still rests against Sanji’s knuckles motionless. “Yeah,” He says reluctantly, “I kissed you.”

Sanji’s pulse jumps so high he can feel it in his throat. “Why?” He asks before he can think better of it, to which Zoro just shrugs.

“I don’t.. it was just your forehead.” Zoro sighs, like that serves as an excuse. “You looked peaceful. And I didn’t really think about it when I did it… but it helped you relax more afterwards. So I figured it worked in some way.” 

Sanji stares at him, trying to process the way Zoro just worded that. Just your forehead. Like that makes a damn difference. “You’re telling me you didn’t think about it?”

Zoro’s gaze flicks up again, confusion and hesitance visible in his irises. “Should I have?”

Sanji opens his mouth, but then shuts it again promptly. Because the answer is yes, obviously the answer is yes. But saying that out loud would sound ridiculous. “Fuck, Zoro,” Sanji breathes, realizing that Zoro’s practically more clueless in this situation than him. His expression is guarded yet still inexplicably perplexed, and it stirs something within Sanji.

“You don’t just go around kissing people without thinking about it first.” He says, “Is that why you didn’t want me to remember? Because it was just an idiotic mistake you made without processing it in that moss-brained head of yours first?”

He sees Zoro bristle, frowning faintly and opening his mouth to retort. But Sanji continues, beating him to it. “Or was it because you actually meant something by it?”

Zoro’s mouth clamps shut, and he exhales slowly through his nose. He’s caught now, caught in confrontation as his eyes trace Sanji’s face and he tries to read his expression. He searches desperately, trying to decide if Sanji really wants a truthful answer.

”Fine.” He huffs, shifting his position to lean more heavily against the railing. “Maybe I meant it. Maybe I didn’t think about it because thinking about it would’ve stopped me.”

Sanji stares at him. The honesty of his words processing, hitting harder than he expects. “You happy now, curly?” Zoro huffs and sounds tired, like he’s been holding that confession in for longer than merely a day.

“..Yeah,” Sanji swallows, says softly after a moment. A smile finally breaks across his face without permission because this—this is what he had been waiting for. His chest pulls taut, and he can’t seem to look away from Zoro. “Yeah, I’m happy.”

Zoro blinks, suddenly caught off guard. “What—”

Sanji doesn’t let him finish. He moves before his nerves can catch up, closing the last whit of distance between them and pressing his mouth to Zoro’s.

Sanji’s eyes flutter closed almost instantly, a small shiver crawling up his spine as he leans into it. Zoro jerks against him in surprise, breath hitching, but Sanji disregards it all when he realizes that this feels strangely familiar. When Zoro returns the kiss, it fades of initial shock and becomes a soft press of lips. Something that should feel new, but.. somehow doesn’t. It’s not new, not at all.

And Sanji realizes, somewhere between one heartbeat and the next—that he already knows the taste of Zoro.

He knows it from the cigarette they passed. He knows it from the cider mug they shared. He knows it from every indirect kiss they’ve previously exchanged. And now, as Zoro’s mouth moves against his, pulling apart only by a breath, he knows that it should’ve been obvious long ago what these feelings between them meant.

”What the..” Zoro speaks after they pull back, their noses brushing, breath mingling in the cold. Their hands disentangle, warmth pulling away from Sanji’s palm before Zoro’s hand relocates to his jaw automatically.

His thumb drags absently across his jawline, a similar trace to how he had been stroking over Sanji’s knuckles earlier. His eyebrows furrow in disbelief, like he’s still grounding himself in the fact that just happened. That Sanji actually kissed him.

“It’s..” His voice falters, rough and unsure in a way Sanji’s never heard before. He seems to be in a genuine state of speechlessness. “It’s cold. We shouldn’t be out here—”

Sanji huffs a laugh before he can stop it, tilting his head to lean into the touch. “That’s what you have to say? After that?”

Zoro’s ears redden immediately. “What the hell else am I supposed to say?”

Sanji can’t help but laughing, unfettered. The nerves thrumming through his body finally loosen, like he’s riding out the high of kissing Zoro. Finally, actually kissing him. Directly. On the lips.

“You’re supposed to say something,” Sanji teases, “Like, I don’t know. Maybe that you liked it?”

Zoro lets out a noise, part of a flustered laugh, and dips his head down for half a second like he’s trying to hide the warmth in his cheeks. His gaze then flicks up again, searching Sanji’s face. “I did.”

It’s Sanji’s turn to be speechless, flustered now. He’s startled by how sincere he sounds, and can’t help but grin sheepishly after hearing it. He feels almost giddy with all the emotions in his body, lovesick, knowing Zoro liked the kiss. That all this time, Zoro has felt something for him.

And as another gust of wind rolls over the deck, cutting through the fabric of Sanji’s sweater and coaxing a shiver, Zoro notices immediately. His hand slides down to the base of Sanji’s neck to feel the thrumming pulse there. “And.. I wouldn’t mind another.” He admits, “But not out here. We really should head inside before you freeze.”

Sanji’s grin softens, the teasing fading into something full of fondness. “You’re so damn considerate all of a sudden,” He murmurs, but acquiesces when Zoro stands first and offers a hand.

”Whatever,” Zoro rolls his eyes, tugging Sanji onto his feet and nodding towards the nearest door. One that leads directly into the corridor of the men’s quarters. “Come on.”

The warmth of the ship hits them as soon as they step inside the hall, a sharp contrast to the bite of the autumn wind outside. The faint hum of the Sunny’s systems whir in the background, Franky’s sconces casting everything in a soft glow. They both seem to pause synchronously when Zoro closes the door behind them.

Sanji exhales a breath, letting the warmth and silence settle over him. The absence of the waves makes everything feel so quiet. He can hear Zoro’s breathing more clearly now, feel Zoro’s eyes on his back, see his hand still lingering on the doorknob in his peripheral.

And maybe it’s because they’ve finally had a genuine taste of each other—of lips, breath, closeness that’s no longer indirect. But something inside of him refuses to wait any longer. Refuses to go back to normal. The impatience catches up, all restraint unraveling as Sanji pivots on his heel and turns to face Zoro.

“Since we’re already inside…” Sanji starts, shifting his weight and reaching up to tug at the front of Zoro’s shirt. The swordsman’s hand drops from the doorknob and immediately finds Sanji’s hip like he was waiting for the signal. “..You still want that second kiss?”

Zoro’s face splits into that disbelieving grin again, and he doesn’t have to vocalize his want.

This time, he’s the one who tugs Sanji in first.