Archive of Our Own ^beta

Zoro walks into the kitchen of the Thousand Sunny, eyebrows furrowing in mild confusion when he sees Sanji leaning over the edge of the countertop, squinting at the pile of sunflower seeds he’s running the pads of his fingers across.

Realistically, Zoro doesn’t have much to say about this—because what can be said about this, really? He’s painfully aware of the fact that Sanji views his culinary skills as a rather complex thing; nothing short of a domestic artform, a way in which he expresses himself, abutting the way he chooses to wordlessly demonstrate the care and concern he feels for his crewmates.

So maybe this is something Zoro simply wouldn’t understand.

He frowns regardless.

This level of care and concern has Sanji jumping in feet first into something that Zoro can only describe as ‘questionable’ or ‘unhinged’. Minutes pass gracelessly as Zoro stews in the uncomfortable silence, watching his crewmate continue to thumb along the edges of a few of the seeds.

“I’m not sure if anyone broke the news to you yet, but,” Zoro starts, taking a large gulp from the cup of orange juice in his hand, when Sanji is roughly pulled from his reverie, “you look like an idiot.”

Sanji falters momentarily, as if he’s now realising Zoro’s been standing there and watching him for god knows how long. “Well, good fucking morning to you too, you scarred seaweed.”

“Scarred seaweed? I think you need to get over yourself, you useless cook,” Zoro huffs, stepping behind the counter with a few purposeful strides. Sanji notices the condensation from the cup that gathers along the edge of Zoro’s fingers and swallows hard. This—being in proximity like this doesn't get any easier for him. “What are you doing, anyway?”

Sanji decides to disregard his presence altogether.

But what’s interesting is that he knows full well that Zoro would never let him get away with something like that, either.

Something about being too prideful, but also—something about craving attention from someone you need it most.

Sanji knows this.

Therefore, he waits. He waits like a good boy for Zoro to shift the tide himself. Bides the near-torturous seconds that pass by gritting his teeth and holding his breath, by drumming his fingers against the countertop. Once Zoro reaches for the reins and takes a tentative step closer, Sanji stiffens in anticipation and sighs audibly despite himself.

Hears the frustration that stains it black.

It just doesn’t get any easier—tiptoeing around each other like this.

“So,” Zoro hums, glancing at the scattered sunflower seeds. “You’re not gonna answer me?”

“Ugh, please spare me and just get the hell out of here,” Sanji rasps, his voice strained as he gives Zoro a sidelong glance. “I wouldn’t expect someone as tactless as you to understand the importance or necessity of what I’m doing to begin with.”

“It seems as if you’re looking at a bunch of sunflower seeds. Closely. You idiot,” Zoro mutters with a roll of his eye. “Which makes you look like an idiot, you idiot.”

Sanji would laugh if the hand that’s suddenly pressing against his lower back didn’t make his blood run cold.

He straightens his posture and exhales shakily when he feels a finger—Zoro’s finger—hooking into one of the belt loops on his slacks. “Wow, I’m impressed. I had no idea you had a brain in your skull to know what sunflower seeds look like.”

Zoro arches an eyebrow, his nail bed pressing against the cool leather of the belt around Sanji’s waist. “All this to move past the fact that you looked like an idiot examining a bunch of seeds like they’re evidence in a forensic case.”

Sanji looks at him, deadpan. “Spell ‘forensic’ for me?”

“Fuck you,” Zoro spits, lips quirking into a small smile. “So? What’s the big idea?”

Sanji turns to face him completely, his frown deepening—he just doesn’t understand the point of all this. All these questions, all this prodding. What does he want from me? “Why are you so into what I’m doing in the first place?”

What do you want?

Why are you here?

Why do you go out of your way to find me? To bother me?

Zoro falters visibly at the deafening implication behind Sanji's words, the surface of his skin stinging as if he’s been struck by them. The reins slip from his loosened grip for a moment—and, naturally, Sanji is observant enough to catch the exact moment those narrow, rawhide straps fall inelegantly to his feet. He narrows his eye as he holds Sanji’s gaze, an indescribable, questionable ache blooming fiercely in his chest.

What’s more is that Zoro knows what it is, where that ache stems from.

It’s want—it’s the feeling of want so persistent, so unshakable that it fucking suffocates him. That has him feeling miserable without rest. That has him flocking to Sanji’s side like a love-struck idiot day after day, wordlessly begging him to take this a step further.

“Oh, don’t fucking flatter yourself, Eyebrows,” Zoro huffs, his expression pinched as his breath hitches in his throat. He can continue to pretend. Hell, he finds comfort in the idea of doing so—though, he’s unsure if pretending makes sense in the slightest, or if this senseless guise hurts him less in comparison to addressing his regrettable feelings head-on, but ...the pathetic act of nursing this damn façade allows his dignity to remain intact. His dignity is all he has left, after all. “I only asked a question because, once again, you look like an idiot, you idiot. Only an idiot would’ve been bent over the kitchen counter like that.”

Only an idiot, huh?

Sanji hums softly, taking it all in—internalising it as ocean blues meet steel grey. Tears his eyes away from Zoro, who’s staring at him as if he’s fucking starving for something he can’t bring himself to express.

“Oh, yeah? Then join me,” Sanji drawls, using a hand to push against the middle of Zoro’s back, effectively guiding him into bending over the edge of the countertop—the tip of his nose mere inches away from the pile of sunflower seeds. “Since you’re the biggest idiot on this ship.”

Zoro swallows hard at that, both hands quivering as his sweat is smeared into cool marble. He closes his eyes and manages to compose himself, his mouth running dry at the feeling of a strong hand pressed against his spine, at the feeling of nimble fingers curled into the material of his shirt. “Whatever, you seed-counting-idiot.”

“Seed cou—” Sanji rolls his eyes. Sighs as he watches the way Zoro straightens himself and dismisses him with a wave of his hand. “Oh, just get out of here.”

Zoro clears his throat and takes a deep breath. “If you’re not counting the seeds, then what are you doing?”

Sanji shoves both hands in the pockets of his slacks, appearing aloof, but Zoro knows better. “I’m checking the seeds for pests.”

Zoro closes his eye in disbelief. “The seeds?”

“Mhm.”

“You’re checking the seeds for pests.”

“I am.”

Zoro takes a moment to mull over what was said before he slowly shakes his head and offers nothing more than a vague gesture of his hand. “Right. Pests.”

Sanji doesn’t seem to be perturbed by his obvious confusion—or judgment. “Pests, indeed.”

“What kind of pests?”

“Weevils,” Sanji quips and tightens his jaw. He swallows around the lump in his throat when Zoro moves close enough for him to smell the faint scent of the bodywash he had used in the shower hours prior with each inhale. “Stuff like that.”

Zoro doesn’t sound convinced at all; his inflection takes on a rather incredulous edge that has Sanji shuffling on his feet. “You’re checking the seeds for pests like weevils and stuff like that.”

And something in Sanji breaks.

“Precisely, you algae-ridden moron!” he blurts out, throwing both arms up in utter exasperation, and he knows this is what Zoro was looking for from the start of this exchange. The tantrum, the fighting, the aggression, the anger—all of that is what feels normal to them. Not these strong, maddening, unspoken feelings that they’re both being tormented by. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to concentrate!”

At that, Zoro relaxes instantly, warmth slinking near his fingertips, gratification washing over him in thick waves, trickling down his spine sweetly. The roughness—the faint blush of what sounds like hatred which colours Sanji’s tone bears resemblance to the concept of ‘home’ itself, compared to the tenderness of Sanji’s fleeting touch against his arm or neck when their crewmates are not around to lay eyes on them. “I see you have too much time on your hands.”

“God forbid I don’t want my crewmates to eat bugs,” Sanji grouses, his voice low. “Except you, of course. I don’t give a fuck what you eat.”

Right.

The lie tastes sugary on his tongue. Feels like something honeyed easing down his throat—like caramel toffee that’s stuck to the roof of his mouth.

“You should put all that energy to good use like making some onigiri for lunch,” Zoro proposes, his expression unreadable, “since that’s what I feel like eating.”

Sanji blinks at him, his mouth somehow watering at the sight of Zoro’s free hand coming to rest on his left hip, his pinkie finger lifting the hem of his shirt slightly. It’s truly an insignificant display of skin, yet it’s enough for Sanji to find himself struggling against—

Wait.

Since that’s what he feels like eating?

Maybe Sanji didn’t hear him correctly.

Sanji tears his eyes away from Zoro’s exposed hip bone, and he cocks his head to the side, seemingly at a loss for words. “I’m sorry?”

“I said,” Zoro begins, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth. The pause nearly makes Sanji believe he’s choosing his next words carefully. It’s a distressingly deliberate approach; something heavy. A test, or something close to it. “You should make onigiri for lunch because that’s what I feel like eating.”

What’s fascinating is Sanji performs well when he’s prompted to do so—

—even if he decides to gripe and moan about it at the very start.

“I didn’t ask what you felt like eating, Zoro,” Sanji speaks slowly, reaching down with the intention of brushing Zoro’s hand to the side, far away from his belt loop, to enforce some distance between them, but his fingers curl around Zoro’s wrist without much thought—keeping it there, delighting in the closeness. “I literally just said I don’t give a fuck what you eat, and I said that because I meant it.”

Zoro smiles at the lousy pretence. A slight curve of the lips; it’s soft, and barely-there, but Sanji catches it, nonetheless.

Clings to it, really.

Sanji’s words and his actions are often misaligned once Zoro is somewhere in the equation, and it’s always amusing to watch that deviation unfold in their eventful day-to-day.

“Onigiri with a side of sea king meat,” Zoro prods, ignoring whatever nonsense Sanji pours his energy into rambling about to deflect from his demands. “You can cut the sea king meat into little cubes like you did last time.”

Last time?

Taken aback by the request, Sanji’s hands fall to his sides, the pads of his fingers grazing the material of his slacks. Zoro frowns at the movement, at the sudden parting, already missing the warmth that was pressed into his skin.

“Huh?” Sanji takes a moment to collect himself. “Like I did last time?”

“Yeah,” Zoro shrugs. Another non-committal act, as if his stomach isn’t sinking at the thought of Sanji dismissing him entirely. Nonetheless, it’s only the two of them in the kitchen; he doesn’t have to pretend here. He can bring himself to be honest... right? “Was that last week? It felt like last week, or maybe it was the week before? Either way, I uh—liked the sauce you served with it. The orange-looking sauce. It was nice.”

It was nice.

Zoro’s words swing like the weight of a pendulum knocking against the forefront of his mind, each oscillation punctuated by a blaring chime that remains in tune with the sound of his heart pounding rapidly within his chest.

“Orange-looking sauce? Oh, that,” Sanji lets out a sound of acknowledgement when he remembers the marmalade-based sauce that he had experimented with roughly two weeks before. However, the idea of Zoro thoroughly enjoying something he prepared for dinner has his mind reeling—has him sweating beneath the collar.

It’s difficult to appear unaffected when Zoro is actively seeking him out like this, so his voice betrays that senseless and carefully constructed façade by sounding brittle and weak when he finds the strength to speak again, “So, you want me to make it again?”

“Yeah,” Zoro affirms, barely audible, before a touch of courage settles deep in his gut. “Is that a problem? Isn’t that what you’re here for? To feed me when I’m hungry?”

“Fuck you,” Sanji gripes, but the lack of bite behind his words makes him sound... rather pathetic—powerless to his own emotions. “You mean to tell me you’ve been sitting on a damn compliment about something I made for well over a week now?”

There are quite a number of things that Zoro can commend Sanji for, yet he chooses not to.

He wasn’t under the assumption that Sanji... needed that from him.

Things like praise, compliments. Affection.

For this reason, Zoro stares at him blankly. “Does that bother you?”

“Of course it bothers me!” Sanji scoffs—because what kind of question is that? “Why wouldn’t it?”

The room falls silent, then.

The heel of Sanji’s shoe knocks against the floorboards beneath his feet, fuelled by impatience, by a demand for more flattery. It echoes, the hollow sound of that shoe against treated, Adam wood, and Sanji's unquenchable undertone hangs heavily in the charged air between them.

Zoro chews on the inside of his cheek, ruminating on his thoughts, on Sanji’s desires before he speaks again. “Since when have you needed to hear compliments from me about your cooking in the first place?”

That’s fair, but it’s also a cruel thing to question.

Sanji doesn’t have an answer for that.

Well, he does, of course—but that would mean acknowledging their unspoken issue. It would mean hinting at his overwhelming feelings. It would mean being vulnerable.

No, thanks.

Quite frankly, he isn’t ready for it. That’s for another day, a better day; a day when he’s a bit bolder, when he’s braver. Not a random Tuesday morning while they’re drifting on the dreadful and unpredictable seas of the New World.

One might swear at him for this daunting display of cowardice, but he'd rather keep his doomed lovesickness to himself.

Yes, it is lovesickness; he has accepted that long ago, but is it really doomed if it’s a requited, tangible thing?

Sanji doesn’t want to think about that right now, to steer clear of losing his damn mind.

And Zoro?

Zoro longs to hang onto an explanation that doesn’t come. He tries his best to hide the disappointment in his voice when he speaks again. It isn’t rejection, per se, but it isn’t what he wanted to hear. “That’s what I thought.”

“Now get up, forget about those stupid sunflower seeds and start working your magic,” he continues, his posture rigid. “I want my lunch by 1 PM at the latest.”

☆

Sanji wills himself to avoid thinking about that walking ball of seaweed who—who dares to make demands of him, who has no qualms about using Sanji’s inability to deny him to his utmost advantage.

Fuck.

Since the day the Strawhat crew reunited at the Sabaody Archipelago after those torturous two years of separation, Sanji has been on edge. During the time he spent honing his skills in the Kamabakka Kingdom, he believed that the separation would have done him some good, at the very least; that the distance alone would’ve been what he needed to put an end to the infatuation he harboured for Zoro.

Ah, poor Sanji.

He was so incredibly hopeful to bring this ridiculous crush of his to a close, so ready for a clean start. A fresh slate.

But one look at Zoro was all it took for those emotions to come rushing in again. What a waste—a waste of time, of energy.

A waste of trying to avoid the inevitable.

Sanji flinches when the door swings open, the sound of the hinge creaking filling the air, and he sighs in relief when Robin steps into the kitchen, humming in surprise at the sight of Sanji using his gloved hands to rub marinade into the small cuts of meat—at the sight of Sanji doing exactly as Zoro asked of him.

“Ah, Sanji-kun,” Robin says, sounding a little amazed as she steps forward. “You’re prepping for lunch already? It’s a little early, isn’t it?”

“Today’s lunch menu is a bit demanding, you see—well, at least one part of it,” Sanji offers as an explanation, carefully removing his nitrile gloves and placing them to the side. “So, I’ll need a little more time for the meat to marinate.”

Robin takes another step closer, genuine curiosity blooming on her features. She notes the considerable size of the frozen meat that Sanji has yet to put back in the freezer and smiles. “Ah, is that sea king meat?”

Sanji does what he can to avoid Robin’s knowing gaze. “Mhm.”

“I hope you don’t mind me asking this, but,” Robin begins, and he notices that she’s kind enough to warn him to brace himself for the question that will follow. “Is this the swordsman’s request?”

“Uh—”

“I’m well aware of how much our precious swordsman enjoys eating sea king meat in general,” is what Robin goes on to say, “much like our captain, of course. But our captain has been sleeping on the deck all morning, Sanji-kun. Very little time for him to be making demands over what’s to be prepared for lunch.”

All this to say: she’s onto him.

“Yes, Robin,” Sanji says through gritted teeth. He’s not irritated at her prying eyes or her ability to put two-and-two together. What he is irritated at, however, is his inability to put Zoro’s request on the back burner. “You’re right. The shit-stained mossball told me what he wanted to eat earlier, and—”

Robin shifts her weight from one leg to the other, folding her arms across her chest. “Here you are—obliging.”

She’s not wrong there.

Sanji moves to wash his hands under the running tap; something to keep himself busy, to keep himself distracted. Cool water spreads along flushed skin to keep him grounded. “W-well, I—”

“There’s no need to feel embarrassed about it. Honestly, it’s heartwarming to see just how much you care for your crewmates,” Robin smiles sweetly at him, lips pulling over her teeth. A touch of warmth in a sea of cold, yet Sanji resists the pressing urge to jump overboard. “And I hope you know just how much we appreciate all that you do, Sanji-kun. Never forget that.”

Sanji stares at the pan of marinated meat that is bracketed by his open palms.

When Robin is about to turn on her heels, Sanji stops her with a curt wave of his hand. “Are you heading back to the deck?”

Robin purses her lips. “I am.”

“Would you like a refresher?” Sanji offers, “When I’m done setting this meat aside to marinate?”

For a moment, Robin simply stares at him. After a while, she understands how difficult this may be for him in general, let alone knowing that someone else knows a bit too much for his liking.

In a sense, she realises that she may have... overstepped in some way—that she may have said too much, far too soon, that she took a step into a bubble that wasn’t meant for her to invade at any rate. She inwardly applauds Sanji for taking it as well as he did.

“That would be wonderful,” Robin says, her smile apologetic. “Thank you, Sanji.”

☆

With Robin’s question weighing heavily on his mind, Sanji finds himself directing his burgeoning irritation to Zoro.

This is his fault, anyway.

And, well. He gets drunk on the feeling alone, on the heat brewing deep in his chest, because irritation is good—it’s the most normal thing about them. The insults, the bickering. Those make the most sense.

“How did I get roped up into this bullshit?” Sanji huffs, holding the tray of braised beef and shrimp tempura onigiris alongside a hefty side of sautéed sea king meat. “Who the hell does he think he is?”

I liked the sauce you served with it.

Zoro’s words feel like a blade tearing into his flesh, and he can't help the way his cheeks flush when he remembers Zoro looking at him as if he were a man who had absolutely nothing to lose.

Like a man who finally could’ve breathed easy, if only for a moment.

Fuck off, fuck off, fuck off, Sanji chants inwardly, nearly tugging at his hair in frustration.

Stomping onto the deck with a maddening trail of fire licking beneath his skin, Sanji beckons the attention of his crewmates, who are keeping themselves busy beneath the blazing sun as they’re seated on the deck. “Where is he?”

Usopp looks up from his toolbox and arches an eyebrow. “Who?”

Sanji places his free hand on his hip, lips pulling into a frown. “The muscle-brained idiot.”

“Zoro? He’s where he always is,” Usopp mumbles, pointing above his head. “In the Crow’s Nest. And he’s waiting for you, apparently.”

He’s waiting for—

Alright.

Cool.

Sanji is about to fucking lose it.

“I’m sorry?” Sanji asks and inches forward. “He’s waiting for me?”

“Sure is. I didn’t hear most of what he was mumbling about, but I heard... something about meat...?” Usopp trails off, fumbling with the screwdriver in his hand and the pile of bolts near his bent knee. “I figured it had something to do with what you were making for lunch, so I didn’t bother to ask further. Either way, His Highness is expecting you. Up there in the Crow’s Nest. Don’t wanna keep him waiting, right?”

Don’t wanna keep him waiting, right?

Today just might be the day Sanji actually ends up jumping overboard, but ‘Chef of the Strawhat crew jumps into the sea to avoid his obvious gay feelings for his crewmate’ doesn’t make for an entertaining News Coo headline, so he decides against it.

“Thanks, Usopp,” is what Sanji settles on... begrudgingly. “That idiot gets on my nerves.”

Usopp has nothing to say to that. They’ve been down this road countless times since reuniting at the Sabaody Archipelago and, honestly, Usopp refuses to be dragged into their push-and-pull bullshit again.

Sanji tries his best to get his point across—because no, there’s no way that someone like him has genuine feelings for the idiot swordsman on their crew. Well, he does, but Usopp doesn’t need to know that! “He really does.”

Usopp wasn’t born yesterday. Because of this, he doesn’t bother to look at Sanji. “Right.”

Sanji lets out a drawn-out sigh and pinches the bridge of his nose. Usopp would rather shit in his hands and clap than entertain his spiral of denial for the seventh time in the past three weeks.

“Robin and Nami are in the kitchen right now, so you don’t have to worry about them,” Sanji tells him. “Do you mind dishing up everyone else’s plates for me? I think Chopper’s studying in the Infirmary.”

Usopp looks up then. Now that’s doable.

“Yeah, I can do that,” he hums, placing his toolbox to the side and slowly standing to his feet. “I’m gonna look for Luffy first. He’s been knocked out all morning.”

With a nod, Sanji makes his way to the Crow’s Nest, pushing past the sickening feeling of his heart hammering beneath his ribcage.

Jesus Christ.

Why can’t he... get it together?

☆

Almost a week later, Sanji finds himself discussing the necessary course of action with Luffy and Nami now that they’ll be stopping at a new island to replenish their food rations in a matter of hours.

Sanji leans against the edge of the countertop in the kitchen, holding a small notepad in his hand, drumming a ball-point pen against the pages. “I’m preparing a list of all the things we’ll need to get once we drop anchor at the next island. Does anyone have anything they want me to include?”

Attention-starved, Zoro folds his arms across his chest. “Booze.”

Here we go again.

Sanji scoffs and rolls his eyes. “Anyone else except the stupid alcoholic?”

Luffy jumps up then, laughter bubbling in his chest when his sudden movement makes Chopper yelp in surprise, hooves knocking over the glass of grapefruit juice to his left. “Meat!”

“And the glutton?” Sanji sighs, exasperated. “Anyone except the stupid alcoholic and the chief glutton? Hello? Literally anyone else? Please?”

When Sanji looks around the room, his shoulders slump as he takes in the sight of his crewmates, who offer him subtle shakes of their head in response to his question. Well, all except Zoro, who marches into his orbit with a self-assured smile tugging at his lips.

As if he won yet another round of some unspoken competition that Sanji wasn’t aware of.

“The only person whose demands should be above mine is Luffy’s,” Zoro tells him, his voice low enough that only Sanji can hear what he’s saying. “So, get my damn booze and quit your complaining.”

Sanji pushes at his chest weakly, warmth rising to his cheek despite himself. God, he just can’t control himself. “You’re in my personal space, you sake-chugging loser.”

The insult doesn’t bother him.

In fact, it makes him feel a little bolder. Alive.

“Six bottles,” Zoro insists, reaching for the pen in Sanji’s balled fist with much success. “At least six of them. You know what? Make it ten bottles. Fifteen, even.”

“Buy your own booze and leave me out of it!” Sanji spits, a hand darting forward to grab the pen Zoro is adamant on stealing for no reason other than to get on his nerves. “What the hell?”

☆

It’s a warm day on Bydeir Island, and Brûlée has busied herself with preparing a light, refreshing meal that is rich in protein and fibre for her and her brother to feast on while they lounge in the sun.

“There you are,” she says, offering Dacquoise a small smile as she hands him his bowl of food and settles at the outdoor dining table. She sighs blissfully at the feeling of cool winds combing through the strands of her hair, tapping the outsole of her sandals on the concrete below. “I’ve been looking all over for you, dear.”

“Sorry, Brûlée,” Dacquoise mutters, visibly restless as both hands rub at his temple. “I just needed to get out of there, you know?”

“Away,” Brûlée corrects softly, glancing at the sizeable tent nearby where the annual Charlotte Family gathering for a few of the younger siblings is being held. “Away seems more fitting, no? You needed to get away from all this? From us?”

“N-no,” Dacquoise shakes his head, grunting when the scar on his chest burns with something that feels like self-loathing. It’s been years, yet I'm still— “No, it’s not like that. I just needed a breather. Our mother is—”

“A lot. She’s a lot. I know, baby brother,” Brûlée nods in understanding, the tines of her fork digging into the kale that's smothered in dressing in her bowl. “I definitely get it, you know. We’re always expected to give stellar results so she can be proud of us, and it’s... exhausting to say the least. Everyone is so tired, man.”

Tired... is an understatement.

Many of the Charlotte Family siblings are unable to withstand their mother’s outlandish and unrealistic expectations. The annual Charlotte Family gathering features different siblings every year, but the purpose remains constant regardless of who is in attendance—to scrutinise their performances, to point out their faults in front of an audience and to discuss ways they can be more profitable pawns to Big Mom and her ever-rising legacy moving forward.

As Dacquoise is about to bring a heaping mouthful of vegetables to his lips, his fork slips from his hand entirely when he manages to catch sight of someone who seems to be horribly familiar—a man with unique, green hair—a man who sports a haramaki and three swords fastened to his hip.

Pirate Hunter Roronoa Zoro.

“Is that—” Dacquoise breathes, dabbing at the thin sheen of sweat on his forehead, and honestly, he can’t fucking believe it. “Is that who I fucking think it is?”

Dacquoise thought he may have seen the Strawhat’s Jolly Roger near the pier—how could he not have connected the dots until this very moment?

At the sight of Zoro’s relaxed disposition, anger swells fierce and hot in Dacquoise’s chest, yet his body trembles in fear as he sits there and relives that awful time in his life, suspended in the agony of it—that moment when a polished blade pierced the spot right below his heart, that had rivers of crimson soiling his Totto Land garments.

From his perspective, Zoro had kept him alive on purpose as if he was something to be played with, as if he was a fucking toy, as if he wasn’t humiliated enough. Dacquoise never understood what his motives were, couldn’t wrap his head around it.

It couldn’t have only been about the beri, right?

Brûlée leans over, looking around frantically. “Who? Who is it?”

“Roronoa Zoro,” Dacquoise replies, bile rising at the back of his throat as he rests his fork down and watches Zoro closely. “The Pirate Hunter. Have you ever heard of him?”

Brûlée sinks further into her chair, humming as she brings a hand to her chin, pondering the question. Pirate Hunter Zoro... Inevitably, she draws blanks and shrugs her shoulders, non-committal.

“No?” Brûlée replies, offering Dacquoise a side-long glance as she takes another bite of her meal. “How do you know him?”

“He’s—well,” Dacquoise swallows, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. “Based on his name, I’m sure you can guess... the fucker hunted pirates. He was kind of notorious on the East Blue Seas because of how ruthless he was with pirates, all for their bounties—he was some bloodthirsty, money-hungry demon that popped out of damn nowhere.”

“Okay, this is... this is a lot to take in. Right, so... pirate hunter from the East Blue. Got it,” Brûlée hums. She doesn’t know what to make of that. “But I—how do you know him? Or at least, know of him?”

When Dacquoise goes rigid at the question, Brûlée turns to look at him slowly, molars grinding into the cartilage in her mouth.

“Do you remember years ago... when I came home all messed up?” Dacquoise asks, suddenly feeling sick to his stomach at the memory that plays on loop at the forefront of his psyche. “Half-dead, I should say? With a wound just below my heart? You and Noisette had to make sure I didn't fucking die from my injuries, remember?”

Brûlée’s chewing gradually slows as she recalls the sight of Dacquoise bleeding out while they were at sea in the East Blue, muscles tensing beneath her skin as his tear-stained face flashes in her mind.

“He did that?” she grounds out, her voice clipped as she tightens the grip on her fork. “That loser? Are you kidding me?”

“He did,” Dacquoise admits, hanging his head in defeat. In shame. “He’s pretty damn strong, Brûlée. Don’t mind the way he looks. Don’t mind how he looks as if he doesn’t give a fuck about anything. Shit, when I think about that day—I really fucking got my ass handed to me. Easily, too.”

Brûlée doesn’t know what to say.

“Ever since that day, I’ve been focusing on recovering, of course, while trying to think of a way to get back at him for what he did to me,” Dacquoise divulges, flinching when Brûlée looks at him in utter disbelief. “I made a promise to myself that I’d hurt him tenfold if we ever crossed paths again. No, when we did.”

“Now that day is here. Just my fucking luck, because here he is—in front of me,” Dacquoise huffs, frowning, “and, honestly? I don’t think I’m ready to take him on. He’ll just beat me again!”

Brûlée rests a hand on the small of his back. “Not if your big sister is here to help.”

Dacquoise draws in a quick breath, turning to look at Brûlée with tears welling in his eyes. “Really?”

“Of course,” Brûlée tries to smile, but it comes out a little forced. “Do you have any idea how painful it was for me to see my precious baby brother like that? Bloody and in so much agony? Now that I know what happened to you, I have a bone to pick with Roronoa Zoro, as well. No one, and I mean no one, hurts my baby brother like that and gets away with it. I won’t just stand by and let it happen.”

“You should have said something sooner,” Brûlée mumbles under her breath, “but you damn refused to talk to us about it. To any of us.”

Dacquoise rubs at his eyes, inhaling harshly through his teeth. “Because it was embarrassing.”

“Can’t you see?” Dacquoise laughs bitterly, squinting as he glances at Zoro, who is standing on the opposite side of the path as he speaks briefly with one of the vendors. “I’m from the Charlotte Family, and I couldn’t even handle some no-name, bottom-feeding Pirate Hunter from the East Blue! All this while our mother is one of the four Emperors who rule the New World!”

“I couldn’t let her find out,” Dacquoise mumbles, somewhat mindlessly—seemingly lost in his own thoughts, in his own pain and frustration as if he forgot Brûlée was listening to him vent like this in the first place. “She would have finished me off just for losing to him! That’s why... that’s why I kept it to myself. Not—not because I didn’t trust you guys, but because I was that scared.”

“Don’t worry,” Brûlée assures him gently, her heart aching in her chest. “I have just the thing that’ll work on him. That piece of shit won’t know what hit him until it’s too late.”

☆

Brûlée is grateful for the spring stilt performance that is taking place down the street as the unplanned distraction manages to attract the attention of onlookers while she hoists her frameless mirror at the end of the path. Here, Dacquoise is allowed to see for himself just how quick the process is—the four edges of the flimsy mirror appear to have been pinned against the air surrounding it by reason of her Devil Fruit ability.

But what surprises him most is the supposed... mirror glass that doesn’t reflect anything at all. The purpose it serves is to provide a realistic-appearing backdrop to deceive those who make the mistake of laying eyes on it.

To innocent bystanders, the mirror displays an illusion of a weaponry store full of swords, heavy artillery and other products that attract the attention of those who have an interest in things of that nature.

People like Roronoa Zoro.

It’s fucking brilliant, honestly. A foolproof plan, yet Dacquoise can’t help but feel apprehensive about the execution of it, anxious in a way that doesn’t even make sense. “Are you sure this is gonna work?”

Brûlée doesn’t seem to be bothered by his lack of faith in her or her abilities. “Positive, my dear baby brother.”

In parallel, Zoro mumbles something to the vendor and shifts his attention to the clever backdrop, his eyebrows nearly shooting toward his hairline at the sight of the exquisite-looking blade perched near the entrance to the weaponry store—somewhat curious about the fine materials used and the blacksmithing process responsible for its visual value.

Dacquoise blinks at Zoro, rising to the bait, and he adjusts his sunglasses, leaning forward. “Looks like he’s moving towards it.”

Sanji—who has been looking around at what’s available for purchase from the food market vendors nearby—manages to catch a glimpse of his sword-obsessed crewmate, who went missing as soon as the Thousand Sunny dropped anchor about an hour ago. “Zoro?”

Sanji was under the assumption that he went to the Crow’s Nest.

“I thought he was keeping watch on the Sunny?” Sanji mutters to himself. With a shrug, he says, “I guess he must’ve swapped with someone else.”

“Just keep watching, baby brother,” Brûlée giggles, wide-eyed and slack-jawed at the thought of punishing the piece of shit who nearly killed her brother years ago. “I’m sure this is gonna work. I did some digging, and it turns out that dickhead is a damn freak for those swords on his hip. Anything sword-related is gonna work on him.”

“So,” Dacquoise starts, unable to shake the lingering feeling of anxiety as his gaze flickers between Zoro’s back and the frame of the mirror, “he can’t see the outline of the mirror?”

“Of course not—no one can. Only we can see the outline because of these special glasses that we’re wearing,” Brûlée explains, squinting behind the tinted lens covering her eyes, ”but anyone who doesn’t have a pair of these bad boys on can’t see the outline of that mirror. To them, it looks seamless, like it’s supposed to be there. Pretty cool, right?”

“This... this just might work,” Dacquoise swallows, his hands feeling clammy as he sweats nervously. “Fuck.”

“I told you!” Brûlée cheers, her shrill laughter being carried by the wind. “I’ve brought down so many Marines using this trick! It’s a perfect ploy for that low-grade, good-for-nothing pirate hunter!”

At the same time, Sanji finds himself trailing behind Zoro without further delay. “Wait. Where the hell is he going? A store?”

“Oh, for weapons? Like a damn moth to a flame,” Sanji chuckles fondly. “He just can’t damn help himself. Maybe I should stick with him, so we don’t lose each other.”

No.

Hell no.

“But then again,” Sanji grunts, rubbing at his jawline, fingers toying with his goatee. “Who cares if he gets lost? Why would I make this my problem, anyway? Why do I care? I’m not some damn babysitter.”

“I don’t care. I don’t care about his safety or his well-being,” Sanji decides, sneering at the nagging affliction stirring in his core. “All he does is irritate me, anyway. Fuck him.”

Whatever.

Whatever!

“Ugh, hey!” Sanji yells, gravel crunching beneath his feet as he jogs to meet Zoro’s stride swiftly. “You overgrown seaweed!”

At the sound of Sanji’s voice, Zoro stops in his tracks entirely, looking over his shoulder in disbelief when Sanji breaks his speed once he’s close to Zoro’s side.

“Cook?” Zoro blanches, lips pulling over his teeth in a scowl. “What the hell are you doing here? Are you stalking me now?”

Stalking.

Sanji’s eyes nearly roll out of his fucking skull.

“You really piss me off. God, it’s as if you just know exactly what to say to get under my skin,” Sanji fumes, pushing at Zoro’s shoulder with his own. “No, you bastard, I wasn’t stalking your stupid ass.”

“Well, why are you here? I don’t recall asking for company,” Zoro tells him, his gaze unwavering, resuming his pace as they walk along the fabricated path together. “Shoo! Go back to whatever hole you crawled out of.”

Sanji arches an eyebrow, his expression grim. “Oh? So, I’m not welcome here?”

“This was supposed to be a party for one,” Zoro replies haughtily, placing both hands on his hips. “Not two. I see you enough on the ship as it is.”

“Fuck off,” Sanji grouses, turning to look at him, his gaze falling to Zoro's chest before he averts his gaze. “So?”

“So?” Zoro parrots, confused.

Sanji offers a brief gesture of his hand, drawing his attention to the path that lies ahead. “What in this store managed to pique your interest?”

“Don’t know,” Zoro lies through his teeth. “I’ll know when I get there.”

“You mean when we get there.”

“No, that’s definitely not what I meant, you worthless cook,” Zoro sighs, yet he moves close enough so the side of his small finger can graze Sanji’s wrist intentionally with each swing of his arms as they walk. “I don’t even know why you’re still here.”

Sanji holds his breath and leans on naivety for the time being. Pretends not to notice Zoro's subtle way of touching him, another push-and-pull he isn’t quite ready for. “Just keep walking and shut the hell up.”

When they step further on the path that leads to the weaponry store, the entire world is engulfed in darkness as soon as they move beyond the glass surface of the mirror unknowingly, stepping into the frame itself—and, without warning, they’re falling.

“Got ‘em,” Brûlée gushes as she rushes to her feet, destroying the backdrop with one firm drive of her hand. “Fuckers were too yapping away—honestly, that just made this a lot easier. Look at that, Dacquoise; they walked right into our trap!”

Zoro, who has landed in a crumbled heap on Sanji’s chest, grunts in discomfort and cranes his neck to look at the broken mirror they had fallen from. It’s an ugly thing that has been transfixed to the ceiling of this strange realm that now surrounds them, and Zoro stares at the shattered glass that lands near their bodies.

What the fuck?

Sanji uses his palm to rub at his forehead, looking down at Zoro, who relaxes anew, and cannot be bothered to move his head from his chest. “Ugh, where the hell are we?”

“Gross, we’re touching,” Zoro spits, but he makes no effort to move, unconsciously nuzzling a little into Sanji’s dress shirt, lips brushing against the material.

How ridiculous.

“Shut up,” Sanji huffs, gently pushing Zoro’s head away from his upper torso so he can fix himself upright and support his weight against the curved, patterned flooring beneath them. “What is this place?”

“Doesn’t look like the inside of a store that’s supposed to have swords in it, that’s for sure. It’s just a shit-ton of mirrors in here,” Zoro points out, his muscles tensing when Sanji offers his hand to help him stand to his feet. “But it looks like most of them are broken for some reason?”

Sanji’s shoulders slump at the realisation. “Oh, god.”

Zoro blinks. “Huh?”

“Oh, god. Oh, great,” Sanji groans—how did they manage to get themselves into this mess? “Fucking wonderful.”

“What’s with that face?” Zoro asks, as if they’re not currently in some strange alternate dimension with no means of escape. “And what are you going on about?”

Sanji’s perplexed; Zoro is looking at him as if this isn’t a cause for concern. Unless this is another one of his silly pretences, he’s adamant on upholding it for whatever reason.

Either way, Zoro’s current lack of urgency will promptly drive him insane if left unaddressed. If it’s left to fester.

“Look around you, you idiot!” Sanji snaps. “This is probably someone’s—”

“Devil Fruit ability?”

“Yeah,” Sanji hisses, because—god, it sounds even more ridiculous admitting this shit out loud. “Fuck, yes, Zoro. Someone’s Devil Fruit ability.”

“Mhm. Yeah, I gathered that already,” Zoro imparts softly. “I don’t get why we’re here suddenly, but I guess that doesn’t really matter. The real question is: how do we get out of here?”

They take a moment to look around the seemingly endless expanse of the room, eyes drifting along broken frames and shattered glass, along curved floors and hideous, checkered-pattern walls.

Zoro frowns. “The interior design of this place sucks, seriously.”

“I wholeheartedly agree. Just horrible and fucking tacky,” Sanji hums. “We need to find a way out, though.”

In the shadows, Brûlée nearly writhes in anger.

How dare they insult her creation?

What do these pieces of shit know about interior design, anyway?

Sanji points straight ahead, down the curved path where a full-length mirror lies in wait for their arrival. It’s ominous, especially since the mirror doesn’t seem to reflect anything—it’s as if the glass itself has been painted white. “Hm. Well, look at that one. That’s the only mirror with glass that isn’t broken.”

“So, I’m guessing... maybe through there?” Zoro shrugs, reaching for Sanji’s hand and lacing their fingers together—which nearly makes Sanji’s heart fail and his head explode, but he manages to keep himself composed... somehow. “Come with?”

“Duh, we have no choice but to check it out. And, for the record,” Sanji deadpans, lightly squeezing Zoro’s hand with his own. “We might be in some serious trouble, Mosshead.”

“Yeah, there’s nothing new there,” Zoro glances at the ceiling as they walk toward the mirror ahead. “But don’t we manage to get through every time? Why would this be any different?”

Sanji laughs at that, and the richness of his voice has a soft blush rising to Zoro’s cheeks. “You sound like our adventure-crazed captain. We managed to make it through by the skin of our damn teeth! It looks as if we’re in some strange mirror realm, and the only visible way out is through a mirror. The mirror we came from is above us, and it looks like it broke as soon as we fell to the ground.”

“Unfortunate,” is what Zoro settles on when they find themselves standing in front of the mirror that’s been allegedly painted white, because Sanji’s thumb that’s now tracing patterns against his second knuckle has his knees buckling a little. “So, Mr. Eyebrows—what do you think the Devil Fruit user is after?”

“Honestly?” Brûlée starts, appearing behind them. “My target was you, Pirate Hunter Zoro, but then your little friend came along. Today seems to be a gift that keeps on giving. Such lovely compliments to the season.”

Ah.

Zoro doesn’t really understand, but a threat is a threat.

At that, he uses one hand to draw his sword in one fluid motion, the edge of Wado’s blade pressed against her throat without delay, close enough to shallowly break the skin. “And you are?”

Remarkably, despite the eerie promise of Death rattling her bones, Brûlée remains composed, swallowing around the lump in her throat as a thin trail of blood trickles toward her collarbone. Even so, her response is a simple one. “It doesn’t matter who I am.”

Meanwhile, her brother appears to behave the opposite. Struck with fear—for the safety of his sister, as he immediately finds himself reliving such horrid memories—Dacquoise watches from the same shadows Brûlée stood in minutes prior, his legs quaking at the sight of the same sinful blade that was mere inches away from piercing his heart over two years ago.

Even so, Brûlée challenges the risk itself and bares her teeth.

“Now, back to what I was saying. Since you, Vinsmoke Sanji, popped up out of nowhere, I figured I might as well kill two birds with one stone,” Brûlée explains, her lips pulling over her teeth in an unsettling Cheshire grin. Sanji frowns, glancing at their hands when he feels Zoro using his finger to tap his knuckles before he interlaces their fingers. The unspoken reassurance would bring a smile to his face if the current circumstance weren’t so puzzling.

Brûlée laughs, high-pitched as she holds her arms up. “Why the fuck not, am I right? Mother might be pleased to know how this turned out, after all.”

Mother? Zoro thinks, his eyebrows furrowing. Who the hell is she talking about?

“I have no idea who you are, yet your target was me?” Zoro wonders aloud because none of this makes sense. “Target? What for?”

“For what you did to my baby brother,” Brûlée smiles sweetly, using both hands to push Zoro and Sanji through the white mirror, their bodies disappearing in a striking cloud of white as soon as they stumble beyond the frame. “Now, go to Hell—both of you.”

☆

Sanji opens his eyes to the strange feeling of him falling again, his breath suddenly coming in short gasps at the fucking cold weather that seems to have an unrelenting grip on his throat, that seems to rip the air from his lungs. It’s difficult to breathe like this, not when the climate is this devastating; he struggles to turn his head as his teeth chatter as he tries to say something, to say anything to Zoro, who appears to be falling alongside him, so he swallows and gives it another shot. “What—wh-what the hell?”

“It’s fucking—” Sanji gasps out, shivering violently. “It’s snowing?”

“I think you should be more,” Zoro begins, forcing his words through his tightened jaw as he twists through the air to wrap his arms around Sanji’s waist, “focused on the fact that we’re falling, you idiotic cook.”

“I can be concerned about m-multiple things at once, you low-rate swordsman,” Sanji tells him, grunting when Zoro pivots just in time to break their fall so they can land in the rising pile of snow with very minor injuries. “Now let go of me.”

Zoro rubs at his sore back and takes a deep breath, his body going rigid when the viciously cold air feels like knives dragging across his skin. “You’re—you’re welcome, by the way.”

It’s just like Zoro to decide that now is the perfect time to start an argument.

“I’m welcome? Me?” Sanji blurts out, sitting up weakly, his fingers sinking into the snow beneath him. He leans forward, looking at Zoro with a pair of wide eyes, and he reaches out to shake his shoulders roughly. Now’s not the time. Now is not the time for this! For the bickering, the arguing. “Are you out of your damn—for what? What the hell am I supposed to be thankful to you for?”

Zoro closes his eye for a moment. Opens his eye to the sight of his own breath as he exhales. What is he doing? What are they doing?

God, it’s too fucking cold for this.

Zoro needs this, though. The shred of normalcy to offset the fact that he finds himself stupidly reaching for Sanji’s hand again in sub-zero degree weather.

“Are you stupid? For saving your life,” Zoro huffs, scowling as he struggles to his feet. “What else?”

Fuck, the density of the snow has his legs feeling as if they’re tied down by several industrial blocks of lead.

“Oh, please,” Sanji scoffs, brushing the snow from the material of his shirt as if it matters, really. “As if a fall from that height would’ve killed someone like me. Let alone done serious harm or whatever.”

Zoro needs the attention, so he continues to prod without shame.

“You know, something I learned the hard way for the two years we were separated is that it’s not good... or wise to push your luck like that,” Zoro grumbles, driving his elbow into Sanji’s side to knock him off-balance. “Just say ‘thank you, Zoro, for saving me from breaking my spine’ and move on. Admitting to something like that won’t fucking kill you.”

“Excuse me?” Sanji narrows his eyes, straining to see him in the snow. Zoro’s expression is unreadable when Sanji pulls him closer for some much-needed warmth. It may or may not be an excuse to keep touching him or touch him more, but no one is around to question his motives in the first place. “I don’t like your tone right now.”

Zoro drops their hands and pushes him away for the sake of drama, shooting him a look of disdain before he begins to trudge through the snow, leaving Sanji behind.

On cue, Sanji rushes to his side, then, seemingly reluctant, as he reaches for Zoro’s wrist, toying with a few of his fingers. “Thanks—”

Honestly, it’s so cold, he can barely fucking think straight. Zoro lifts his head to glance at the ever-falling snow that accumulates on every inch of the island and coats the landscape in white.

Zoro and Sanji can barely see what lies ahead or make out any of the buildings they may pass due to the limited visibility as the snow falls with a bit more urgency. Zoro holds back a shiver and turns to look at Sanji with something akin to expectation written on his features. “Yeah? For?”

Sanji groans in agony, interlacing their fingers once more before he speaks again. “For saving me from breaking my spine, you demanding, wilted piece of kelp.”

Zoro exhales. That’s good.

That’s something.

“Whatever,” Zoro rolls his good eye, yet he gives Sanji’s fingers a quick, reassuring squeeze. As it turns out, they both seem to be obsessed with the idea of going hand-in-hand now, which is a very recent development, and Zoro can’t help but be grateful for the continuous chaos unfolding that’s more than enough distraction to keep them from having a proper conversation about the damn obvious. “It’s ridiculous how I had to pry that shit out of you.”

“You egotistical bastard,” Sanji chuckles under his breath, his eyes darting around frantically when he notices the wind beginning to pick up in a way that’s... a little jarring. “And where’s my ‘you’re welcome’?”

“I already said it, moron,” Zoro counters, sighing audibly when snowflakes continue to plunge from the skies above, landing faithfully on his reddened nose and cheeks. “Keep walking before you get left behind.”

How pleasant.

Sanji scoffs and wills himself to ignore just how bleak the sky appears to be. How sad, how eerily vicious, as if something sinister is afoot.

“Just being next to you is making me itch. Now,” Sanji drawls as they walk aimlessly through the snow. “Where the fuck are we?”

And why did that Devil Fruit user bring us here to begin with?

“No wonder we couldn’t go through the mirror,” Zoro comments offhandedly, gesturing vaguely with his free hand. “All the white we were looking at? It wasn’t paint. It was snow. Clearly.”

“Yeah,” Sanji huffs in agreement, looking at the business establishments that are all closed because of the inclement weather. “Snow that stretches on for miles! And look at how we’re dressed!”

“Didn’t know you’re scared of a little snow,” Zoro grins, but it’s tense, caused by the chill seeping into his bones, by the uncertainty that lies ahead. Pretence no longer matters given the shitty predicament they’re in, but he still manages to force himself to appear to be amused by Sanji’s frustration—as if he isn’t feeling bothered by the way things have turned out for them. “Weakling.”

Truthfully, Sanji knows it’s an act; though, he behaves as if he doesn’t see right through him. Pulls him closer as if to say, ‘This isn’t your fault.’

Still, their vulnerability and their useless charades are often found side-by-side, so Sanji decides to meet him halfway and stares at him incredulously. “Is it really, and I quote, weak of me to admit we can die out here if we’re not careful?”

“Yes, because we’ve literally been through worse,” Zoro replies, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. It's difficult not to notice how much the temperature has fucking plummeted since they've fallen through that god-forsaken mirror, and it’s so cold he’s now beginning to become horribly concerned, but he can’t let Sanji know he’s inwardly losing his mind over the bullshit they’ve managed to get themselves tangled in. “Maybe you should read the Strength Guidebook sometime and grow a pair.”

Maybe he should read his own guidebook—but Sanji doesn’t need to know that.

Except he does.

Sanji frowns, blinking furiously as snowflakes cling to his eyelashes and cloud his vision. “A pair of what?”

Zoro squints, testing the waters. “Ba—”

“Say it,” Sanji urges, his voice straining over the howling wind. “I dare you.”

Zoro scoffs, pushing his free hand beyond the edge of his haramaki for warmth. “Trying to sound all scary and tough when you have snowflakes hanging from your eyes like that?”

When Sanji decides to ignore that comment, Zoro nudges him on the shoulder. The moisture from the snow spreads between his toes with each step, his heels stinging as they keep moving forward—and, fucking hell, he’s downright miserable. “Where are we headed, anyway?”

“We just have to keep walking until we see something other than snow,” Sanji replies, sounding utterly spent. Sounding as if he’s tired and out of it. “That’s my brilliant plan, at least. Unless you can somehow come up with something better?”

“Nah,” Zoro hums—and for a moment, he pushes his frustration to the side and chooses to genuinely believe that life can’t be all bad right now because they’re still holding hands. That must count for something, right? “That’ll work for now.”

Honestly, Zoro might need a lobotomy.

Or some cure for this unfortunate crush of his.

Minutes later, Zoro begins to come to terms with the fact that they truly are in deep shit, in the deepest shit imaginable, really—despite the intimacy, despite the hand holding. The hand holding managed to cushion the severity of the situation for a while, but now that Zoro barely has any feelings in each of his limbs, he knows that they need to find shelter before things become dire for them.

He has no idea who that Devil Fruit user was, or why he was her target, but it’s obvious that she wanted both him and Sanji to fucking die out here.

For whatever reason.

The crushing weight of that realisation makes his head spin; it has him quavering from something that feels far worse than the ridiculously cold wind stabbing his skin—the thought of being the reason why Sanji’s safety is now in jeopardy.

What’s more is that in mere minutes, the speed of the wind has increased considerably, paired with intense, blowing snow that makes it virtually impossible to see what’s immediately ahead of them.

Zoro swallows thickly, not really knowing what to say. “Uh...”

This is looking like—

“A blizzard?” Sanji screeches, his eyes widening as he tightens his grip on Zoro’s hand and roughly guides him along. “Out of nowhere?”

After a moment’s reflection, Sanji says, “Run.”

Zoro whips his head to the side to look at him. Run...? “What?”

Sanji gestures to the darkened sky above and looks at him as if he’s grown a second head on his shoulders.

“Run, Zoro!” he hollers, his eyes burning as he forces himself to keep looking around for an unlocked establishment, or for some kind Samaritan who would be willing to take them in, at least until the newly formed snowstorm blows over. “This is looking pretty bad. We have to find somewhere to stay before we actually end up dying out here!”

Death—

Dying—

Sanji—

Zoro fucking feels sick to his stomach, but he plays it off and nods in agreement. He’s unsure if Sanji can even see what he did because the visibility is atrocious now. He has to raise his voice to be heard over the roaring of the wind. “Can’t see shit anymore!”

“Just—” Sanji grounds out, hissing because the cold air hurts to simply breathe in. “Stay—stay near me at all times!”

Zoro knows something is off with him.

He feels the goosebumps rising on his skin, and he feels the stinging pain in the tips of his fingers that are exposed to the biting wind. Though the situation itself is already a dreadful one, things take a sharp turn when he begins to show signs of poor coordination, staggering through the dense snow, Zoro squeezes Sanji’s hand with urgency for some semblance of stability.

Regrettably, Zoro’s gait is now unsteady, attributable to the intense cold rendering his body into something horribly close to a panicked state. He stumbles over his feet and falls victim to a snow drift, knees sinking into the land below that’s covered in white, inadvertently pulling Sanji to the ground with him.

But Sanji, who is facing the same bodily conflict, is considerate enough to avoid commenting on Zoro's decreased dexterity, his sharp, uncontrollable breathing or his fear-stricken expression as snowflakes slam onto a pair of flushed, frozen cheeks.

The obvious shattering of Zoro’s facade breaks his heart a little, as someone who cares for him deeply, but he supposes it’s natural to feel alarmed when a terrifying situation such as this cannot be... controlled—when the near future is still so uncertain; when the promise of death is much closer than they’d like for it to be.

Sanji knows that drawing any form of attention to Zoro’s current state won’t do him any good.

The wind alternates between a deafeningly shrill whistle and an intimidating roar as they do what they can to stay warm, coughing with each torturous inhale of the winter air.

Zoro whips his head around confusedly, tightening his jaw as he’s about to step over a heap of snow, but he ends up playing it a little too close. What appears to be a pile of snow is actually a log that is covered in white, and Zoro’s heel catches on the trunk of the tree, which makes him put his entire body weight on the ankle joint that rolls from his misstep.

The pain is immediate. Zoro lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding and yells. “Damn it!”

At the outburst, Sanji promptly stops in his tracks.

“H-hey,” he stammers, his teeth chattering as Zoro doubles over in his peripheral vision. “Are you—”

He shuffles closer, vision straining against the limited visibility, his eyes widening at the sight of Zoro hissing in pain, nails digging into the heavy, damp fabric of his coat with his eye screwed shut. “Zoro?”

When Zoro doesn’t respond, Sanji tries again—far more insistent, far more desperate. “Zoro!”

“Jesus fucking—” Sanji grounds out, pressing himself against Zoro’s side. “Can you walk?”

Zoro knows he can. He just doesn’t know if he should do so, because he felt something pop on the side of his ankle. That telltale feeling of something... popping is never a good sign.

Still, he doesn’t want Sanji to worry too much about him.

They’re in enough shit as it is.

“Yes, you stupid cook,” Zoro lies, standing up straight and taking a tentative step forward. The pain is there, but it’s something he can ignore. “I can walk. Just... we need to hurry up and find a place to stay. It’s—”

“—cold. Yeah, I know,” Sanji cuts in smoothly. Zoro turns to look at him then, and the concern on Sanji’s face has his heart skipping a beat in his chest—but that’s not the time for this. “I don’t even know which direction to head in. You can’t see anything, man.”

With a nod, Zoro pushes through it and walks forward, tugging Sanji along as he trudges through the snow.

But that doesn’t last long.

About fifteen minutes later, the pain in his ankle has increased significantly, and Zoro lets out a winded groan as the cold seeps through his clothing, and he breaks his pitiful stride to collect himself.

It’s difficult to breathe.

It’s difficult to think.

Zoro tries his best to see past the vague outlines of buildings, his eye narrowing before he feels Sanji’s arms around his waist, keeping him upright.

“Hang on!” Sanji huffs, yelling over the sound of the wind. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine!” Zoro pours most of his remaining energy into making those two words sound believable, yet Sanji doesn’t appear to be convinced. Realistically, he has every right not to be. “You said it yourself, remember? Let’s keep it moving!”

Zoro tries, he really does—but the pain is far too great, and he limps despite himself, his teeth chattering as a knot forms between his eyebrows, not registering that Sanji has purposefully moved behind him to monitor how he’s moving through the snow.

“Ugh,” Zoro mutters, wincing. “Shit.”

“I knew it. I knew it!” Sanji exclaims, his voice breaking on the last syllable. “You did hurt yourself back there! I just can’t believe you sometimes—how can you act as if this isn’t a big deal?”

Zoro doesn’t answer him.

“Is it your ankle or your knee?” Sanji asks, disregarding the deep ache rattling through his core and the weakness in his lower extremities. When Zoro tries to bear weight on his right foot, only to jolt and whimper in pain, his right hand moving past his knee, Sanji knows the answer. Under his breath, he mutters, “Ah, your ankle. Got it.”

Well, fuck.

Honestly, Sanji doesn’t know what to do.

But he also knows he doesn’t have the time to stand here and think about anything.

“And!” Sanji continues, straining his voice so Zoro can hear him. “We really need to keep it moving. Looks like the snow is getting worse the longer we stand around and do nothing!”

When Sanji moves until he’s standing in front, with his back turned away from Zoro, he holds both hands behind his back, palms facing upwards as he gets down on one knee—

—as if he wants to carry him.

Zoro looks at him incredulously and limps backwards.

“Come on!” Sanji nearly screams, craning his neck to look at Zoro over his shoulder. “Hop on!”

Zoro shakes his head in disbelief. Absolutely not.

“Are you out of your mind?” Zoro barks out, feeling embarrassed, stressed and fucking dejected all at once. “I’m not—”

“Zoro! For fuck’s sake, we don’t have the time for you to be acting as if there’s nothing wrong with your ankle right now! We don’t have the time for you to pretend as if you can move properly when you can’t!” Sanji shouts, giving Zoro a pointed look. “Get the hell on my back! I’ll carry you!”

When Zoro doesn’t move, Sanji lets out a sound of frustration that, thankfully, gets swept away by the wind. “Today, Zoro!”

Reluctantly, Zoro accepts the help and hobbles forward, curling his arms around Sanji’s neck as he mounts Sanji’s back carefully, blinking when he feels quaking hands supporting unde his knees. “If you drop me, I’ll kill you!”

Sanji would smile at that if he wasn’t inwardly losing his shit. “Whatever!”

☆

With each door that fails to open, Zoro finds himself becoming more miserable as time goes on. It’s been at least thirty minutes since Sanji has been carrying him, and he’s unable to shake that nagging sense of guilt that suddenly overwhelms him, that stings a little more than the fucking blizzard that’s actively trying to take them both out. Despite Sanji losing his footing occasionally as he makes a path through the snow, despite his body shaking because of the weather, he never lets Zoro go.

Recovers without a hitch and continues to carry him without any complaints, even though they are in this situation because of him in the first place.

It could be the feeling of the cold slicing at his cheeks, it could be sub-zero chill that seemingly knocks him off-kilter and has him shivering uncontrollably, it could be the mortification of falling for the lowly tricks of a no-good Devil Fruit user, it could be the shooting pain radiating throughout his entire leg, it could be the unyielding threat to Sanji’s life that he feels responsible for—perhaps it’s a horrid amalgamation of all those things, wearing down the fortitude of his psyche in ways he didn’t think was possible—but, much to his dismay, Zoro finds his good eye welling with tears despite himself, his lips pressed against the collar of Sanji’s dress shirt, the damp, blond strands of Sanji’s hair tickling the tip of his nose.

His breath hitches, and for once, he’s thankful for the wind that howls loud enough to drown out the sound of him sniffling.

He draws an arm back, using his hand to rub at his eye roughly, engaging his core as best as he can to keep himself steady while he’s mounted on Sanji’s back, willing himself to calm down before Sanji somehow notices the unfortunate shift in his mood.

Several minutes pass without much change; Zoro still seems to be at war with himself and his emotions, as regaining his composure is proving to be something that’s out of reach for him. He wipes his tears frantically when Sanji halts at a nearby SUV that hasn’t been completely covered in snow yet.

Taking the initiative to support Zoro’s weight with one arm, he attempts to open the backseat door of the vehicle. When his effort proves to be successful, Sanji sighs in relief. “The wind.”

Zoro doesn’t understand why they’re stalling like this. Maybe Sanji needs a break from carrying him? Ah, that’s understandable. Still, he hears himself asking, “What are you doing?”

Sanji mulls over the question. What is he doing? What should he say? He turns his gaze to the sky, searching for an answer. The truth is, Sanji knows he needs to handle this delicately.

Therefore, he doesn’t respond to Zoro’s question at first.

Merely helps him onto the ground and guides him into the seat of the vehicle, mindful not to do anything that exacerbates his injury.

Zoro mumbles something unintelligible under his breath, something that sounds suspiciously like ‘Thank you. I appreciate it, and he watches Sanji close the door once he’s inside safely, peering through the window as he rushes to enter from the opposite side.

Sanji shifts in the seat, lightly patting the clothed meat of his thigh, wordlessly beckoning Zoro to lift his right leg onto his lap. “What am I doing? I’m taking a look at it.”

Sanji briefly considers whether he should pretend further, but ultimately decides against it.

After a moment, Zoro offers his leg tentatively, and Sanji pulls his bottom lip between his teeth when he gently removes his right boot, placing it on the floorboard of the vehicle with choppy and sluggish movements.

Sanji trails the cold pads of his fingers against Zoro’s bruised skin, frowning as he traces the discolouration. Looking up, he says, “It’s okay.”

Zoro’s stomach drops.

He... knew this entire time.

Feeling embarrassed, Zoro furrows his eyebrows, somewhat wishing they were back on the outside, so the wind would make it unfathomably difficult to hear Sanji’s kindness. “What is?”

Sanji leans to the side, reaching out to touch Zoro’s reddened, stained cheeks, to lightly trouble the tears that are now frozen due to the cold wind and hanging from his eyelashes. “Whatever is causing these.”

Zoro takes a deep breath at that, feeling pathetic when another tear falls from his eye, and Sanji wipes it away without much thought. “I just—”

“I know,” Sanji tells him reassuringly, frowning because this would be the perfect time to have a first-aid kit on hand. “It’s okay. Don’t feel bad about it—it’s not your fault. Things happen.”

Zoro averts his gaze. Swallows around the lump in his throat when his heart lurches in his chest.

“I’m serious, Zoro,” Sanji insists, his voice soft. “Alright?”

Zoro offers a curt nod of his head, allowing Sanji to dry his wet cheeks with the back of his hand. “Y-yeah.”

The ghost of a smile tugs at Sanji’s lips. “I’d give you my shirt to wipe your face, but—”

“You idiot,” Zoro scoffs, leaning against the back of the seat when Sanji turns his attention to gingerly placing the boot on Zoro’s foot. “Your shirt is probably cold and wet.”

“Exactly,” Sanji chuckles, drumming his fingers against Zoro’s calf. “Wouldn’t be much help to you if it feels nasty, right?”

“Mm,” Zoro hums, his gaze falling to Sanji’s lips for a second. “Your hands are enough.”

The car falls silent. Sanji shivers and glances out the window of the SUV.

“We can’t stay here since there’s no heating,” Sanji starts, sighing audibly as his shoulders slump. The thought of feeling the harshness of that cold again—Sanji tightens his jaw. Closes his eyes. “It’s basically the same as standing out... there.”

“Honestly, this might not be the best time for it,” Sanji continues, trailing the tip of his tongue along his Cupid’s bow, feeling a little delirious as he sinks faithfully into Zoro’s orbit, deciding to say any and everything that can lighten the mood, “but I could really fucking go for a smoke right now.”

It’s such a random thing to say; so unexpected that Zoro can’t help the laughter that bubbles in his throat.

“Oh, yeah? And you call me the addict?” Zoro rubs at his wet eyelashes, sniffling. “Just can’t let go of those cancer sticks, can’t you?”

Sanji shrugs, shifting his attention to the headliner of the SUV—seemingly deep in thought. He knows this isn’t quite the time or place for a heart-to-heart either, but fuck, he’s so fucking exhausted. “I think we’re all addicted to something.”

And that’s something he genuinely believes. “Or someone. A vice. A presence. Everyone’s addicted to something, Zoro.”

He has quite a few addictions, after all.

But what’s interesting is that many of those addictions are associated with the injured swordsman seated next to him.

“I... I guess. You’ve got your cancer sticks,” Zoro surmises, trying to meet him halfway. It’s an honest attempt, for what it’s worth. “I’ve got my booze.”

My cancer sticks.

Sanji laughs, a little broken and abrupt, and he shakes his head solemnly. Truthfully, his nicotine addiction might prove to be so far down the totem pole that it isn’t even funny. “I’ve got something else... other than my cancer sticks.”

Zoro scratches at the nape of his neck in confusion. What else is there?

“What else do you have?” he asks, drawing blanks as if Sanji doesn’t secretly worship the damn ground he walks on. Ignorance is truly bliss. “Cooking in the kitchen?”

Sanji purses his lips but doesn’t offer much else. “No.”

“Then what is it?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

Zoro stares at him, deadpan. Sanji refuses to meet his gaze.

What’s the point of bringing up addictions if Sanji won’t tell him?

Sanji can sense Zoro’s frustration and feels a sense of determination to change the topic, gesturing to his ankle. “How is it?”

“Hurts,” Zoro answers quickly. “How’s your lack of smoke-filled lungs?”

“Annoying. It’s like an itch I can’t scratch.”

“Mm. Shitty outcome for both of us, then.”

“That’s for sure.”

Sanji exhales through gritted teeth, knowing full well they need to make haste. Time is far too valuable in crippling and unfavourable situations such as these.

Without a word, he exits the vehicle, pushing past the cold that nearly brings him to his knees, ushering over to where Zoro is seated and opening his side of the door. Extending a hand, he giggles when Zoro stares at his palm blankly. “Too shy to ask for uppies?”

Zoro accepts the hand gratefully, taking his time stepping into the snow to avoid further injury to his ankle, and mounting Sanji’s back with very little grace. “Go to hell.”

When they amble along for several yards, Sanji comes to the realisation of how unpredictable the weather on this island is. As it stands, the wind speed has decreased remarkably, and it is eerily quiet—so quiet they can hear the subtle squeaking sound of Sanji’s footwear sinking into the snow as he walks.

Another building appears on their left. Another locked door.

Another loss, another failure.

Whatever. It’s fine.

Sanji lets the frustration run like water down his back and keeps pushing forward. It’s a waste of time to lament over things he cannot change.

As a distraction from the continuous letdowns, he brings one hand toward his neck, keeping the other near the back of Zoro’s knee.

“Your hands are cold,” he comments offhandedly, humming a tune as he covers one of Zoro’s hands with his own, a palm flush against light pink knuckles. “It’s a shame we don’t have any, you know, gloves to wear. To keep them warm.”

Zoro narrows his eye, nuzzling his chin against the crown of Sanji’s head. “Cold...?”

Well, yes... That’s to be expected.

Why is Sanji pointing out the obvious?

“Yeah, around my neck,” Sanji clicks his tongue, his teeth chattering for a moment. His index taps against the back of Zoro’s hand, toying with the skin there, somehow enjoying the feeling of Zoro’s thumb pressed against Adam’s apple. “Your hands are... cold. Really cold. Concerningly cold.”

Zoro slowly looks around them—at the buildings that are covered in snow, at the snowflakes that pelt from the gross-looking skies above. Listens to the gentle howl of the wind that he’s certain will gradually soar to an unbearable frequency in the upcoming minutes.

He wonders if he’s simply been imagining this entire escapade.

Of course, my hands are cold!

“I wonder why they’re cold, Cook,” Zoro mutters, suffering from cold-induced delirium, much like Sanji is—but they appear to be on different wavelengths at this time. “And I also wonder why my hands are what you’re focused on when everything around us is, in fact, cold and we’re minutes away from being buried alive in the snow.”

Sanji shoots him a look from over his shoulder. “Because your hands are around my neck, you idiot. I forgot you always end up rambling whenever you’re feeling miserable.”

Zoro drives a finger into Sanji’s side. “I’m not miserable.”

“Yes,” Sanji jumps, spluttering indignantly. “You are.”

“Wrong.”

Squinting through the wintry haze, Sanji sees the vague silhouette of something that’s coming up to their right. “Oh, you need to put a damn cork in your excuses now. I think I can see something up ahead.”

Sanji hobbles as fast as he’s able, stepping through the ever-increasing piles of snow until they draw closer to the building. He moves close enough to extend his arm, the tips of his fingers grazing the brick surface of the split-level building that appears to have been painted with a washed-out shade of blue, with crisp, white paint on the trim.

Sanji lowers his gaze to the rustic seagull decor fastened to the covered patio, to the driftwood boat sculpture that's fastened to the surface of the brick wall, and the wooden pier piling secured adjacent to the mailbox. “A cabin—is what it looks like?”

Zoro stifles a yawn against the crown of Sanji’s head. “You mean another cabin? Great.” To be frank, he thinks he’ll scream and rip his hair out if this ends up being another fucking dead-end for them. “Is it open? Because we’ve passed what feels like a million different cabins in this damn area alone, and they’re all abandoned for some reason!”

What an outburst. Zoro shuts up for a second.

Maybe he is miserable like Sanji said.

But anyone would be if they were in this situation.

“Honestly, I don’t think they’re abandoned,” Sanji points out, his foot sinking into the snow as he steps onto the patio. “I think the people in there don’t want us to impose, so they’re keeping themselves out of sight and pretending as if they aren’t home. Didn't you notice that all those cabins had bits of smoke coming from their chimneys?”

Zoro hums in response. He has a point.

“I don’t get it, though,” he muses aloud, lips close to Sanji’s temple. “Impose on what?”

“Their lives, maybe? Warmth. Food,” Sanji replies, walking to the entrance of the cabin and idly using the side of his shoe to push aside the snow that had gathered there. “Who knows when the storm is gonna let up? They may not be able to afford two extra bodies in their home to keep alive and well.”

“Not only that, but we’re pirates, Mosshead,” Sanji reminds him, both hands settling on Zoro’s calves. “And, yes, we do look the part, I think. We damn-near stick out like sore thumbs.”

“That’s—ugh, I think that’s still kind of shitty,” Zoro huffs with a roll of his eye. “We can die out here.”

“A couple of pirates dying to the elements isn’t their problem,” Sanji hums, reaching up to wipe the snow from the house numbering affixed to the door. Number 68? Sanji furrows his eyebrows—but doesn’t think much of it. Sighing, he turns his attention back to the spot at his feet. “Yeah, I can agree it isn’t ideal for us, but I can’t fault them for prioritising their lives over our own, you know?”

Suddenly, he falters, his jaw hanging open at the edge of the doormat that peeks beneath the snow.

Sanji cocks his head to the side. “Huh?”

None of the other retail and residential buildings had doormats—why does this cabin have one?

Zoro leans forward to look down at Sanji’s body, his gaze falling to the slightly worn leather of his shoes. “What? I can’t see. What is it?”

“Looks like there’s a mat beneath all the snow,” Sanji points out. “Hang on tight for a second.”

At that, he uses a hand to curl around one of Zoro’s wrists before he promptly bends over, his fingers finding the edge of the doormat and pulling it to the side.

“Huh?” Zoro blanches, frowning when Sanji picks something up, but he’s unable to make out what it is. “Wh-what is it?”

Sanji holds his finding between his thumb and index, examining the bronze surface of it before he lifts it a little higher so that Zoro can take a good look at it. “A key?”

Zoro gasps in surprise, holding Sanji’s wrist steady. He doesn’t even know how to behave right now. Could this be the end of their personal hell? “Check the—”

“I know,” Sanji interjects, laughing at Zoro’s eagerness, and he steps forward to reach for the freezing surface of the doorknob. “Give me a chance, will you?”

Zoro presses his cheek to the back of Sanji’s head, his voice muffled. “You’re moving too damn slow.”

Sanji can feel Zoro’s legs swinging in anticipation. Swearing under his breath, he pushes the bronze key into the keyhole of the lock, opening the door with one sharp turn of his wrist.

“Holy shit,” Sanji breathes, his hands quaking slightly as deep-seated relief inundates him as he stands there. He briefly wonders if it’s too early to celebrate—what if things turn to shit somehow? He realises that his anxiety-driven concerns do not matter, though, because Zoro is still on his back, and, by the sound of things, he’s celebrating enough for the two of them. “It worked?”

What the fuck.

Speaking candidly, it doesn’t feel real. They have spent an ungodly amount of time enduring environmental horrors and searching for shelter from a fucking snowstorm. Now that they have finally found one, now that they have finally found a building that isn’t locked, it almost feels like... like a test or something.

What’s the catch?

Sanji stands there, ocean blue eyes unblinking, before he’s brought back to Earth by the feeling of Zoro patting his shoulders and urging him forward. Sanji shakes his head in disbelief. “Who the hell leaves their key under the mat?”

At the question, Zoro groans against the shell of his ear.

“Our guardian angels,” is what he settles on, shrugging as he squeezes his thighs around Sanji’s waist. “Now stop questioning things and go inside.”

Sanji wonders if he’s overthinking this.

What if the cabin is occupied?

What will they do then?

“What should we say if we see someone in here?” Sanji asks, palm pressed against the knob of the door in apprehension. “’ Oh, please ignore us barging into your home like this.’ I doubt that shit is gonna work in our favour.”

Zoro groans again, but this time it’s more drawn-out and dripping with frustration.

Sanji closes his eyes. I’m probably overthinking it.

This is what they’ve been searching for this entire time; it would be stupid of them to question every single stroke of good luck. If something does happen—well, they’ll cross that bridge when they get there.

Sanji takes a deep breath and pushes against the surface of the door, clearing his throat as the scent of pine assaults his senses when he steps beyond the threshold. He looks around carefully while walking further into the space, scanning for anything that might call to the fact that the cabin is actively being used.

Except that the cabin is completely quiet.

Sanji’s voice is barely above a whisper. “It’s empty.”

The first thing Sanji lays eyes on is the neat pile of logs near the corner of the room, stacked mere inches away from the fireplace. He carries Zoro to the three-seat sectional near the centre of the room, slowly bending his knees so that Zoro can settle on the middle cushion.

For a second, this feels domestic.

A blush rises to his cheeks as he glances over his shoulder, holding the gaze of a giddy-looking Zoro who is unable to contain his happiness now that they won’t fall victim to the snowstorm that’s wreaking havoc on the outside.

“Mm,” Zoro makes a soft noise of protest, chewing on the inside of his cheek when Sanji turns around to carefully remove his soiled boots. “I wanna look around, too.”

“Not with that ankle, you stubborn ball of moss,” Sanji says, taking the initiative to help Zoro out of his wet coat and tossing it aside. Zoro exhales at the feeling of hands easing along his shoulders, of fingers grazing the surface of his exposed skin. Sanji feels the goosebumps that trail from Zoro's bicep to his wrist as he removes his haramaki and finds himself swallowing hard.

It’s terribly intimate for them to be inches apart like this, and Sanji’s mind begins to spark the moment Zoro’s collarbone comes into view. Rushing to his feet, he moves awkwardly toward the fireplace, feeling thankful that, upon a closer inspection, it was previously prepared by the owner of the cabin, and the only thing that’s required of him is to light it. “I’ll be the one to look around. You just need to stay put, alright?”

Sanji can feel Zoro’s eye on him, raking down the curve of his back and settling on his hips as he bends over to open the damper handle and air vents, lighting the tinder at the bottom of the fireplace with a long match that’s conveniently kept on the coffee table several feet away.

It’s riveting, in a sense—the feeling of mutual desire, but it’s also a nerve-wracking thing to experience because, hell, the signs are there. The signs have been there for as long as he can remember.

Zoro wants him just as much.

How do they move past this?

And if moving past this proves to be an impossible feat, how do they have an honest conversation about their feelings? How do they initiate what it is that they truly want?

Jesus Christ.

As if right on cue, to aid in amplifying his apparent suffering, Sanji feels the onset of a headache coming on, near his temple. He doesn’t need to be thinking about this right now.

“And I’m sure your hands are still cold,” he utters, bridging the gap between him and Zoro to lift his ankle onto the cushion of the sectional. “But soon enough, the heat from the fireplace will warm them up—so keep that leg elevated. You probably ended up spraining it when you tripped.”

Zoro purses his lips into a thin line. “You mean when the log and snow opposed my strength and greatness?”

“No,” Sanji tells him, amusement staining his inflection. “That’s not what I meant. Mr. Clumsy can’t handle the fact that he tripped? You’re prone to getting lost and losing your footing? What’s next?”

Zoro hums when Sanji cups his cheek, nuzzling into his palm. “You’re not being fair, but whatever.”

Sanji flashes him a reassuring smile. “I won’t be far.”

“You better not be.”

Taking a step back, Sanji turns on his heels entirely, gesturing to the corner of the cabin. “There are some cut logs over there. I don't think I need to say it, but this cabin’s definitely been lived in recently. The real question is: where’s the owner? But we can worry about that later. I'm thinking we can spend the night here and think about our next steps in the morning.”

Zoro nods in agreement, yawning behind the back of his hand and sinking deeper into the sectional, grunting when he moves his leg and his heel brushes against the flooring below. “Sounds like the wind’s picking up again on the outside.”

“Yeah, which is all the more reason to get you warmed up.”

“What about you?”

“Me?” Sanji seems to be taken aback by the question itself, dismissing it with a wave of his hand. “Oh, please. I’m the least of my worries.”

“You’re the least?” Zoro grounds out, arching an eyebrow as he watches the way Sanji moves closer. “So, what’s the most?”

What’s the most?

What a question.

“I thought I told you to keep this leg elevated,” Sanji chastises softly, bending down to lift Zoro’s calf atop the cushion where he had it before Zoro adjusted himself minutes prior. He dips his head to press a sweet kiss to the bruised site. “It’s already starting to swell.”

Zoro sinks his fingers into the armrest, his voice hoarse. “I-I’ll keep it up.”

Wordlessly, Sanji makes his way to the kitchen, quickly opening each of the drawers to keep a mental note of what the owner has available to be used during their time here.

“There’s an actual map of the island in the kitchen drawer. Wow,” Sanji grins, tossing the general reference map of Gloxburg Island on the countertop. That can definitely be useful to him in due course. Sanji opens one of the cupboards and whistles happily, pleased at the provisions stored for future use. “Dry goods are available. Canned goods and seasonings are in the pantry. A few bottles of stuff I haven’t seen since my Baratie days. Dinner is starting to look really good right now.”

“I can make something with what I've seen so far,” Sanji hums thoughtfully, tapping at his chin as he skips towards the bathroom on the lower floor.

Zoro hears the telltale sound of tinkering, the sound of quick footsteps echoing against the tiled walls, and he smiles when Sanji peeks cutely beyond the open door. “There’s a med-kit in the cabinet, Zoro. Plus, basic toiletries, towels, thank god. We don’t have to worry about deodorant, body wash, lotion and all that.”

Zoro watches as Sanji leaves the bathroom, darts down the short hallway and sprints up the stairs to examine the rooms on the upper floor. Sanji sighs audibly as he explores the single bedroom, laughing in delight at the boxes of cigarettes and the lighter that are kept in one of the nightstand drawers next to the King-sized bed.

Sanji grins, tossing one of the boxes and the lighter on the edge of the bed. “Don’t mind if I do.”

In the closet, there is a collection of winter coats, scarves, windbreakers and winter boots—and it's at this moment that Sanji decides to change his attire entirely, quickly ridding himself of his soaked dress shirt and slacks. He replaces them with options that are more suitable for the weather outside while holding onto the small transponder snail he keeps with him at all times.

When Sanji makes his way downstairs, he’s dressed in a dark green pullover, a pair of cargo pants, a winter coat and a windbreaker—with the cigarettes and lighter weighing down his pocket.

Hooked over his forearm is a dark grey, full-length, zip-up house robe with a collection of cats embroidered on the material for Zoro to wear in the interim.

To his surprise, Zoro has virtually no objections to Sanji’s choice for him to wear, doesn’t bother to complain about having to wear something this cute, and he allows Sanji to help him slip into the soft, fleece garb that not only keeps him warm but looks perfect on his physique.

“Hmm,” Sanji smiles sweetly, placing Zoro’s green coat and haramaki on the back of a counter stool to dry. He grabs several snacks and a bottle of water from the kitchen, moving to where Zoro is seated and placing them on the coffee table near his feet. “Two boxes of smokes were left behind.”

“I know you’re happy about that,” Zoro chuckles, his voice low as he pulls the robe tighter to his bare chest. “Any booze for me?”

“Saw a few bottles of something nameless in the kitchen cupboard,” Sanji replies, leaning against the armrest of the loveseat. “But they all have 25% ABV written on the blank label, which is a little stronger than the sake you’re used to. My guess is that it’s probably something that’s made locally rather than imported from other islands.”

Zoro beckons him closer with a crook of his finger, giving Sanji a once-over before he speaks again. “And you kept that information from me?”

And Sanji listens well. Takes several steps forward to settle on his knees in front of the sectional, exhaling audibly when Zoro cards his fingers through the blond strands of his hair. “Let’s just say it slipped my mind.”

Zoro lowers his hand to hold Sanji’s chin. “Excuses.”

Sanji sticks his tongue out playfully. “Maybe.”

“As I said, it’s a very ‘lived-in cabin’, I’d say,” Sanji continues, words muffled as Zoro squeezes his cheeks distractedly. “The owner would fucking hate us for basically making ourselves at home like this, but it is what it is. It’s either we help ourselves to everything in here, or we stay outside and die from hypothermia or something.”

At the silence that follows, Sanji pouts, giggling softly when Zoro presses the pad of his index finger against his lips. Full of curiosity, full of desire, full of... the need to hold himself back...

...for whatever reason.

“You’re quiet. A little too quiet for my liking,” Sanji rasps, feeling Zoro’s finger trailing to the seam of his mouth, dipping inside ever so slightly as his mouth moves around each syllable. “What are you thinking about?”

“Nothing much,” Zoro mumbles, leaning in by a mere fraction. Another test of the waters—will he sink or swim? “My ankle hurts.”

“I’ll go out to see if I can find something for you to take,” Sanji says, breathing shakily at the feeling of a pair of hands cupping his cheeks, gentle in its approach—as if he’s so fucking valuable that Zoro would rather die than mishandle something so precious. “As you can see, based on what I have on, there are winter clothes we can wear, but I don’t see anything like painkillers lying around.”

Zoro freezes, holding Sanji’s gaze before the implication of those words sinks in completely.

I’ll go out—

Go out?

Outside? Back into the snowstorm they barely managed to escape from?

“Are you out of your mind?” Zoro shoves at his shoulders, his voice thick with emotion. “The wind sounds insane out there again, and I can barely see out the window because of the snow. You can’t go back out there.”

Sanji is aware of the risk.

He is aware it isn’t safe. He knows it isn’t a good idea, but he can’t leave Zoro to suffer.

“You’re in pain, Zoro—you need to take something. So, yes. I sure can go back out there,” Sanji insists, “and I will.”

The sense of finality behind his voice has chills creeping up Zoro’s spine. “Cook—”

Sanji doesn’t want to hear the complaints or rebuttal, really. He already made his decision.

“Listen, I’m gonna use the map I found in that drawer to find a pharmacy. I’ll skywalk if the snow becomes a bit too much for me,” Sanji grunts when Zoro’s hands find his cheeks again, “and I’ll definitely get you something to take for that ankle, while you stay here and get warm. Alright?”

No.

Naturally, Zoro doesn’t like this idea. He shakes his head stubbornly, his eyebrows furrowing as he wraps both arms around Sanji’s neck. “But—”

No.

“Come on,” Sanji pleads, clenching his jaw. “Don’t make this any harder than it needs to be.”

No.

Zoro glances out the window, his expression pinched.

“I took a good look at the map already, and there’s a pharmacy about a fifteen-minute walk from here when the weather’s, you know, normal,” Sanji imparts through gritted teeth, because Zoro is now... mindlessly inching closer—so close he can feel the warmth of his breath fanning across his cheek. “Hopefully it’s open today. So, I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

And then it happens.

Strength takes over entirely, and Zoro finds himself submitting to all that he longs for, for the first time, feeling oddly at peace the moment he tilts his head to capture Sanji’s lips in a kiss.

It’s soft at first, tentative, shy—barely-there, before he eases his fingers along the nape of Sanji’s neck, pulling him closer as he exhales shakily through his nose.

God, it’s even fucking better than Zoro imagined. He gains confidence over time, seemingly getting lost in the taste of Sanji, nails digging into his skin, holding him in place as he takes and takes and takes like a man starved.

When they part for air, Sanji’s flushed in the face, wide-eyed and slack-jawed as Zoro hungrily trails his tongue along his bottom lip.

“Jesus Christ,” Sanji breathes, shuddering when Zoro presses an open-mouthed kiss to his cheek. “And here I thought you hated me.”

Hated him?

Fuck, Zoro wishes he did.

“Why are you so surprised?” Zoro mumbles into his skin, grunting softly with each inhale. “You know I don’t.”

What Zoro truly wants right now is for Sanji to reconsider his decision.

What if they got lucky this time around? What if the next time is a death sentence?

Don’t leave me.

After a moment, Zoro pulls back just enough to get a good look at Sanji’s face, his heartbeat quickening in his chest when ocean blues meet steel grey. He doesn’t realise his hands are shaking until Sanji holds them in his own, squeezing them reassuringly. “I’m still against you doing this.”

“I know,” Sanji smiles, but it’s tense. Apologetic. “But I have to go out there.”

That’s not what Zoro wants to hear.

He kisses him again—earnest, urgent. Frantic. Steals the air from Sanji's lungs, desperate to change his mind, to convince him to stay here, where it’s safe and warm. “I can just... tolerate the pain.”

Sanji keeps his eyes closed, kissing along his jawline, unspoken pleas spreading across his skin. I’ll be back; just let me do this for you. “I don’t want you tolerate it.”

Zoro inhales harshly, holding him close. “You’ll come back as soon as you find something?”

Sanji nods. “Of course.”

“You’ll come back if things get too crazy out there? If you’re too cold?” Zoro asks, pushing back Sanji’s fringe to plant kisses along his forehead, down the bridge of his nose, against his Cupid’s bow. “Even if you didn’t find something? You’ll just let the idea go and come back to me, right?”

They kissed... they’re kissing. Zoro is kissing him. Zoro initiated the kiss. What the fuck? Sanji feels fucking crazy.

He smiles lazily, fingers curling around Zoro’s wrists. “Yes.”

Sanji suddenly feels as if he’s damn-near drowning in Zoro’s affection after having craved it for so long.

He lets out a guttural groan, gasping at the feeling of Zoro nipping at his chin, at the feeling of hands committing the feeling of his chest to memory. “God, if you keep that up, I wouldn’t want to go anywhere.”

“Mm,” Zoro chuckles at that, his pulse hammering beneath his skin. I just kissed Sanji—what the hell is wrong with me? “That’s kind of the idea.”

Fuck.

I can’t let him distract me like this, not when he’s in pain.

Sanji reluctantly pulls away, slowly standing on a pair of unsteady feet as Zoro gives it one final effort, digging the blunt edge of his fingernails into his cargo pants. Another plea, somehow more desperate than the last. Stay with me, please.

But Sanji understands that some desires have to be stronger than others.

“Remember,” he starts, pointing to Zoro’s ankle, feeling dizzy as he swallows down the taste of Zoro on his lips. “Elevated.”

Blushing, Zoro’s mouth tugs into a frown. “If you don’t come back, I’ll find you and kill you myself, you idiot.”

Ah, that threat sounds like home.

Feels like it, too.

“Right,” Sanji grins, his heart aching in his chest. “I’ll be sure to keep that in mind, Mosshead.”

☆

Sanji closes the door to the cabin behind him as he steps outside, but for a moment, he doesn’t feel the vicious cold at all. As his head spins, he shoves the map inside his winter coat and begins to walk with no direction in mind, failing to register the fact that he can’t fucking see anything within a fifteen-foot radius. But none of that matters right now.

All he can feel is Zoro’s lips against his. All he can feel is Zoro pulling him close—borderline begging him not to leave because he was concerned for his safety.

What the fuck.

Lips.

Zoro’s lips.

He knows what Zoro’s lips feel like; he knows what Zoro tastes like.

Because they kissed.

He and Zoro kissed.

“What the h-hell did we—,” Sanji stammers, his cheeks flushing as he desperately fishes in his pocket for the box of smokes and butane lighter he found in one of the kitchen drawers in the cabin. With a pair of unsteady hands, he brings a cigarette to his lips, and after fumbling with the lighter for longer than necessary, he somehow manages to light it. “I just—we just—”

“Okay,” Sanji says to no one in particular—losing his damn mind over Zoro’s existence can be considered a normal pastime for him. A hobby, almost, except he’s never really enjoyed it, the gradual descent into madness. He takes a deep drag from the cigarette. Exhales and slumps his shoulders. “Well, fuck.”

God, Zoro’s lips—

“The meds,” Sanji pleads with himself, looking like a madman as he shuffles through the snow, hissing at the cold moisture spreading across his feet. “Focus on the meds, Sanji. And staying alive. Those two things are more important than—”

The feeling of Zoro’s lips.

“Jesus fucking—” Sanji blurts out, teeth crushing the filter of the cigarette. “Ugh. What the fuck.”

Focus, Sanji, he thinks desperately as he sinks into the path beneath his feet. You can do this.

He can do this.

☆

Well...

As it turns out, he can’t do this at all, actually.

By some miracle, the spiral-adjacent ‘Fucking hell, I kissed Zoro—the Zoro who is my crewmate, the Zoro who I am unfortunately in love with’ thoughts have simmered substantially.

Because there’s something about the idea of Zoro being stuck in the cabin and suffering from the pain of his injured ankle while he’s out here acting like an idiot in the middle of a snowstorm when he should be searching for some much-needed medication is enough for him to get himself together.

What he can’t do, however, is this:

Following the map and finding a pharmacy? That’s the easy part. Finding a pharmacy that is open for business? Now, that’s the part that he just can’t get past.

“Locked,” Sanji hisses through gritted teeth, roughly shaking the frozen handle of the door as if it will make a difference. “For fuck’s sake, that’s the fourth pharmacy so far!”

Sanji doesn’t know how long he’s been searching like this, but what he does know is that it’s been one loss after the other; honestly, he isn’t sure how much more of this he can take. The weather is simply unbearable.

“And my hands,” Sanji mumbles, rubbing his hands together to rid himself of the irritating tingling sensation in his fingertips, and he hisses when he takes a step forward, feeling the muscles in his legs tightening painfully in protest. “Just gotta keep pushing. I hope I can find something before my fingers end up dropping off. Or worse.”

If you don’t come back, I’ll find you and kill you myself, you idiot.

Sanji sighs. He can’t die, not like this.

The love of his life is waiting for him to come back.

☆

Truthfully, the fire within Sanji dims substantially as he is beginning to lose hope of finding a pharmacy that is open for business, determination slipping from his gloved fingertips when he mulls over the possibility of failing Zoro entirely.

Of being unable to find his way back.

Of something happening to him while Zoro waits patiently for his return.

It’s a realistic thought to have, and that’s what bothers him most—a highly plausible chain of events, and it’s unnerving to feel pessimism creeping in your core when facing an ordeal where every bit of optimism may be just enough to turn the wheels of fate.

I can’t die out here—Zoro is waiting for me to come back to him.

Pulling the winter coat a little closer to his chest, he mumbles something unintelligible under his breath before he takes one last drag from his cigarette and places the end of it into the box of smokes he brought along with him.

He tries to peek through the window, gloved hands desperately dragging along the surface. It’s still obscured for the most part, sure, as the glass becomes foggy again within seconds, but he gasps when he’s able to see the faintest glow of light near the back of the room.

Taking a deep breath, he shuffles through the pile of snow and tries to open the door to the pharmacy, nearly jumping in delight when the door swings open with little resistance.

Thank fucking god.

He might be finally getting somewhere.

Sanji is certain this definitely counts as breaking and entering—but this should count as an emergency, right?

Right.

He moves with purposeful strides at first as the warmth within beckons him closer, urged forward by the frighteningly cold winds that seem to tear through the wool of his winter coat. The relief he feels is short-lived when he stops in his tracks as soon as his gaze lands on the owner of the establishment, who looks at him warily before something like... recognition flashes across his expression.

Will I be kicked out for this?

Sanji cocks his head to the side in confusion when the owner relaxes instantly. Is it because he doesn’t look intimidating?

Sanji doesn’t quite understand because he’s a pirate first and foremost, but realistically, he’s only here to get some medication for Zoro’s sprained ankle and leave. He hopes that the owner can search deep within himself, if necessary, to find the empathy to supply him with what he needs without much difficulty.

“Hello?” Sanji calls out, holding both hands up to make it clear that he means no harm. “I’m sorry, but are you open for business?”

“No, businesses are usually closed on this island during blizzards as a safety precaution,” the man tells him, reaching up to tuck a few strands of curly hair behind his ear. “But I can offer some assistance despite that.”

“Oh, thank god,” Sanji breathes, slumping forward in relief, rubbing his hands together to distract himself from the lingering bite of the freezing weather on the outside. “This would mean a lot to me, thank you so much.”

“The name’s Browey,” he says, taking a few steps closer. “How can I help?”

“My friend and I were tricked and... we were brought here against our will... which sounds fucked up, I know. We ended up getting caught in the blizzard and—” Sanji rambles, and his chest burns as he takes a second to catch his breath.

It’s so warm in this pharmacy—it’s so fucking warm that Sanji briefly wonders if he really did die out there and he’s now seeing the pearly gates of Heaven. It’s not that he’s ever felt an alignment with religion, but when you’re down on your luck to this extent, you’ll start to believe in just about anything.

“Honestly, I’m not sure if it’s a good idea to even say this, but after looking around for some place to stay, my... my friend and I came across an empty cabin. We’re staying there until the storm blows over, and—”

He coughs into the crook of his elbow. Rubs at his eyes with the back of his hand.

The man watches him closely and gives him a moment to collect himself.

“Either way,” Sanji continues, his voice suddenly hoarse. He clears his throat and bridges the gap between him and Browey quickly. “This... this friend of mine sprained his ankle, and he needs help. He needs anything you have in stock that can help with the swelling, and he’s in a lot of pain. Even if he doesn’t say it, I can see it on his face, so if you happen to have things that can help with that, I’d really appreciate it.”

Browey nods in understanding, but Sanji has the impression that he needs to do more. To say more, to plead his case, because the last thing he wants is to feel as if he’s begging a random stranger.

“I’m... I’m not asking you to give it to me for free, of course,” Sanji explains, digging into his pocket to pull out his wallet. “I have beri, and a good amount of it. If you name your price, I’ll be willing to pay. Just—just please help me help my friend. Please.”

The room falls silent.

Sanji might be hallucinating at this point, but he thinks he hears the telltale sound of dishes tinkering somewhere above them. Thinks he can smell the faint scent of a meal being prepared—the scent of dill and garlic. Roast meat, perhaps. Browey seems to be a man with a strong head on his shoulders. Is it ridiculous to believe that this pharmacist, this business owner has a family?

“My wife is upstairs making dinner,” Browey informs him, as if he can somehow read Sanji’s mind. “Would you like to stay for a meal?”

“N-no,” Sanji’s response is immediate. Zoro—Zoro needs— “I couldn’t possibly—my friend is waiting for me to come back.”

A friend, huh?

Browey nearly smiles at that. For someone who has faced one of the worst horrors of this island to deny a warm meal for himself, because he would much rather prioritise the needs of a so-called friend before his own.

Browey gives Sanji a once-over. How interesting.

He knows the look of a man in love, but realistically, Sanji is still someone he does not know personally; thus, Sanji's personal affairs are none of his business.

“I see. This cabin you mentioned,” Browey begins, changing the topic at hand for Sanji’s benefit as he places both hands in the pocket of his joggers and turns on his heels. “How did you get in? Was there a key under the mat?”

“Y-yeah,” Sanji affirms, nodding frantically. “Yeah, there was.”

“And the cabin itself,” Browey continues, glancing over his shoulder to hold Sanji’s gaze. “Is it painted blue?”

“It’s blue trimmed with white,” Sanji mumbles, dragging the tip of his tongue along his chapped lips. That wind outside really did a damn number on him. “86 on the door. Nautical decorations fastened to the ground outside. Is that—is that your cabin?”

“No, it isn’t mine. As you can see, there are two doors on either side of this pharmacy. The door to our left leads to my convenience store, and the other door leads to the entrance to my actual home. Well, once you go up the stairs, of course,” Browey explains with a small smile. A friendly one. “But I do know who the cabin belongs to.”

Browey takes a second to gather his thoughts, humming softly as he moves aimlessly through the aisles. “It belongs to someone with whom I do business—a really good friend of mine. You see, this island is very... how should I say it... peculiar, I guess. Many have theories that the unpredictable weather of the New World is why the weather system here is the way it is.”

Browey digs the heel of his shoe into the flooring beneath his feet, trying his best to think of a way to elaborate on the nature of the island and to relay this information to someone like Sanji, who knows next to nothing about it. Who knows nothing about what to expect or how to move forward. “Each season goes by in a matter of weeks, rather than months, and the more extreme seasons, like summer and winter, are often harsh to experience. Unforgiving, even... like punishment. Still, that’s the way of life here—either we suck it up or migrate to another island and rebuild our lives from scratch.”

Sanji stands there, his mouth hanging open in disbelief.

A small part of him wishes that Browey is saying all this to make a fool out of him, but he knows deep down that isn’t the case.

What the hell have they gotten themselves into?

“Blizzards are frequent during this time of the year, and I’m sure you’ve seen for yourself just how brutal they can be. They seem to form out of damn nowhere, and they strike fast.”

Browey steps toward the cash register at the sound of the boiling water in the electric kettle, and he busies himself with stirring some natural sweetener into a mug of Earl Grey tea to warm Sanji up. “Because of this, my business partner doesn’t quite fancy the idea of spending winter on this island, and I can’t blame him for it.”

When Sanji accepts the mug of tea, Browey leans against the countertop. “I can’t even imagine him staying here like some prisoner. Not Geno—never Geno. He leaves and stays with a few family members on one of the neighbouring islands to get away from all this bullshit... for the lack of a better word.”

“In exchange for him offering his services to me all year round, I look after his cabin while he’s away,” Browey rests the electric kettle to the side to take a sip from his own mug, clearing his throat after carelessly swallowing the scalding beverage. “Every few days, I’ll go there myself to do some light cleaning and to ensure that all is in order. Not a bad system, right?”

No, it definitely isn’t a bad system—especially since he and Zoro are now benefitting from it.

He doesn’t articulate that, though. Merely nods robotically before bringing his mug to his lips.

“You look tense,” Browey acknowledges, but who wouldn’t be tense in a situation like this? “Don’t worry, you can spend your time there. He’ll understand. Won’t charge you, either. What’s important is you and your friend trying to survive all this, you know?”

“Really?” Sanji whips his head to the side, his eyes widening. “You really won’t have him charge us?”

“Nah,” Browey purses his lips in a thin line. He’s almost offended that Sanji believed he’d be heartless enough to do so. “Truth be told, I do know who you are. You’re Vinsmoke Sanji from the Strawhat Pirates, right?”

Fuck.

To know him by name is something else entirely. Sanji immediately takes a step back. “H-how do you—”

Browey senses his apprehension and offers a dismissive wave of his hand. “I owe my life to you, of course, but mostly to your captain.”

Huh?

Sanji falters in confusion. “Luffy...?”

“Yes, Monkey D. Luffy,” Browey laughs, his voice echoing throughout the expanse of the room. “I won’t go into detail, since it’s still a sore topic for me—I hope you can understand. But for many, many years, my family and I have been victims of Arlong while we were still living in the East Blue. And for many, many years, we’ve been praying for the day that piece of shit got what was coming to him.”

Browey takes a deep breath, his voice thick with emotion. “And he did. By you, your crewmates and your captain. Monkey D. Luffy had put an end to that fucker’s reign... just like that. For that alone, I.... words can’t express how grateful I was, how grateful I still am, and I’ll do what I can to help you two.”

Sanji clasps both hands together and exhales shakily. “Thank you so much.”

“Your friend—is he the—”

Sanji averts his gaze. Friend? Well, it’s a little more complicated than that. “The swordsman.”

“Ah, Roronoa Zoro.”

“The very same one,” Sanji says. “Ankle’s looking pretty bad. Swollen.”

Browey stops suddenly, turning around to look at Sanji. “You said you were... brought here against your will?”

Sanji sighs at the question. Sure, he can explain how things took place, but it’s such an outrageous thing to experience that he has absolutely no expectation for Browey to believe whatever it is he has to say.

“Yeah, someone who has a grudge against Zoro, apparently,” Sanji hums. “A Devil Fruit user. Has a room full of mirrors at her disposal.”

Browey narrows his eyes at that. He has seen quite a bit during his time on the New World’s eventful Sea. “Wait, a room full of mirrors? How does she look?”

“Slim-build, light purple hair,” Sanji moves sluggishly through the aisles, taking larger gulps of the tea now that it has cooled slightly. “She mentioned something about her brother? But we don’t know anything about what she’s talking about.”

“I think I know who that is,” Browey says, his tone uncertain. “About a year ago, I went to Bloomie Island for a pharmaceutical conference, and at that conference, some members of the Charlotte Family were in attendance. I’m not sure if you’re familiar with Big Mom or Charlotte Linlin, who is one of the Emperors of the Sea, but she has a lot of children—and that person is one of them.”

Browey makes a mental note to replenish the shelving for the toiletries before the snowstorm settles, and he reopens for business. “The conference itself was cut short because the Marines were there, and she bested all of them using her Devil Fruit ability. Every last one of them. I watched her hold up a huge, flimsy mirror to trap them in some alternate dimension, which sounds a lot like what you’re talking about.”

Sanji furrows his eyebrows. “The Charlotte Family?”

“Yes,” Browey affirms with a firm nod of his head. “It’s not much information, but hopefully it can be of assistance to you.”

Sanji flashes him a warm smile. “You’ve done plenty, I can assure you.”

“Now, follow me for a minute,” Browey instructs, beckoning him closer with a crook of his finger. “Zoro will probably need to stay off his ankle for at least two weeks, if I’m being honest.”

“Two weeks?” Sanji asks, though he’s not entirely surprised by that timeline. The body does need time to recover from injuries, after all—even if it’s a minor sprain. “He’s not gonna like the sound of that.”

“Many people don’t like how long it takes the body to heal from an injury. I’ve seen it all in my field of work,” Browey counters, his voice barely above a whisper. “But that’s just how it is.”

Sanji watches as Browey moves behind the prescription counter before he turns his attention to carefully sifting through his inventory.

“If he’s not allergic to any medication, I’ll give you some muscle relaxers, some painkillers, something that’s anti-inflammatory, and a walking boot for him to wear to keep the injured site immobilised,” Browey continues, activating the switch to turn on the overhead light and quickly reaching up to tie his hair into a bun. “It looks stupid, but I swear it aids in the healing process.”

There’s a lot that Sanji can say, and he can ramble on and on and on about how grateful he is, but he decides to keep his thoughts to himself and lower his gaze to the floor.

“Thank you so much,” he tells Browey, earnestly, toeing at the flooring below. “How much do I owe you for everything?”

“Not a single beri,” Browey laughs. “Please feel free to help yourself to whatever you might need from the convenience store, as well.”

☆

Sanji learns a lot about Browey in the short amount of time that he has known him.

The conversation ebbs and flows; it comes frighteningly easy. It’s endless, it’s effortless, and thanks to such an invigorating exchange, Sanji feels composed for the first time in what feels like forever.

He’s been told about anything and everything under the sun—thorough accounts of the more pleasant memories when Browey and his family had lived in the East Blue, about Browey’s marriage to his childhood sweetheart, about the birth of his two children, and about Browey’s commendable involvement in his community.

In turn, Sanji has told him about their adventures as Strawhat pirates—about the time they took to the skies and met god, about the highs and lows of their two-year separation, about Luffy’s declaration of war on the World’s Government, about how they coated the Thousand Sunny in resin and took to Fish-Man Island.

Sanji has shared the good, the bad, and the ugly. Hums a tune to himself that he’s barely able to hear over the harsh, blizzard winds and the loud engine of the imported snow removal vehicle they’re riding in.

It turns out that Browey had purchased this vehicle specifically for the weeks when winter is at its worst. And he’s proud of it too; he had taken ten minutes to show Sanji how it operates, as well as the amazing features it has.

Sanji didn’t foresee his evening coming to this, but it sure as hell makes for a damn good story to tell the others once they’re out of this mess.

Sanji leans forward just enough to reach for his bags as Browey parks in front of the cabin, eager to check on Zoro, who has been left unattended for a little over two hours.

He hopes he’s doing alright in there.

Browey rests a comforting hand on Sanji’s shoulder. “Here we are.”

“Every other day, I have a runner come to my place to replenish any supply of mine that needs it, whether that’s the pharmacy supply or the convenience store supply,” Browey mentions, adjusting his earmuffs briefly. “I’ll tell him to stop by this cabin to make sure you have enough of what you need. Sounds good?”

“Sounds perfect,” Sanji smiles. “Thank you so much for everything, and for bringing me back here in one piece.”

“The pleasure’s all mine, Sanji. Now, go on,” Browey insists, nudging at his arm, gentle in his approach. “He’s waiting for you, isn’t he?”

☆

When Sanji steps into the cabin, he finds Zoro fast asleep on the sectional, his light snoring filling the room, surrounded by snack wrappers and an empty water bottle.

“Zoro?” Sanji calls out, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips. And there’s that rush again—that rush that screams about the fact that he is now intimate with the love of his life. “Mosshead.”

Against the cushions, Zoro stirs at the sound of Sanji’s voice, before he jolts awake, his good eye blinking blearily as his vision comes into focus.

“Hm,” Zoro is careful to keep his leg in a fixed position against the cushion and brings both arms over his head as he stretches, smiling tiredly at the comforting sight of Sanji kneeling at his side. “You’re back?”

“Mhm,” Sanji nods dutifully. “Alive and well?”

“Alive and well,” Zoro affirms, clearing his throat. Sure, he may be injured, but he feels oddly at peace here—though he suspects that Sanji has something to do with it. “Not outside. Warmed up. Cozy. Living the life.”

Sanji stands to his feet, his fingers curling around the bags, and he makes his way to the kitchen. “You were sleeping?”

Zoro yawns, rubbing at the tip of his nose when Sanji brings him another bottle of water. How considerate. “Got bored while you were gone.”

That’s fair.

Sanji slowly removes his windbreaker and his winter coat, hooking them on the coat rack near the entrance of the cabin. “How’s the ankle?”

Zoro shrugs, uncapping the bottle with a twist of his wrist. “Still in a lot of pain.”

“Ah,” Sanji frowns, setting the boxes of medication near the edge of the countertop. He’d prefer it if Zoro had something substantial in his system before taking his painkillers. “I’m surprised you were able to sleep through it, honestly.”

Zoro shoots him an incredulous look. Sanji throws his head back and laughs because he just knew that was coming.

“Uh, Cook. Did you forget who I am? I can sleep through anything,” Zoro huffs, glancing at the crutches leaning against the wall next to the armchair. “What are all those bags?”

“So, you’ll never fucking believe this,” Sanji begins, shuffling about excitedly. “But—”

Sanji pauses and takes a deep breath. Sighs as he recalls how difficult it was for him to find one pharmacy that’s open for business to the public.

He feels exhaustion settling deep in his bones at the mere memory. “I tried a bunch of different pharmacies on the map, but I didn’t have much luck with them. Some doors were locked, some were completely battered up, and I was starting to give up until I came across one near the lake that was actually open. Not for business, mind you—but unlocked. And I walked right inside.”

Zoro hums. “Did you see someone?”

“The pharmacist, who’s the owner of the place, was standing right there. After we talked for a bit, and I told him about the situation we’re in, I found out that he knows us because of Luffy beating Arlong’s ass for what he did to Nami—turns out he was a victim, too,” Sanji explains, glancing at Zoro, who’s partially leaning over the edge of the sectional, craving closeness. “He wanted to help me out as a way of saying ‘thanks’ for that.”

“Oh,” Zoro narrows his eye. “How kind of him. Unless he was flirting with you?”

Sanji supposes one can never be too sure.

“He’s a married man with two kids.”

“Comforting,” Zoro says with a nod of his head. “He’s kind, then.”

Sanji stares at him, deadpan, before a fit of giggles spills from his lips. “You’re ridiculous. He gave me some medication for you to take, and some extra groceries to last us a while.”

Minutes later, Sanji places a package of a large cut of salmon in the kitchen sink. He gathers some vegetables in a small bowl and sets them aside. “What do you feel like eating?”

Honestly, Sanji isn’t sure why he asked—he already knows the answer to this question, anyway.

“Hm,” Zoro pretends to give it some thought. “I could go for some soup.”

There it is.

Sanji smiles fondly.

“Figured you’d say that,” Sanji chuckles, reaching for the wooden cutting board and a honing rod to sharpen one of the knives he’d like to use to prepare dinner. “Is it because it’s cold as shit outside?”

“Duh,” Zoro laughs, rubbing his fingertips together to quell the dull, stinging sensation the cold left behind. “We nearly froze to death out there. I don’t see a better time to eat something hot.”

Sanji can’t argue with that.

“Gotta agree with you there,” Sanji sing-songs, leaning forward to rest his elbow on the countertop, holding his chin in the palm of his hand. “Well, there’s a new recipe I’ve been wanting to try, but the weather was always too warm for it on the Thousand Sunny.”

Zoro flashes him a charming grin. Sanji’s heart skips a beat in his chest. “Might as well make the most out of this fucking crazy weather, huh?”

“Exactly.”

Sanji’s gaze drifts to the medication, groaning softly. He knows Zoro won’t overreact, but he still doesn’t want to be the one to break the news to him. “Browey, uh—the pharmacist said you’ll have to stay off that leg for about two weeks.”

Zoro’s eye widens considerably. “What?”

“Mhm,” Sanji shrugs—because what else can he do? “Told him you wouldn’t be happy about it, but there’s nothing that can be done. You have to heal from your injury, Mr. Clumsy.”

Suddenly, the sound of Sanji’s small transponder snail cuts through the air, startling them both as he reaches into the pocket of his cargo pants to carefully pull out the ringing device.

“Shit, we’ve been through so much in the past couple hours,” Sanji mutters, running a hand through his hair. “I didn’t even think to call them.”

What are they supposed to tell them?

The truth?

Sanji looks at Zoro for answers.

Zoro looks at Sanji and scratches at the nape of his neck. No answers here...

Naturally, the best course of action would be to tell their crewmates of the series of unfortunate events that befell them both, so Sanji holds his breath and answers the call.

“Sanji?” Nami’s voice pours from the mouth of the transponder. “Do you have any idea where Zoro might be? He was supposed to keep watch today, but no one knows where he is! I’m worried that idiot got lost somewhere on the island.”

Sanji laughs nervously. “Uh, about that—”

“What?” Nami asks, sounding urgent. “About what?”

“Zoro and I kind of... You know... ran into some trouble?”

The line is quiet for a moment. Sanji looks at the transponder’s expression of disbelief and sighs audibly.

“I’m sorry?” Nami speaks slowly. “You two... ran into some trouble? Together? What does that even mean?”

“Is—is Luffy around?” Sanji asks, instead. “You’ll have to put us on speakerphone. He should hear what we have to say.”

“Shit, okay. Sounds serious,” Nami mutters into the line. “Thank fuck we’re all on the Sunny right now. Hang on—let me gather everyone around, okay?”

Sanji rubs at the bridge of his nose. He looks at Zoro, who offers him nothing more than a tense smile and a quivering thumbs-up. “Take your time, dearest. We’ll be here.”

About a minute later, Sanji hears distant chattering coming from the mouth of the transponder snail.

“Sanji. Zoro,” Luffy calls out, his voice low. Sanji quickly pours himself a glass of juice and takes a large gulp from it. Luffy... sounds serious, which is to be expected given the circumstances. “Are you two alright?”

“Yeah. Well, I am,” Sanji coughs into the crook of his elbow, before he busies himself with tapping his finger against the shell of the transponder snail. “But Zoro... he’s—he tripped and sprained his ankle. Luckily, it isn’t too bad, but he’s still out for the count.”

“What?”

“Zoro-bro?” Franky’s voice cuts in, sounding horribly worried. “How did that happen?”

“Very long story short, some Devil Fruit user had a bone to pick with Zoro from his Pirate Hunter days, and I happened to be with him at the time,” Sanji replies. “She managed to catch us off guard and used a mirror to drop us to a place that's known as Gloxburg Island.”

Robin gasps. “Gloxburg Island?”

“Robin? What’s with that face?” Luffy’s voice filters through. “You’ve heard of this place?”

“To be honest, I don’t know much about it as I’ve never experienced it first-hand. I’ve only ever heard stories while I was on the run during my younger years,” Robin explains. “Thankfully, it’s in the New World like we are, but I’ve heard many complain about how horrid the weather conditions are.”

Zoro scoffs. Of course.

“Well, they’d be damn in the right to complain about this hellhole,” Zoro speaks up then, irritation blooming on his features. “We got caught in a blizzard that literally came out of fucking nowhere. We’re lucky that the heating system works as well as it does here.”

“Here, as in... a cabin. We managed to find a place to stay in the meantime, and we have every single thing we need to survive this, which is good news. Food, water, winter clothes... the heating Zoro mentioned,” Sanji tells them. “I’m thinking it’ll be best for us to wait it out here—to not do too much digging around until Zoro’s ankle is healed. Or at least until his ankle is in better shape.”

“Sanji, Sanji, Sanji!” Chopper hollers, sounding panicked. “You said he sprained it? Which ankle?”

“Hi, Chopper,” Sanji’s unable to keep the smile out of his voice. “Yes, he sprained his right ankle. The idiot somehow lost his footing while trying to step over a log in the snow.”

Usopp whines into the receiver. “God, what the...? He’s absolutely hopeless.”

“Hey,” Zoro snorts, his voice clipped. “Usopp? I can hear you, you know.”

“My apologies, Mr. Roronoa—I didn’t say anything, haha.”

“If you didn’t say anything, then why are you apologising?”

“It’s called being proactive, Mr. Roronoa,” Usopp deflects with ease. “I promise.”

Zoro shakes his head, smiling fondly—he misses them.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but this Devil Fruit user who got you caught in this mess,” Luffy speaks into the receiver, then, speaking over Usopp, who’s too busy complaining about how heavy he is. “She uses mirrors to fight?”

“It would seem so,” Sanji hums. “Zoro and I were heading into a weaponry store when—suddenly, we were in a room or realm full of mostly broken mirrors. Of course, this was right before she kicked us through a mirror in the room that wasn’t broken, though. My guess is the weaponry store itself was some weird illusion that we fell for.”

“The pharmacist I got Zoro’s medication from encountered her and her abilities some time ago,” Sanji continues, walking toward the sectional and settling comfortably on the armrest. Zoro leans against his side and sighs audibly. “Apparently, she’s from the Charlotte Family—one of Big Mom’s daughters. That mirror realm or whatever is the method to her madness.”

“Big Mom, huh? Okay, that’s—that’s good information. We’ll look into this. It does seem to be a flashy way of fighting, so hopefully, finding out more information relating to her whereabouts doesn’t end up taking too much time. Plus, we have a name, which is a huge help,” Luffy muses. “I’m glad you two are doing okay, for what it's worth. Let’s keep in touch daily, alright? And when we find this Devil Fruit user, we’ll let you know.”

Sanji rubs circles into the nape of Zoro’s neck, face splitting into a wide grin when Zoro throws his head back to trap Sanji’s finger there. “Yeah.”

“And Sanji?”

Sanji perks up then and stares at the transponder snail. “Mhm?”

“In the meantime, take good care of Zoro, will you?”

“You know I will.”

☆

“So... soup,” Zoro blinks, inhaling the rich, mouth-watering aroma in the air and licking his lips. God, he’s so fucking hungry. As he sees it, Sanji’s cooking is nothing short of an artform, indeed, so he knows better than to complain or to rush the process.

Sanji carefully rests the lid atop the pot on the burner. “Soup.”

“What kind of soup are you making?” Zoro asks, rubbing at his stomach absentmindedly. “Smells pretty good.”

“Salmon soup,” Sanji clarifies, smacking his lips as the flavour lingers on his tongue. He had tasted the broth of the soup to confirm if more seasoning was needed—but it ended up coming out perfectly on his first try.

Sanji finds himself looking forward to the day the weather will call for soup on the Thousand Sunny. He is positive that this dish would be a hit with his crewmates. “It’s creamy and packed with a lot of flavour. Full of vegetables like potatoes, carrots, and leeks. I added some kale, broccoli and mushrooms for good measure. You know, all the good stuff, since you need all the nutrients you can get.”

Sanji twists the control dial of the stove, turning the heat off completely beneath the pot. Making his way to the sectional, Sanji bends over to scoop Zoro into his arms with ease.

“Ah,” Zoro leans against Sanji’s chest contentedly, using a hand to draw the hem of his robe close to his body. “I’m being lifted.”

Sanji chews on the inside of his cheek, carrying Zoro through the living room space, down the hallway and into the bathroom on the lower floor. “You are.”

“It's a pretty simple and quick dish to make, so it’s about done cooking,” Sanji gushes, excited to see “But I think it would be best for us to get cleaned up first before we eat.”

Zoro goes rigid in his arms.

Sanji laughs softly—he didn’t think Zoro would be the type of person to feel shy at the idea of showering with him.

“Us?” Zoro whips his head to the side to look at him. “As in together? At the same time?”

“Mhm,” Sanji affirms, gesturing for Zoro to pay attention to the way he’s bearing weight on his left ankle, so his injured ankle has no reason to touch the floor at all. “It’s nothing you haven’t seen before. Plus, I need to monitor your ankle and the way you’re moving on it.”

Sanji gingerly reaches for Zoro’s robe, pushing the garb off his shoulders, catching it before it can fall to the tiles beneath them. He feels fucking lightheaded as he helps Zoro out of his boxer briefs, summoning all the strength he can muster to avoid gawking at the sight of his groin.

He just doesn’t understand the shakiness of his hands, the way his mouth runs dry at the mere promise of being able to lay his eyes on Zoro’s exposed skin. Then again, it’s nothing he hasn’t seen before.

Come on, Sanji, he begs. Get it together.

Zoro doesn’t bother to hide his staring when it’s Sanji’s turn to strip himself, humming appreciatively at lean muscles that flex beneath his skin.

Soon enough, Sanji is lifting Zoro into the shower. He pushes the valve slowly, activating the water flow that pours overhead. When Zoro closes his eye at the feeling of warm water spreading across his skin, he sighs blissfully.

Sanji lifts his right leg to rest on the arch of his foot. “How are you feeling?”

“Hungry,” Zoro replies honestly. “Miserable.”

“And tense, apparently. I think the hot water from the shower will help you relax a little,” Sanji adds, lightly massaging Zoro’s shoulder muscles before he works his way down to his upper torso. “But be sure to put all your weight on your left foot while we do this. I didn't really think it made much sense to wet the walking boot the pharmacist gave you to wear.”

“Cook.”

Sanji reaches for the bottle of shampoo, squeezing some of it in the palm of his hand. “Yeah?”

“Uh—” Zoro starts, cheeks flushing when Sanji takes a small step closer, suddenly feeling shyness creeping within his core. He hums as Sanji rubs the shampoo to a lather to spread through his hair strands, caressing his scalp carefully. “Thanks. I’m glad you made it back... You know, alive. You basically risked your life out there in the blizzard. For me, and to make sure I have meds to take for all this. So—”

His words die at the back of his throat, and his eye flutters closed when Sanji traces his fingers over his jawline and kisses him with a gentleness that fucking makes Zoro’s heart ache.

“Thank you,” Zoro tries again, barely managing to articulate his appreciation through his clenched teeth, relaxing at Sanji's hands that resume their ministrations—that is, until Zoro winces and screws his eye shut. “Ugh. Ow!”

Huh?

Sanji pauses, lowering his arms. “What’s wrong?”

“There’s... shampoo in my eye. It stings. A lot,” Zoro hisses, blindly slapping Sanji’s forearm. “How could you let this happen? God damn, you fucking suck at this.”

“No one told you to open your eye that early!”

☆

After he and Sanji were done showering together, Zoro had settled in his sectional, taken his painkillers and muscle relaxer, and scarfed down two servings of Sanji’s salmon soup while they watched a stand-up comedy sketch on the television.

Erupting into a fit of laughter at one of the segments being broadcast, Sanji leans forward to rest his empty bowl on the coffee table.

“This show is so ridiculous, right Zoro?” Sanji giggles airily, though he is unprepared for the silence that follows. “Huh?”

Zoro’s arms are folded across his chest, sleeping deeply now that his stomach is filled to the damn brim with a good meal.

“Knocked right out,” Sanji mumbles under his breath, exhaling soundlessly as he stands up and reaches for their empty bowls to carry to the kitchen. “Browey did say the muscle relaxers would make him drowsy.”

“Mr. Clumsy,” Sanji croons, adjusting the straps on the walking boot, ensuring that the injured site is stabilised before lifting him into his arms. Zoro opens his eye at the feeling of being carried up the stairs, tossing an arm around Sanji’s neck as he yawns tiredly. “I think you’ll be down for the night. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“Mmh,” Zoro grunts, his voice just above a whisper. “What time is it?”

Sanji walks into the bedroom and places Zoro into bed, tucking him beneath several layers of blankets. “It’s time for you to sleep.”

Sanji checks in as he always does. “How’s the ankle?”

“Hm?” Zoro frowns and settles on his back, feeling absolutely out of it. He knows that Sanji is simply trying to make sure that he’s okay, so he does what he can to cooperate and lifts his right leg. “I don’t feel it. No pain. Feels alright.”

Sanji smiles in relief, leaning to the side to reach for the remote that activates the electronic heating system for the upper floor. “Good news.”

“Where are you going?” Zoro’s hand darts out, fingers curling around Sanji’s wrist. “Sleep with me. Please.”

“I’m gonna put what’s left of the soup in the fridge, and wash the bowls we ate in,” Sanji says, “then I’ll join you, alright?”

Zoro cracks his eye open and nods reluctantly, his arm falling to his side as he watches Sanji leave the room, mere seconds before his eye slips closed, and he stumbles into a deep slumber.

☆

The past two weeks have been eventful for Zoro and Sanji.

For the first five days, the snowstorms made it impossible to do anything other than continue to make themselves at home in the cabin.

Which was great.

Sanji and Zoro spent their time playing board games, watching television, enjoying each other’s company, having heartfelt conversations, exchanging confessions, building emotional and physical intimacy, all while helping each other find comfort in vulnerability.

When Zoro had steadily regained strength in his ankle and the weather proved to be more forgiving, they often spent their time outdoors.

They took a tour of the island, they built snowmen together; they dived headfirst into the beauty of ice fishing, which quickly became one of Zoro’s favourite pastimes. They bonded with Browey and his little ones by making snow forts and snow angels.

☆

A week later, Sanji and Zoro both decide that it’s time for them to make their way off the island, now that the harsh snowstorm cycle is over and winter itself is coming to an end. They have spent most of the morning tidying the cabin—to leave it exactly as they met it—replenishing the groceries they had used over the weeks and cleaning each article of winter clothing they had borrowed in the owner’s absence.

Sanji and Zoro offered their sincere gratitude to Browey the day before—in hindsight, it ended up being the best idea Sanji had in a long time because he could only stand there, stunned into silence as a large mirror materialises into the moist air of the cabin.

Their exit, as if right on cue.

When Luffy shoves his head beyond the frame, waving happily at them, Sanji nearly faints in relief.

“Sorry we took so long,” Luffy beams, pulling Brûlée’s battered body closer to his side by the collar of her shirt. Zoro watches as Brûlée avoids his gaze entirely, and he scratches at the nape of his neck. “But we took as long as we did because she’s been hiding. After talking about it, we figured it was because she could see the Thousand Sunny at the dock, so we had Franky set her out to sail to make her think we left the island. After that, a few of us sailed back on the Mini Merry and hunted her down.”

What a plan.

Zoro shakes his head slowly. The perpetrators staying on the island, they did their dirty work in—well, Zoro needs a moment to let that level of stupidity sink in.

He genuinely can’t believe it.

“Apparently,” Nami starts, peeking over Luffy’s shoulder to gather Brûlée into her arms, “it’s because you nearly killed her brother when you were known as Pirate Hunter Zoro in the East Blue. She sent you two there because no one survives the winter on that island once they’re ill-equipped. What an asshole.”

Her brother?

Zoro doesn’t know what to say to that. I still don’t know who her brother is.

Usopp looks at him, his face splitting into a wide grin, knowing full well he has absolutely no idea who they’re talking about. “Charlotte Dacquoise.”

As if that is any help.

Zoro barely remembers faces, let alone names.

“We brought a picture for you to take a look at,” Usopp tells him, showing him a Polaroid of Charlotte Dacquoise, who has been tied up and beaten without mercy by Luffy himself. That’s because, as far as Luffy’s concerned, Dacquoise was involved—albeit passively—in the scheme to put an end to the lives of his crewmates, and that’s all the information he needed to hear. “Does this man ring a bell?”

Zoro leans forward, reaching beyond the frame to hold the Polaroid in his hand. Now that Zoro is taking a good look at a photo of this Charlotte Dacquoise person, he realises that this man does indeed look familiar, but for one reason only:

This man's escape two years ago cost him a fucking great deal of beri.

“Oh, him,” Zoro scoffs, something akin to irritation flashing on his features. “I wanted him for his bounty. He got away before I could land a final blow on him, which I was pissed about because I lost so much beri that day.”

Sanji looks at him, perplexed. “He got away from you?”

“How he managed to pull it off is a long story,” Zoro says, rolling his eye and handing the Polaroid to Usopp. “I was planning on taking a break with that bounty when I killed him, but instead of taking that break I wanted, I had to go after a bunch of other pirates with smaller bounties to make up for the loss. All because the fucker wouldn’t keep still.”

“Didn’t see that one coming,” Sanji supplies helpfully. “That’s for sure.”

Luffy cocks his head to the side and gestures to his ankle. “All healed up?”

“For the most part,” Zoro grins, relaxing visibly at the feeling of Sanji’s hand rubbing circles into his lower back. “I’ll have Doc take a look at it just to be on the safe side. But I can put weight on it without any problem.”

Chopper hums thoughtfully. “I might need to work on his range of motion.”

“That Charlotte lady is about to be out for the count in a few minutes. Come on, you two!” Nami yells, laughing in excitement. “While the mirror still works!”

When Zoro turns his head to look at Sanji, he’s a bit taken aback by the visible disappointment etched deeply on his features. Reuniting with the others is a good thing. Why is he upset? “Uh, Cook? What’s with the long face?”

Sanji rubs at his elbow, shrugging. God, he suddenly feels all over the place. Restless, even.

“The past three weeks were nice. Quiet. It was just us, you know?” he sighs, running a hand through the strands of his hair. “No pretending.”

Silence falls between them, and Zoro gives him an apologetic look. Sanji takes a deep breath—fiddles with his fingers and asks, “Do we have to keep pretending now that we’re back on the Thousand Sunny?”

Zoro leans in to kiss him then, short and sweet, and Sanji melts at the feeling of a pair of soft lips pressing against his own. Zoro exhales against Sanji's flushed cheek and says, “No. No more pretending. We can do things like this—it’s fine.”

“Now come on,” Zoro urges, grinning cheekily. “We have a lot of catching up to do with the others.”