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PART I
Sanji hated silent rooms.
He hated silence — it always dragged him back to his childhood, to that cold, forgotten place where he had learned early that no one was coming to save him.
This one was no different.
The room was quiet, save for the slow, uneven rhythm of breathing that wasn’t his own.
Sanji stood near the bed, staring at the rise and fall of a broad chest wrapped in white bandages. The man lying there looked almost peaceful, if not for the tension still carved into his face. Even unconscious, the bastard looked like he was bracing for another fight.
Sanji clenched his jaw. Idiot.
He stood there longer than he meant to, cigarette forgotten between his fingers. He told himself he was only there to check on him. Just to make sure the idiot swordsman was still breathing, that his chest still rose and fell beneath the layers of bandages.
He had no reason to stay. The crew was safe. The danger was over. That should have been enough.
And yet, his feet refused to move, as if the floor itself had wrapped around his boots and anchored him there.
Leaving felt wrong. Staying felt worse.
A shallow breath broke the stillness.
Sanji’s eyes snapped back to the bed. Every slow, uneven rise of that broad chest pulled him further into a memory he wished he could forget — blood everywhere, staining the ground dark, and a single figure standing in the middle of it all. Green hair. Straight posture. A man who refused to fall even when he should have.
“Nothing happened,” he had said, voice flat, eyes steady.
A lie.
Sanji dragged a hand through his hair, the cigarette finally burning down to his fingers before he crushed it out in irritation.
He knew what Zoro did. Two guys told him what happened, after the bastard knocked him out. He had seen the proof carved into Zoro’s body, felt it settle into his own chest like a weight he couldn’t shake.
He exhaled slowly, forcing his breathing to match the one he was watching so closely.
Idiot, he thought again — though he wasn’t entirely sure anymore which of them the word was meant for.
“You should really eat something… and get some rest,” Chopper said as he entered the room.
Sanji didn’t even hear him coming — which he probably should have. He hadn’t been in the best condition ever since the “incident.”
“I’m fine,” he replied, forcing the words out.
Chopper carefully began unwrapping the bandages around Zoro’s body, checking the wounds. Sanji’s chest tightened instantly. The smell of disinfectant hit his nose, the sharp tang of blood clinging to the cloth made his stomach turn.
He couldn’t watch. His gaze darted away, fixed on the floor, on anything but Zoro’s injuries.
I can’t… I can’t look…
“You’ve barely eaten anything in days, let alone slept,” Chopper said, his voice tight. “You’re not going to last long like this.”
Sanji shook his head.
“You don’t need to worry about me. I’m okay.”
Chopper paused mid-motion.
“I’m the doctor here,” he said slowly. “It’s part of my job to worry about your well-being. And I’m telling you — you’re far from okay.”
There was an edge to his voice Sanji wasn’t used to hearing. When Chopper turned to face him, his jaw was clenched, his expression tight with anger, mixed with worry. It caught Sanji off guard, made him hesitate for just a second before he shook his head again.
“I’m not leav—”
“Sanji!”
Chopper’s shout echoed through the room, sharp and sudden. Sanji startled, shoulders tensing as he turned fully toward him. It was the first time Chopper had ever raised his voice at him.
“Stop being so stubborn and listen to me for once!” Chopper snapped. “You want me to take care of Zoro, right? Then take care of yourself so I can focus on him! I’m too worried about you right now, and it’s distracting me!”
The words hung heavy in the air.
Chopper’s eyes were glassy, tears threatening to spill over. Only then did Sanji really look at him — the dark circles under his eyes, the slump in his shoulders, the exhaustion he’d been too wrapped up in his own misery to notice.
Of course Chopper was tired. They had all fought hard on that damn island. And now this — Zoro unconscious for nearly five days, hovering in that fragile space between waking and not. Of course everyone was worried.
Sanji swallowed hard.
“Alright… alright,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. “Sorry.”
He stepped closer to the bed, hovering there for a moment before leaning down just enough to speak softly, his voice meant for only one person to hear.
“You’d better wake up soon,” Sanji whispered. “So I can kill you myself, you bastard.”
__________________
Sanji woke up gasping, his chest heaving, sweat slicking his hair to his forehead. His blanket had twisted around him, arms flung across the bed as if he had been trying to hold onto something — someone — that wasn’t there.
Chopper told him to sleep, to get some rest. But how could he ?
The nightmare clung to him like smoke he couldn’t exhale.
Blood. Everywhere. Dark, metallic, clinging to Zoro’s clothes. Blood.
Blood.
Too much blood.
He shoved the covers off and sat up, legs dangling over the edge of the bed. The room was quiet but Sanji felt the tension in his chest as if the danger were still there.
He didn’t want anyone to see him like this. Weak. Shaken. Not even Chopper, not even himself. But he couldn’t stop thinking about Zoro. About how calm he had looked even as his body screamed in pain.
Sanji swallowed hard, his throat tight. I shouldn’t feel like this…
He needed a smoke.
The moon shone bright, stars dotted the sky, cold and distant. Sanji flicked his lighter, the small flame trembling before steadying, and drew in a long drag. The smoke curled around him, trying to ease the storm in his head, even if just for a moment.
“Can’t sleep, Sanji?”
“Nami… honey. What are you doing here so late?” His voice came out rougher than he expected.
She sat on the floor beside him, legs crossed, and smiled. That gentle, effortless smile — the one she sometimes gave him — usually had the power to calm him. To make the tension in his chest ease, if only a little.
Not this time.
He exhaled, letting the smoke drift into the night, but the image of Zoro’s battered form, the memory of blood and Kuma’s paw, refused to leave. The tightness in his chest wouldn’t ease. The warmth of Nami’s presence, the calm of the night — it all felt distant, like he was trapped behind a glass wall.
Sanji flicked the cigarette, letting the glowing tip hover in the night air.
Nami tilted her head, her smile fading into something softer, concerned. “Sanji… I’m worried about you.”
Sanji let out a laugh, but it sounded hollow, forced.
“Why does everyone keep telling me that?” he muttered, voice tight.
“No offense,” Nami said, raising an eyebrow, “but you look absolutely terrible.”
Sanji flinched slightly at her words, but forced another smile, sharper this time, more defensive than playful. “Terrible, huh? Yeah… maybe I’m just… uh… tired,” he muttered, shrugging, though the lie stuck in his throat.
He took a long drag of his cigarette, blowing out smoke in a slow, uneven rhythm.
“You know, for someone who pretends to hate him so much… you do worry a lot.”
Sanji turned to look at her, raising an eyebrow. “Pretend? Worry? None of these are true, darling.” He took another long drag of his cigarette, the smoke curling lazily around his face. “I’m just angry. Mad, even.”
Nami didn’t answer right away. She just tilted her head, her expression gentle but unwavering. “And you’re scared,” she said finally. “And that’s okay to admit.”
Sanji scoffed softly, letting out a humorless laugh. “Scared? Me? For the marimo? Don’t be ridiculous. Mosshead and I aren’t friends. We’re total opposites. We fight, we argue, we—” He broke off, dragging the words out like a shield. “…we’re rivals. That’s all there is to it.”
The lie settled heavy in his chest.
He knew it the moment he said it. Knew it by the way his breath felt too shallow, by the way his hands refused to stop trembling. And he knew Nami could see straight through it. She always could.
But he couldn’t admit it. Not fully.
He could admit that maybe—just maybe—he didn’t hate the bastard as much as he pretended to. That was manageable. Safe. That still fit the story he’d been telling himself for few months now.
But anything beyond that?
No. Never.
He could never, ever admit how terrified he had been. He couldn’t admit that he hadn’t been able to sleep since then, because every time he closed his eyes, he saw it all over again—blood, silence, Zoro’s body collapsing in his arms.
He couldn’t admit that he couldn’t even eat properly anymore, because the moment he tried to force food down, his stomach turned, his throat closed, and he’d end up throwing it all back up.
And Sanji hated wasting food.
So he had stopped eating altogether.
And he could never, ever admit what he was desperately shoving down, burying so deep inside himself that even thinking about it made his chest ache.
Some feelings were too dangerous to name.
Nami’s gaze softened, and she leaned just slightly closer. “Whatever rivalry is going on between you two,” she said, voice low, almost coaxing, “doesn’t mean you can’t care about each other. I know you do… and I know he does too.”
Sanji’s hand tightened around the cigarette. He exhaled in a jagged stream of smoke, as if trying to push her words away. His chest felt tight, his stomach twisting in a way he didn’t like.
“I doubt it, darling,” he muttered, voice rough.
Marimo? Caring about him?
The idea felt absurd. Ridiculous. Almost laughable.
Luffy would probably have time to find the One Piece before that ever happened.
Nami stayed silent for a moment, as if weighing her next words carefully.
“You know what happened, right?” she asked gently.
Sanji’s hand started trembling again. He flicked the cigarette away and shoved it into his pocket, hoping she wouldn’t notice. His eyes stayed fixed on the view, though his mind raced with every terrible memory of that night.
“Yes, but I can’t tell you…” he said, voice low, shaking. “I tried to stop him, you know? But the idiot knocked me out before I could… I—” He trailed off, words failing him entirely.
Nami didn’t press. She just stayed there, patient, letting him wrestle with his own thoughts.
“It’s my fault,” he whispered, voice tight, almost breaking. “It’s my duty to protect the crew, and I failed miserably… If only I were stronger…”
Nami put a hand gently on his shoulder.
“Don’t be so harsh on yourself, Sanji,” she said softly. “You did what you could. If it weren’t for you finding him and bringing him here in time… Chopper wouldn’t even have had the chance to try to save him. You saved his life, Sanji. So don’t beat yourself up too much.”
Sanji swallowed hard, eyes dropping to floor. Her words were meant to comfort, but they only tangled with the storm inside him.
Saved his life… he repeated silently in his head, trying to believe it, trying to convince himself. But the knot of guilt and fear didn’t loosen.
He might have saved Zoro’s body. Maybe. Dragged him back, forced him to breathe a little longer, given Chopper a chance to work his miracle. But had he saved him in any way that truly mattered?
Sanji was standing. Walking. Talking. Still whole enough to function.
Zoro was lying in a bed, broken and unmoving, lost somewhere between life and death. Unconscious. Silent. And no one—no matter how hard they tried to sound hopeful—could say for certain that he would ever wake up.
So who had really saved who?
He drew in a shaky breath, pressing a hand to his face, wishing he could undo everything, wishing he could take Zoro’s pain onto himself.
Damn it…
He couldn’t tell Nami any of this.
He couldn’t admit how terrified he had been, how completely helpless he’d felt or how the fear had sunk into his bones and refused to leave, how it had kept him awake night after night.
He couldn’t tell her that he had stayed by Zoro’s bed long after everyone else had left. He couldn’t tell her that he had cried at Zoro’s bedside, voice breaking as he begged him to wake up. That he had whispered apologies over and over again, like a prayer, like saying it enough times might somehow undo what had happened.
Some things were better left unspoken.
Some truths were simply too dangerous to say out loud.
Nami stood up, brushing the hem of her skirt lightly as she turned toward him.
“He’s going to wake up Sanji-kun,” she said gently, her voice calm but certain. “You won’t lose him.”
Sanji opened his mouth, words forming but refusing to leave.
But before he could answer, she straightened, giving him one last small, confident smile. Then she turned and walked away, her footsteps quiet, leaving the night—and Sanji—alone with his racing heart.
________________
The hallway was quiet, dimly lit by the soft glow of lanterns. Each step toward the room felt heavy, like the weight of his guilt and fear was pressing down on his shoulders.
“Get it together, Sanji,” he whispered to himself. “He’s alive. He’s… okay. You’ve done your part.”
And yet, for him, that wasn’t enough. So he pushed the door open and stepped inside.
The room was silent again, save for the faint of Chopper breathing, who was sleeping on a chair not far from the bed. Sanji could feel his own heartbeat thumping too loudly in his chest.
Then, something subtle. A twitch. Zoro’s finger, just the tip, flexed slightly. Sanji froze. His breath hitched.
Did he…?
He leaned closer, holding his hands back. Every inch of him wanted to reach out, to check, to touch, but he couldn’t — not yet. Not while Chopper was still here.
And not when he had no right to.
Damn it. Marimo would probably cut his hand off if he ever tried something like that. The thought almost made him snort.
…But then again.
Would that wake him up?
The idea hit him so suddenly it nearly made him dizzy. If that was what it took—if sacrificing a hand could somehow pull Zoro back—Sanji would do it. Without hesitation.
He froze.
What the hell was he thinking?
Sanji shook his head violently, as if he could physically dislodge the thought. That was stupid. Completely stupid. He was the cook of the crew. His hands were everything. His pride. His purpose. He needed them more than anything.
…But he also needed—
He stopped himself, breath catching.
No. He wasn’t going there. He refused to finish that thought.
Another tiny twitch. A shallow groan, half-formed, escaped Zoro’s lips. Sanji’s chest constricted. He couldn’t help it — he was already panicking, already imagining the worst.
“Hey… hey,” Sanji whispered, almost to himself, so quiet it barely left his lips. “You better not start giving me a heart attack while I’m standing here.”
Sanji pressed his hands against the edge of the bed, leaning forward slightly. “I swear, if you die on me, I’ll—” His voice faltered. He didn’t even know how to finish the sentence.
So he stayed there, frozen, hovering over Zoro, every muscle taut, every thought focused entirely on the green-haired swordsman who refused to give up — just as stubborn in sleep as he was in life.
“What’s going on?” Chopper’s voice was thick with sleep, carrying that mix of worry and exhaustion.
“I… I think he moved,” Sanji whispered, barely audible, his eyes fixed on Zoro’s chest.
Chopper leapt from the chair, landing silently beside the bed. He crouched close to Zoro, scrutinizing every shallow breath, every twitch, every subtle shift of the bandaged body.
Sanji’s heart hammered in his chest, each beat loud enough that he felt it might echo through the quiet room. He barely dared to breathe. Please… just a sign. Anything. Just move.
Zoro stirred again, a faint groan escaping his lips, a hand flexing slightly as if testing the air around him.
His eyelids fluttered, hesitated, then slowly cracked open, revealing those sharp green eyes that blinked against the dim light. Sanji’s heart slammed painfully against his ribs.
“Zoro…” Chopper whispered, voice barely audible, trembling despite himself. “ Can you hear me? ”
Zoro groaned again, blinking slowly, eyes unfocused at first, then narrowing as he scanned the room.. His lips parted in a weak groan, trying to form words, but nothing came out clearly.
Sanji exhaled shakily, relief and tension twisting together inside him. “You’re awake.”
Zoro shifted slightly again, trying to prop himself up on one elbow, and Chopper immediately stepped closer.
“Easy… slow movements,” he murmured, hands steady but gentle. “You’ve been through a lot… just breathe, alright?”
Sanji pressed his lips together, hands curling into fists at his sides. All he could do was watch, heart hammering, stomach twisting with every tiny sound Zoro made.
Chopper glanced at Sanji briefly, noticing the tension coiled in his posture, but said nothing. He returned to Zoro, checking pulse and breathing, whispering instructions as if the swordsman were a fragile object that might shatter at any moment.
“Shit… » groaned Zoro, voice hoarse and broken. « How long was I out for ? »
Chopper moved quickly, but gently, brushing a lock of sweat-soaked hair from Zoro’s forehead. “Almost five days,” he said softly, eyes still scanning for any sign of strain. “You’re awake now, though. That’s what matters.”
Zoro let out a low groan, shifting slightly on the bed. Sanji tensed, fingers tightening.
Don’t move too fast… please don’t move too fast…
“Easy! Don’t push yourself too soon,” Chopper warned, still checking his bandages. “We need to take this slowly. You’ve been through a lot.”
“I… I guess I overslept,” Zoro muttered, voice rough.
Sanji swallowed hard, jaw tight. He wanted to step forward, to help, to make sure Zoro was okay—but he stayed frozen, heart hammering. All he could do was watch Chopper carefully manage Zoro’s fragile state.
“Sanji, can you leave us for a moment?” Chopper asked gently.
Sanji’s stomach twisted. He opened his mouth, maybe to argue, but Chopper’s firm, calm tone left no room.
Zoro’s gaze flicked to Sanji, green eyes narrowing slightly. For a heartbeat, Sanji froze, caught in that sharp, unwavering stare.
“Y-Yeah… sure,” he stammered, stepping back slowly. His eyes finally left Zoro, though his chest still felt tight, heartbeat hammering like a drum. He lingered near the doorway for a moment longer than necessary, before closing the door behind him.
Behind him, Zoro’s eyes followed, still silently watching. There was a faint flicker of confusion in them, as if he couldn’t fully understand why Sanji was here.
Chopper’s voice cut through the tense silence again, soft and calm. “Alright, Zoro, just relax. Let me help you sit up slowly.”
Zoro’s eyes flicked between Chopper and the door Sanji just closed behind him, still showing that faint confusion as he processed that the cook was there.
Zoro had woke up. Finally. He was safe.
And yet, Sanji’s stomach remained tight, twisted into knots that refused to loosen.
He was relieved. Of course he was. More than he would ever admit out loud.
But relief didn’t erase the images burned into his mind. It didn’t chase away the fear that still lingered beneath his ribs, sharp and stubborn.
So he stayed there, behind the door, listening, waiting, refusing to move until he heard Chopper’s footsteps again.
“How is he?” Asked Sanji as Chopper closed the door behind him.
“He’s stable,” Chopper said quietly, glancing at Sanji. “I’ve checked everything—his wounds are healing as they should. He’s just exhausted. He’s back to sleep.”
Sanji’s shoulders sagged slightly, relief hitting him all at once. He forced himself to exhale, long and slow, trying not to let it show too much. “Good… you did a great job,” he muttered, voice tight but steady.
Chopper gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “You did your part too, you know. You brought him here in time. That made all the difference.”
Sanji nodded, swallowing hard, though he didn’t meet Chopper’s eyes. “Yeah… okay,” he murmured, voice rough.
“He’ll be fine. You should get some rest too, Sanji.” Chopper added softly before leaving.
Sanji stayed where he was for a few moments longer, staring at the wooden floor, hands shoved deep into his pockets. The silence pressed in again, thick and heavy. He exhaled slowly, steadying himself.
After a brief hesitation, he finally stepped forward and entered the room, eyes drawn immediately to the bed.
Zoro was asleep.
His breathing was slow and steady now, chest rising and falling beneath layers of bandages. The tension in his features had eased, the usual sharpness replaced by something almost… peaceful. It felt wrong, somehow, seeing him like that. Too still. Too quiet.
Sanji stopped a few steps from the bed. He just stood there, watching, as if afraid that getting any closer might break whatever fragile balance had finally settled.
Five days, he thought. Five damn days.
He ran a hand through his hair, then let it fall back to his side, unsure what to do with himself now that there was nothing left to fix, nothing left to fight. The adrenaline was gone, leaving only exhaustion and a dull ache in his chest.
“Idiot…” he muttered under his breath.
Carefully, almost reluctantly, he pulled the chair closer and sat down. The wood creaked softly beneath his weight, and for a brief, irrational moment, he held his breath—watching Zoro’s chest, making sure the rhythm didn’t change.
It didn’t.
He let out a slow breath and leaned back slightly, his gaze never leaving Zoro’s face.
Sanji didn’t mean to fall asleep.
He told himself he would just sit there for a minute. Just long enough to make sure the breathing stayed steady. Just long enough to be certain nothing else would go wrong.
The chair was uncomfortable, his posture awkward, but exhaustion weighed heavily on his limbs. His eyelids burned, his thoughts slowing, blurring at the edges. The steady rise and fall of Zoro’s chest became a rhythm, grounding, hypnotic.
He leaned forward slightly, forearms resting on his knees, head dipping just a fraction. The room was quiet now, the kind of silence that no longer felt threatening—only heavy, dense with the aftermath of everything that had happened.
“Don’t pull that shit again…” he murmured faintly, before his eyes closed.
__________________
Sanji woke up with a sharp inhale, disoriented for half a second. His neck ached, his back stiff from the awkward position, and his first thought was panic—
Zoro.
His eyes snapped to the bed.
Sanji froze.
Zoro was awake.
Those green eyes were clear. Awake. Fully.
He was watching him. Not moving. Not speaking. Just… looking.
Sanji froze mid-breath. Heat rushed up his neck, his heart slamming violently against his ribs. How long had he been awake? Had he said anything stupid in his sleep?
“…What,” Sanji muttered hoarsely, blinking hard. He straightened abruptly, running a hand through his hair as if that might fix something. “You’re awake again?”
Zoro didn’t answer right away. His gaze lingered, sharp despite the exhaustion still clinging to him, as if he were trying to piece something together. There was no mockery in his eyes. No usual smirk. Just quiet awareness.
Sanji shifted in his chair, suddenly hyper-aware of how close he was, of the fact that he had fallen asleep right there. “Tch. Don’t get any ideas,” he added quickly, tone defensive. “Chopper said you needed watching.
Of course Chopper didn’t say anything.
Zoro’s eyes narrowed just a fraction. A corner of his mouth twitched—too faint to be called a smile, but unmistakably him.
“…You look like shit,” he rasped.
Sanji scoffed. “Says the guy wrapped like a mummy.”
Everything was back to normal.
Zoro was alive. Awake. They were already bickering, trading insults like they always did, slipping back into that familiar rhythm as if nothing had ever gone wrong.
Everything was normal.
At least, it should have been.
Underneath, something had shifted. And he didn’t know how to fit back into it.
Sanji thought he knew fear.
He had been scared for most of his childhood. He had been scared when he was lost on that island with Zeff, certain he would die of hunger. He had been scared in countless fights, in countless narrow escapes.
But nothing—nothing—compared to the fear he felt when he found Zoro, blood covering his body and the floor around him.
He had been terrified.
Sanji didn’t want to think about how close the idiot had come to dying. If he had arrived just a few minutes later…
He hated it.
He hated how scared he had been for the past few days. He hated the way his chest had felt tight, how his thoughts had spun out of control while Zoro was lying unconscious.
And most of all… he hated that he cared.
No matter how much he tried to shove it down, to ignore it, to hide behind jokes and insults… he cared.
It made him angry. Furious.
“You stayed. ”said Zoro after a moment of silence.
He clicked his tongue, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Someone had to make sure you didn’t die in your sleep. Would’ve been a pain to explain.”
The excuse came easily. Too easily.
Zoro didn’t answer right away. When he did, his voice was low, rough around the edges. “Hn.”
That was it.
No argument. No mockery.
Sanji’s jaw tightened. “…You do know that what you did was really stupid, hm?” he said, voice sharper than he intended.
He didn’t mean to say this, at least not right now. Not when Zoro literally just came back from death.
But it felt like everything he had tried to push down, all the fear and tension from the past days, was coming back, slowly, piece by piece. Relief was fading, leaving room for something heavier—anger.
He was angry at everything. At Zoro, the idiot swordsman who didn’t care about his own life. At the fear, the helplessness, the days spent waiting, the gnawing ache that came from caring far too much for someone he shouldn’t.
And he didn’t know how to make it stop.
“I’m the captain’s right hand. I saved my captain and the crew, you included. I don’t see what’s the problem with that,” Zoro said, voice calm.
Calm.
As if nothing had happened. As if he hadn’t almost died. As if the past few days of terror, of panic, had meant nothing.
Sanji’s fists were clenched in his pockets, jaw tight, trying to stay calm but it was slipping. Slowly. Like lava building under the surface.
“You… you idiot!” he barked, voice louder than he meant. “Do you have any idea what you put us through?!”
Zoro blinked, calm as ever, green eyes narrowing slightly. “Hn? What are you talking about?”
“You don’t get it!” Sanji snapped, stepping closer, voice trembling now with frustration. “You almost—almost died! And you think it’s nothing?! You’re acting like you’re still some unkillable swordsman!”
Zoro shifted slightly, one eyebrow raised. “And? I’m still alive, aren’t I?
His tone was low, calm, almost teasing.
Sanji’s jumped on his feet, his hands shot up, throwing them in frustration. “ I can’t believe you. You’re supposed to be reckless, yeah, fine—but not that reckless!”
Zoro finally sighed, sitting up a little straighter.
“You’re… worked up,” he muttered. “Calm down, cook.”
Sanji felt his stomach twist. He wanted to shake him. To scream. To make him understand—he scared me, damn it!
Instead, he clenched his fists in his pockets, forcing himself to stay upright. His jaw tightened. “You—yeah, fine. Whatever,” he muttered, trying to keep the edge out of his voice.
But the truth he refused to speak hissed quietly in the back of his mind.
His chest felt impossibly tight, like it would burst from all the unspoken words and emotions he refused to give shape to.
Zoro tilted his head slightly, meeting his gaze with those sharp green eyes. Dangerous even in his weakened state.
“Why are you so mad? I know you like picking fights with me, but it’s a bit too much now, don’t you think?”
Sanji froze.
He hadn’t noticed how close he’d moved. How his voice had risen. How his hands were trembling at his sides, lashing out at the swordsman even in his exhausted, fragile state.
The real idiot here… it’s me, isn't it?
Sanji cleared his throat, forcing his voice into something casual, though his fingers twitched at his sides. “I can’t help it. You’re infuriating me. Nothing new.”
Zoro didn’t laugh. Didn’t snap back.
He just watched him.
And that made Sanji uncomfortable.
They usually didn’t look at each other for this long. Didn’t talk unless absolutely necessary. Or unless they were fighting—which was most of the time. Silence was not something they shared. It felt wrong. Too exposed.
Sanji clicked his tongue, shifting his weight. He couldn’t stand it.
“We always fight,” he said sharply. “Get on each other’s nerves. You really think I’m gonna treat you differently just because you’re stuck in bed?” He scoffed, crossing his arms, forcing a smirk that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Nah. That’s on you. That’s what you get for pulling something so damn stupid.”
Zoro’s gaze stayed on him, unreadable.
“But it feels different. You don’t usually care this much,” he said, voice flat.
Sanji clenched his jaw.
He hated how calm he was. He hated that he was the only one wound tight and ready to snap while Zoro lay there, infuriatingly composed.
He knew—damn it, he knew—that he was being ridiculous. But he needed Zoro to push back. To throw an insult, to start a fight, to prove that everything was back to normal. That nothing had changed.
Even though, deep down, Sanji knew that wasn’t true.
“Care?! About you?” A harsh laugh escaped him. “Get over yourself!”
“Then why are you yelling?” Zoro asked, voice still even.
That did it.
Sanji felt a heat coil in his chest, sharp and tight, making his hands tremble and his stomach churn. His pulse was pounding, every nerve screaming as if the world had shrunk to just the two of them in this room.
“Because you don’t think!” he shouted, stepping closer than he should, fists clenching at his sides. “Because you charge in without a care, expecting the rest of us to clean up after you!”
Zoro tilted his head, eyes narrowing, calm as ever. “And you’re yelling at me… when you almost did the same thing?”
Sanji’s stomach lurched. Damn it, he thought. He’s right. Of course he’s right.
The realization didn’t soothe him—it made the anger hotter, sharper, harder to contain. “Then why did you stop me?!” he exploded. “Why did you have to knock me out?!”
And finally, for the first time in so long, Zoro was starting to show something. Subtle, almost imperceptible—the slight furrow of his brows, the tension in his jaw. But Sanji could see it. He was starting to get pissed off.
Good. That’s good.
Because if Zoro stayed calm… if Zoro didn’t push back… Sanji didn’t know what he’d do with all this tension building in him.
“I did what I had to do to save the crew,” Zoro said, voice low, measured, but with a sharp edge. “I was there first. I made the decision first. It was none of your business. You had no right to intervene.”
“You don’t get to make that decision for me!” Sanji snapped, voice cracking just slightly before he forced it back into something harsh, something like control. “You don’t get to decide who throws themselves into danger!”
The tightness in his chest spread like wildfire, suffocating, making his fingers tremble despite himself. His jaw felt locked, teeth grinding as his heart slammed inside him, each beat a shout he couldn’t let escape.
Zoro furrowed his brow further, the sharp green of his eyes narrowing until they felt like blades pressing into Sanji. He held the cook with a calm, piercing stare that made the air between them feel impossibly tight, almost electric. Every subtle twitch of his jaw, every slight flare of his nostrils, spoke of a barely restrained storm.
Then his voice dropped low, steady but heavy with menace:
“Do you have a death wish?”
“Is this why you’re so mad?” Zoro continued, voice steady, sharp as a blade. “Because I didn’t let you die there?”
Sanji’s jaw tightened instinctively. “Why are you so sure I would’ve died?”
“You would’ve,” Zoro said simply, his voice like iron, unflinching. “I know it. If I barely made it, there was no way you could’ve. You could barely stand, remember?”
Sanji’s fists clenched at his sides, nails biting into his palms. Heat burned up his face, his chest tightening. “Are… are you calling me weak?!”
Zoro’s gaze didn’t waver, calm but merciless. The green eyes piercing him felt like they could strip away every excuse he’d been clinging to.
“I’m not calling you weak,” Zoro said evenly. “I’m stating facts. You would’ve died. ” He paused a moment before continuing. “I just saved your life. So I’m asking again : why are you so mad? ”
Sanji hated it. Hated that he felt this raw, this exposed. Hated that Zoro could make him feel so out of control without even raising his voice.
“You think this makes me mad?” He growled, stepping even closer, pacing in short, sharp movements. “No, this… this makes me furious! You… you think you can just decide everything and get away with it?!”
“I’ve done what I always do. Protect the crew. So why are you so mad, cook?” Zoro repeated slowly, his gaze fixed on Sanji in a way that made him feel uncomfortably exposed.
He already told him so many times… why does he keep asking the same question? Sanji thought, jaw tight.
The room felt heavy, thick with heat and tension, every second stretching unbearably long, every breath like a challenge.
Then the door slammed open.
Chopper, face flushed with anger, and Nami, eyes wide with worry, filled the doorway.
“What do you think you’re doing, both of you?!” Chopper barked, voice sharp, trembling with frustration.
He stepped fully into the room, pointing at Sanji. “Can’t you both wait before fighting again? Should I remind you that Zoro barely survived?!”
The words hit Sanji like a punch to the stomach. He felt cold, suddenly, from head to toe. He didn’t need the reminder—it was exactly why he hadn’t felt like himself since finding the green-haired swordsman, half-dead and covered in blood.
“I… I’m sorry,” Sanji muttered, voice low, tight, almost strangled. “I… I lost my temper. I shouldn’t even be here when I know I can’t keep my cool every time he’s around.”
“Sanji…” Nami murmured softly, her eyes sad, almost pleading.
Sanji didn’t look at her. He didn’t want anyone to see the storm inside him. He just turned on his heel, shoulders tense, and quickly exited the room.
__________________
Sanji closed the door behind him, the click echoing in the quiet hallway.
He leaned against the wall, shoulders slumping slightly, hands still trembling. His chest was tight, his heart hammering, and every breath felt too short. He ran a hand through his hair, tugging at the strands, as if that could somehow untangle the storm raging inside him.
Damn it…
Sanji pressed a fist to his lips, biting back the urge to shout. He hated how much Zoro could throw him off balance without even trying. He hated that he cared enough to feel like this. And most of all… he hated that he couldn’t do anything about it except sit there, pretending he wasn’t shaken.
He needed a smoke.
Sanji find an empty room and pushed open the window, the cold night air of Thriller Bark brushing against his face. He let out a long, shuddering breath and lit a cigarette, the small flame trembling in his fingers. The smoke curled upward, carrying away some of the tension that had been coiled tight inside him all day.
He stared out over the foggy landscape, the twisted shapes of the shipwrecks and gravestones just visible in the moonlight. The wind carried the faint scent of salt and decay, but it barely registered. His mind kept replaying Zoro’s calm, infuriating stare and the words he hadn’t been able to keep down.
“You seem… troubled,” a soft voice said from the shadows.
Sanji jumped slightly, flicking the ash from his cigarette. He turned to see Robin standing a few steps behind him, arms crossed, her expression calm but attentive.
“Ah… Robin! You startled me.” He forced a smile, smoothing his hair.“I’m fine. Just… enjoying the night air.”
Robin’s eyes softened, patient, but knowing. “You’ve been tense since the battle. I can see it.”
Sanji exhaled smoke, the tip of his cigarette glowing. “Tense… maybe a little. But a gentleman never complains, right darling?” He flashed her a charming smile, trying to hide just how wound up he really was.
Robin chuckled quietly, stepping closer, her voice gentle. “A gentleman… or someone trying very hard not to show how much it bothers him?”
Did Nami talked to her ?
Sanji’s chest tightened, and he cleared his throat, waving a hand. “Ah… clever woman. I see you’ve noticed. But… don’t worry your pretty head about it. I’ll manage. Always do.” He tried to keep his tone light, playful even, though his fingers still trembled slightly.
Robin studied him for a moment, tilting her head. “Just… what’s going on exactly? It’s not like you to be like this.”
Sanji’s heart skipped slightly at the concern in her voice. “What do you mean?” he asked, forcing a casual tone.
“It’s not like you to be this worried about him,” Robin said softly, eyes fixed on him. “You—someone who claims to hate him so much.”
Sanji blinked, flustered, and waved a hand dismissively. “Me? Worried about Mosshead? You’ve got it all wrong, my pretty Robin. I’m just mad because he caused us so much trouble.”
Robin’s gaze didn’t waver, calm and patient. “You were scared, Sanji. Scared that he might die.”
Sanji stiffened, shaking his head slightly, trying to maintain his usual charm. “Nope. You’re mistaken. A bit stressed, maybe—but that’s all.”
He couldn’t admit it to Nami, couldn’t admit to Robin either.
She tilted her head again, a faint smile playing on her lips. “I heard you, Sanji.”
Sanji furrowed his brow, confused. “Heard me?”
“Your nightmares,” she said softly, her voice gentle but knowing. “You keep dreaming about that night. You called his name.”
Sanji’s heart lurched. His fingers trembled slightly around the cigarette, and for a moment, he had to clamp down on his jaw just to keep from letting out a sound. He shifted his weight, trying to regain composure, forcing a light laugh. “Ha… nightmares, huh? I’m a man, Robin. I don’t… uh… waste my sleep on things like that.”
Everyone could see it was an act. A pitiful one, at that.
He knew it, but what could he say?
Oh yeah. I’ve been crying for a guy I’ve pretended to hate for a while now. A guy who probably hates my guts, but for real.
He pictured Zoro’s green eyes, hard and cold, the way they usually pierced him like daggers in every argument, every fight. There was no warmth there, no softness—just the certainty that Zoro thought him insufferable, weak, unworthy.
And yet… Sanji had spent days terrified for that same man. Terrified he might never wake up.
Robin’s eyes softened, but she didn’t push. “You’re human, Sanji. Even the strongest can’t hide everything forever. It’s okay to… feel things. Fighting them will only make you hurt more.”
Sanji’s jaw tightened. He didn’t answer. He just exhaled slowly, smoke curling into the cold night air, trying to ignore how much truth there was in her words.
But Sanji was tired, so, so tired.
“I’m being ridiculous, right?” he muttered at last. “I shouldn’t feel like this. I don’t even understand why I’m feeling like this…”
He took a deep breath, shoulders tensing before he went on.
“I must’ve hit my head during the fight, right?” he added with a hollow laugh. “Because there’s no way I’m this much of a mess because of him.”
His fingers curled tighter around the cigarette. “I feel so angry, Robin. So damn angry at what he did… and I don’t even know why.”
Robin studied him quietly, her expression gentle but unwavering.
“Are you sure you don’t know?” she asked softly.
The question hung between them, heavier than the fog surrounding Thriller Bark.
Sanji didn’t answer. Didn’t even try to think about it.
He stared out into the darkness, heart pounding, afraid of what he might find if he did.
PART II
Sanji was back in his room, eyes fixed on the ceiling. Sleep eluded him. Every time he tried to close his eyes, it felt like the air itself was too heavy, too sharp, as if he couldn’t breathe. Images flashed through his mind—the fight, the blood, the faint groans of the green-haired swordsman—and the smells of iron and sweat seemed to cling to him, suffocating.
He wanted to smoke. Again. But he had already burned through most of his packs, and he needed to save some until the next island. So instead, he fidgeted with his hands, curling his fingers, tapping the bedpost, anything to keep himself occupied.
Then, there was a soft knock on the door.
Sanji’s brow furrowed. Who could possibly be wandering around at this hour? Everyone else should be asleep.
He considered just pretending to be asleep. He didn’t have the energy for Chopper’s inevitable lecture about yelling at Zoro in his state. He didn’t need to hear Robin or Nami’s soft-spoken admonishments anymore, those gentle attempts to plant “weird thoughts” in his head.
Sanji groaned softly, rolling onto his side, blanket twisted around him. He wasn’t ready to face anyone—not tonight. Not when his chest still felt so tight, his nerves so raw, and his mind refused to let go of the images he’d been trying desperately to push away.
Why can’t I just shut it off…?
He pressed a hand to his forehead, squeezing his eyes shut. The room was quiet now, save for the faint creaks of Thriller Bark settling in the night. He could hear his own pulse in his ears, loud and insistent, like a drumbeat he couldn’t escape.
Another knock came at the door, louder this time.
Sanji sighed, dragging himself upright. “Yeah, yeah… I’m up,” he muttered, voice rough, already bracing himself for whoever it was.
He crossed the room, each step slow, like wading through exhaustion, and opened the door slightly—enough to see who dared disturb him this late.
Sanji froze the instant he saw him.
Zoro was standing in the doorway, hair tousled, breathing shallow but steady, and—what the hell—he was upright. Moving. Walking.
Sanji’s chest tightened. “Wha… What are you doing?!” he barked, taking a step back. His fingers clenched the doorframe like it was the only thing keeping him from losing it completely. “You’re not supposed to be… you’re not supposed to be up! You—”
Zoro blinked slowly, expression calm, unbothered. “I’m fine,” he said simply. “Couldn’t sleep. Thought I’d… stretch.”
Sanji’s stomach twisted. His voice came out sharper than he intended. “Fine? Fine?!! You could barely sit up without groaning yesterday! You were lying there half-dead! You’re supposed to be recovering, not… not wandering around like some idiot!”
Zoro shrugged lightly, stepping further into the room. “I said I’m fine.”
Of course he wouldn't just rest. Of fucking course.
He wanted to snap at him, push him away, tell him to go back to his room—but his throat felt tight, words catching halfway.
Because shit, Zoro was there, in his room.
“Well… you woke me,” he muttered, trying to keep his tone casual, like he wasn’t about to explode from relief, worry, and irritation all at once. “ So go « stretch » somewhere else. I don’t care.”
He cared.
Zoro stepped a little closer, still calm, still impossibly frustrating. “You’re… fidgeting,” he said flatly. “Something on your mind?”
Since when does he care ?
Sanji’s jaw tightened. “Mind your own business,” he shot back, though his voice wavered slightly. He looked away, fumbling with his fingers again. “And don’t just stand there—go back to your bed before you fall asleep standing up or something.”
Zoro’s green eyes glinted in the dim light, calm and sharp, as if daring Sanji to react. He looked like he had no intention of leaving.
“We need to talk,” Zoro finally said, pushing Sanji slightly as he stepped into the room. The force of it made Sanji stumble back a little, heart racing.
Sanji’s eyes shot wide, brows climbing up in alarm. His mouth opened and closed several times, but no sound came out.
“T-talk?!” he finally managed, voice incredulous. “Since when do we… talk?”
“Since now,” Zoro replied firmly, closing the door behind him with a decisive click. The room seemed smaller, heavier, the dim light casting long shadows that only made Sanji’s chest tighten further.
Sanji’s stomach twisted. Why is he like this? Why now? He ran a hand through his hair, tugging at it as if that could untangle the mess in his head.
“You’re… you’re not supposed to be up, you’re not supposed to be walking around, and now—now you want to talk?” His voice wavered slightly, betraying the panic and frustration he was trying so hard to hide.
Zoro’s lips quirked, almost imperceptibly. “Maybe I’ve had enough of being careful. Maybe I need to hear what you have to say.”
Mosshead must be sick. Something must be wrong in his head… what the fuck is this?
“What I have to say? I don’t have anything to say to you!” Sanji shot back, voice tight, fists clenching at his sides.
“Yes, you do. You can start by telling me why you’ve been acting like this… ever since I woke up.”
“…What? The fuck are you talking about now, Marimo?!”
Sanji’s jaw tightened. He didn’t want to repeat what happened earlier. Didn’t want to raise his voice. Didn’t want his emotions to get the better of him. He didn’t want to fight Zoro—not while he was still recovering.
But he’s driving me insane…
“Why are you so tense? Why exactly are you so mad about what happened?” Zoro asked, calm and controlled, crossing the room slowly, eyes never leaving Sanji’s.
Sanji let out a frustrated groan, pacing a few steps, hands running through his hair.
He came all the way here, when he should be resting, to ask me this… again? He cannot be serious.
“You’re fucking kidding me, right?”
Zoro didn’t answer immediately. Just took another slow step forward, unwavering.
“I’m being serious, Cook. Tell me why.”
“That’s it,” Sanji muttered, voice trembling slightly as he threw his hands in the air. “You finally lost the only braincell you had left. You’ve finally gone mad!”
He laughed, but it sounded strangled, forced.
“Tell me why.”
Sanji was starting to loose it.
“I already told you! I keep telling you! The fuck do you want me to say?!”
Zoro shook his head, a faint frown crossing his otherwise calm expression. He took another step closer, his green eyes sharp. “The truth. I want you to tell the truth.”
Sanji froze. His fingers curled at his sides, jaw rigid. The truth…?
“Get out,” he finally spat, voice faint but sharp. “Get the hell out of here!”
“Not before you tell me what I need to hear,” Zoro replied, calm and unyielding.
His unreadable face, his green eyes steady, made Sanji’s chest tighten even more. It was maddening.“I don’t know what you need to hear! I don’t care what you need to hear! I just… I just want you to leave me alone!”
Sanji tried to force his voice steady, tried to hold onto control. But the closer Zoro got, the calmer he remained, the more irrationally furious Sanji felt.
Why is he acting like this? Ever since he woke up… he’s… different.
He swallowed hard, chest constricting. He couldn’t stand how worried he was, because Zoro just shouldn’t even be standing right now.
And he absolutely couldn’t handle how much the swordsman’s presence made him feel… something he didn’t even want to name.
“Cook—”
Zoro grabbed his wrist. Sanji yanked it back instantly, the brief contact burning like fire against his skin.
“Don’t… fucking touch me!” he snapped.
Zoro wavered slightly on his feet, still too weak, and stumbled, forcing himself to regain balance. Sanji’s eyes widened, panic spiking like a lightning strike, and he stepped forward instinctively.
“Shit… I’m so—”
But before he could finish, Zoro was there again. Too close. Too impossibly close.
Sanji could feel the heat radiating off him, the raw, suffocating presence that always made his careful composure crumble. They were the same height, but Zoro seemed bigger somehow. Broader shoulders, thick arms, a chest carved like stone—strong, infuriatingly strong. Built like a Greek god—and every inch of it was driving Sanji insane.
His mind betrayed him, flashing impossible, forbidden thoughts: how it would feel to be trapped in those arms, pressed against that strength. The fact that Zoro could pick him up without effort. His stomach twisted in a way that was infuriatingly, maddeningly wrong.
He wanted to look away. Wanted to step back. But something rooted him to the spot. Fear, irritation, desire—they all tangled together, sharp and chaotic.
Sanji could feel the heat from him, the presence that always made him lose his composure, and his heart raced like he’d been running a mile. They were the same height, but Zoro was bigger, much bigger. Broad shoulders, infuriatingly strong arms and a strong chest. He was build like a greek god and that was pissing Sanji off. or maybe the fact that he couldn’t stop thinking about how it would feel to be held by these Strongs arms.
The bastard could pick him up without effort. The thought alone made Sanji’s chest tighten as if a hand had clenched around it. He imagined Zoro lifting him easily, carrying him wherever he wanted—no struggle, no strain.
Sanji’s stomach twisted. His hands itched, fingers clenching into fists he didn’t know how to release. He imagined Zoro pinning him against the wall with that strength, trapping him in place, or holding him so close he could feel the steady thrum of Zoro’s heartbeat through the solid chest.
Every scenario made his chest tighten more, his breaths coming faster, uneven, shallow.
He wanted to look away. Wanted to step back. But something rooted him to the spot. Fear, irritation, desire—they all tangled together, sharp and chaotic.
“Why are you so mad at me?” Zoro asked, low, almost challenging.
Sanji’s hands shook, his jaw clenching, and all he could do was glare.
What the fuck, What the fuck, What the fuck !
“Get the fuck out!” he snapped, voice breaking despite himself. “Please—just leave me alone. You’re literally driving me nuts!”
Zoro exhaled sharply, loud enough to fill the room. For the first time, his calm cracked.
“You’re always so damn stubborn,” he growled.
Sanji stared at him, incredulous. “Me?! Stubborn?! You—of all people—are calling me that?”
Zoro’s glare sharpened as he took a step forward, forcing Sanji to take one back.
When they fought, Sanji never backed down. Never.
But now… he felt like he had to. Zoro never seemed so dangerous.
“Yes. You,” Zoro said, voice low and tight. “I’ve been patient. I’ve been trying to get you to talk. But you’re too damn stubborn to admit the truth.”
Zoro was pissed now—really pissed. His chest rose and fell faster, breath heavier than it should’ve been.
And once again, panic clawed at Sanji’s chest.
“There’s nothing to fucking admit!” Sanji shouted.
“Then tell me why,” Zoro shot back, stepping closer, “why you’re so mad at me for what I did.”
That was it.
Zoro was too close. His presence pressed in on Sanji from all sides—the heat of him, the familiar scent, the way the room suddenly felt too small, too full of Zoro. Sanji’s chest tightened until it felt like he couldn’t breathe.
And finally, he snapped.
“Because you almost died!” Sanji screamed.
Zoro stiffened, instinctively taking a step back.
Sanji didn’t even notice. Now that he’d started, he couldn’t stop.
“You don’t realize how fucking close to death you were!” His voice shook violently. “I was the one who found you, you know? There was blood—so much blood. I didn’t even know a body could bleed that much.”
His hands trembled uncontrollably, eyes wide, unfocused, trapped in the memory.
“I remember how terrified I was,” he went on, voice rising, cracking. “Because there was no way you could’ve survived that. Nobody can lose that much blood and stay alive. I really thought—”
He choked, sucking in a sharp breath, eyes squeezing shut for a second before forcing himself to continue.
“But then I got closer. You were still breathing—barely. And you looked at me and said ‘nothing happened’ before collapsing in my arms.”
His voice dropped into something raw and broken.
“So I put you on my back and ran. I ran as fast as I could to Chopper. And I remember how your breathing kept getting slower… and slower…”
Sanji swallowed hard, throat burning.
“I really thought you were fucking dying on me,” he said hoarsely. “I swear… I thought you were dying on me.”
Zoro was silent. Watching, wide-eyed.
“Chopper was terrified. He said the chances of you waking up were… low. Even for you.”
Sanji felt heat rise behind his eyelids. He squeezed them shut firmly for a second, trying to regain his composure. But it was impossible. Everything he had felt over the past five days came crashing back at once.
“Sanji—”
“Why did you have to do something like that, huh?!Why couldn’t you just let me die instead?!!” he screamed, voice breaking, raw and jagged.
The words echoed in the room, ugly and sharp.
Sanji froze the second they left his mouth.
Silence crashed down between them, heavy, suffocating.
Zoro stiffened. His eyes widened even more, breath hitching sharply in his chest. He looked absolutely furious.
He took a slow step forward. His jaw clenched, teeth grinding.
“You wanted to die?”
Sanji had told so much, and this was the only thing he was picking up?
Sanji shook his head violently. “No—! That’s not what I meant!”
“Then what did you mean?” Zoro snapped, anger flashing raw and unfiltered now. “Because it sounds like you’re saying you wanted me to let you die. You said that earlier too.”
Sanji was not replying, eyes dropping to the floor because he couldn’t stand the look in the swordsman eyes.
“I did what I had to do.” Zoro finally said, voice so low that Sanji wasn’t even sure he heard it.
“And I had to live with it!” Sanji snapped. “I had to be the one standing there afterward, wondering if you were ever gonna open your eyes again! Do you know what it’s like to watch someone not wake up? Day after day? To hear the doctor say maybe? To wonder every fucking morning if today’s the day they tell you it’s over? You have no fucking idea how terrified I was. I thought…”
The room felt silent again, except for the raged breathing of Sanji.
Zoro still didn’t move. Didn’t speak. He just stared at him, eyes wide, like he’d been struck.
Sanji shook his head, breathing hard. “I couldn’t eat. I couldn’t sleep. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw you. Blood everywhere. You weren’t moving. You weren’t breathing right.” His voice dropped into something hoarse. “I kept thinking… if I was stronger…”
Zoro took a slow step forward. “Sanji—”
“No,” Sanji snapped immediately. “Don’t.You don’t get to stand there and act like this was nothing. Like you didn’t scare the hell out of everyone, out of me. Like you didn’t almost disappear.”
His voice cracked completely now. He hated it. Hated how weak it sounded.
Zoro closed his eyes a moment, taking long breath as if trying to calm himself. Sanji had never seen him like this. So shaken up.
“Listen to me carefully. I did that because it’s my duty to protect the crew.”
Sanji groaned, rolling his eyes, disbelief twisting his features. He couldn’t believe it—after finally admitting how terrified he had been, how close he’d come to losing Zoro, this was the response he got?
His chest ached, tight and heavy, and a bitter frustration twisted in his gut. He had expected at least a flicker of understanding, some acknowledgment that the fear, the panic, the helplessness he’d felt had been real. But Zoro… Zoro didn’t even flinch.
Sanji’s stomach sank. Of course he wouldn’t. He’ll never feel the same. He can’t. That’s why he’s pretending not to have heard me.
“You told me a hundred times already, you—“
“No. Listen. Let me finish,” Zoro cut him off. He took another step forward until they were so close that Sanji could literally feel the other’s breath on him.
“I did that because I had to protect everyone. And because I just let you die. »
Sanji stared at him, eyes wide, like his brain had short-circuited. For a second, he was sure he’d misheard. Surely that wasn’t what Zoro had just said.
“What?”
Zoro didn’t look away.
His jaw was tight, shoulders tense, breath shallow. He looked… cornered. Like he’d said something he hadn’t meant to say out loud, but wasn’t going to take back.
“I couldn’t let you die, no matter what.” Zoro repeated, voice lower now. “You were barely standing, but you were ready to throw yourself in front of him without thinking twice.”
Sanji’s heart slammed painfully against his ribs.
“That wasn’t your call,” he shot back automatically, because that’s what he was supposed to say. What he always said. “You don’t get to decide who lives and who dies.”
Zoro’s eyes darkened. “Funny. That’s exactly what you were about to do.”
Silence fell again, heavy and suffocating.
Sanji’s chest tightened painfully.
“That’s different.”
“How?” Zoro challenged quietly.
Sanji didn’t answer. He couldn’t. His mouth opened, then closed again, frustration burning behind his eyes.
Silence settled between them again, thick and suffocating, weighed down by everything neither of them was willing to say out loud. Sanji could feel it pressing against his chest, making it hard to breathe.
Because Sanji knew.
He knew, deep down, why the thought of losing Zoro had terrified him. Why his head had been a mess ever since that night.
His heart was racing now, pounding painfully against his ribs, and it had nothing to do with the argument, or the raised voices, or the tension crackling in the room. It was because Zoro was here—alive, standing far too close, his presence filling the space in a way Sanji couldn’t ignore.
That realization scared him more than anything else.
It was wrong.
That was the thought that slammed into him next, sharp and merciless.
Wrong in every possible way.
Sanji clenched his fists, nails digging into his palms as if the pain could ground him, drag him back to something familiar. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Not like this. Not with him.
Zoro was the last person on this damn crew he should be thinking about this way. They fought constantly. Insulted each other. Threw punches before words half the time.
This—whatever this was—had no place here.
He shouldn’t feel like this. Shouldn’t care this deeply. Shouldn’t feel his heart was racing because Zoro stood too close. Shouldn’t have felt the panic that had consumed him when he’d believed—truly believed—that the swordsman might never wake up again.
He should want to kiss him.
It was twisted. Misplaced.
And dangerous.
Sanji had spent his life knowing exactly who he was supposed to be. He loved women. That was simple. Easy. Safe. It was something he understood, something that didn’t threaten to tear him apart from the inside.
This did.
Because this wasn’t harmless flirting or exaggerated devotion. This was fear that hollowed him out. This was relief so strong it made him dizzy. This was anger born from the thought of losing someone he wasn’t supposed to need.
Not him, Sanji thought desperately. Anyone but him.
He swallowed hard, forcing the feeling down, burying it where it couldn’t surface. If he ignored it long enough, maybe it would disappear. Maybe things would go back to normal—back to insults and fights and everything being simple again.
Because Zoro would never feel the same anyway. It was impossible.
But then… what was that look on his face?
Sanji frowned, teeth sinking into his lower lip. Zoro hadn’t looked angry in the way he usually did, sharp and ready to snap back. It had been something else. Something raw. Almost… desperate.
That didn’t make sense.
Why had Zoro looked so furious when Sanji had told him he should’ve let him die? Furious—as if the words had cut deeper than any insult ever could.
And why was he here at all?
Zoro hated talking. Hated explanations, hated feelings, hated anything that couldn’t be solved with a sword or brute force. He would’ve rather swallowed nails than come all the way here, just to argue.
Yet here he was. He had dragged himself out of bed—injured, barely healed—just to stand in Sanji’s room, pushing, insisting, refusing to leave until he got answers.
Sanji’s chest tightened again.
None of this made sense. Not Zoro’s anger. Not his insistence. Not the way his eyes had searched Sanji’s face like he was looking for something specific.
Like he needed to hear something from him.
And yet…
Despite everything, despite how wrong it felt, a thought kept creeping back in, stubborn and unwelcome.
He wanted to know.
Sanji pressed his tongue against the inside of his cheek, breathing slowly, trying to calm the storm inside his chest. It terrified him—how badly he wanted to understand that look on Zoro’s face. That anger. That intensity.
What had he been expecting to hear?
What had he been hoping Sanji would say?
The questions gnawed at him, relentless.
Sanji had spent days convincing himself that his feelings were a mistake, something to be buried and ignored. But now there was Zoro—standing there, injured and exhausted, having crossed half the damn castle just to confront him. That wasn’t nothing. That wasn’t meaningless.
If Zoro felt nothing, then this was all in Sanji’s head. A mistake. A weakness. Something he could still crush and forget.
But if Zoro did feel something…
Sanji’s breath hitched.
He was terrified.
Because wanting to know meant wanting to open that door. Meant risking answers he wasn’t ready to hear. Answers that could change everything—how they fought, how they looked at each other, how they stood side by side.
Sanji swallowed hard, heart hammering.
Just ask, a reckless voice in his head urged. Just once.
He hated that voice. Hated how convincing it sounded.
Zoro was still there, exactly where he’d stopped. Watching him. Waiting.
Sanji exhaled slowly, like he was bracing himself for a hit.
“…Why are you here?” he asked finally, voice low.
Zoro blinked, clearly not expecting the question. “I already told you. To talk.”
“That’s bullshit,” Sanji snapped, but without his usual bite. “You hate talking. You hate this kind of crap even more than me.”
Zoro didn’t deny it. He shifted his weight slightly, wincing before steadying himself again. “Yeah. I do.”
Silence stretched again, thick but different this time.
Zoro stepped closer, slower this time, careful. “But you don’t usually look like that.”
“Like what?” Sanji snapped, defensive again.
“Like you’re about to break.”
The words landed too close to the truth.
Sanji let out a sharp breath, running a hand through his hair. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Zoro watched him for a long second. “Can’t you just tell me ?”
The room felt unbearably small. Sanji’s heart pounded painfully in his chest. He looked at Zoro—really looked at him. The bandages. The tension in his stance. The stubborn refusal to leave.
“…What do you want me to say?” Sanji asked quietly.
Zoro hesitated. Just for a fraction of a second.
“The truth,” he admitted. “But I know you’re holding back.”
That honesty knocked the air out of Sanji’s lungs.
He looked away again, fists clenching. “You shouldn’t ask questions you’re not ready to hear the answers to.”
Zoro didn’t back down. “Try me.”
Sanji swallowed hard.
The fear was still there. But so was something else now—something dangerously close to hope.
And he wasn’t sure which scared him more.
“Then you tell me this first, why did you say you couldn't let me die, no matter what?.”
Zoro didn’t answer immediately.
His gaze drifted to the floor, jaw tightening as if the words themselves were weighing him down. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter than Sanji had ever heard it.
“Because it wasn’t an option.”
Sanji frowned slightly. “That’s not an answer.”
“It is to me.”
“Okay.”
Sanji dropped his gaze to the floor. That’s not what he wanted to hear. He needed clear reassurance. He needed Zoro to make it clear that he wasn’t the only one feeling this.
Zoro glanced at him, eyes sharp, searching. “You were ready to die, Sanji.” His jaw tightened. “I couldn’t watch that.”
“You couldn’t watch?”
Zoro’s brows furrowed. “I couldn’t accept it,” he corrected. “You dying like that. Not when I could stop it.”
That intensity in Zoro’s eyes—sharp, unflinching, impossibly focused—hit Sanji like a punch to the chest.
“So you decided to be the one who almost died instead?”
“Yes.”
The answer was immediate. No hesitation this time.
He felt pinned, not by Zoro’s strength, but by the sheer, suffocating presence in those green eyes. It was infuriating. Maddening. And, most dangerous of all, it made him feel more alive—and more terrified—than he had in days.
“You’re insane.”
Zoro’s gaze softened—just slightly. “Probably.”
Silence fell again, heavy but charged.
“I don’t regret it,” Zoro added quietly. “If I had to choose again, I’d do the same.” He paused, and for a fraction of a second, something flickered in his expression—hesitation, almost vulnerability—and then he continued, almost reluctantly: “’Cause I know I couldn’t live with myself if I’d let you take that hit instead. Especially not you.”
That was it.
No grand confession. No dramatic words, no overflowing emotion. Just a simple, devastating truth.
Sanji looked away again, breathing uneven. When he spoke again, his voice trembled despite his efforts. “You shouldn’t feel like that.”
Zoro didn’t argue. He just said, simply:
“Too late.”
He felt the air leave his lungs. His hands went clammy, his knees weak, and a heat he couldn’t name burned through him. Nothing else mattered in that moment except the weight of those words and the quiet, unflinching sincerity in Zoro’s green eyes.
Sanji’s lips parted, and for a moment, he couldn’t speak. Couldn’t even move. He just couldn’t believe this was really happening.
“This is wrong,” he muttered. “This… shouldn’t be happening.”
Zoro frowned. “What shouldn’t?”
Sanji let out a breathless laugh, bitter. “This. You saying things like that. Me—” He stopped himself, jaw locking. “We’re not supposed to care like this.”
Zoro’s expression darkened, not angry—serious. And he kind of looked, pained ? “Says who?”
Sanji’s chest tightened. He wanted to yell, to tell him to leave, to stop looking at him like that.
“We fight all the time. We’re supposed to hate each other.”
Zoro huffed. “Since when do we do what we’re supposed to?”
That made Sanji falter.
He swallowed hard. “If you keep talking like this… I won’t be able to pretend anymore.”
Zoro studied him, quiet. “I’m not asking you to pretend.”
Sanji’s mouth went dry. He opened it, then closed it, searching for something—anything—to say. Words failed him. The room felt smaller, heavier, every heartbeat loud in his ears. He wanted to look away, to run, to shove the tension down, but he couldn’t.
“You shouldn’t have come here.” Sanji closed his eyes. If he kept looking at the swordsman, he might do something stupid.
After a long, heavy silence, Zoro’s voice cut through. Low. Sharp. “Do you really want me to go?”
Sanji froze. His chest tightened. That edge in Zoro’s voice—it wasn’t anger, not really. It was something else, something foreign and dangerous, and it made his stomach twist again. He looked everywhere but Zoro’s face, desperate to ignore the intensity of the moment.
Nothing explicit had been said. And yet, for them, it was already meaning a lot.
“Sanji,” Zoro’s voice was softer now, patient but firm. “Look at me.”
Sanji shook his head stubbornly,
Zoro sighed, long and quiet, and reached out. He gently took Sanji’s chin between his fingers, tilting his face so that he had no choice but to meet those green eyes.
“I said—do you really want me to go?”
Sanji’s heart raced.The room felt impossibly small, the air thick and heavy, as if it were pressing down on him from all sides. Every instinct screamed at him to step back, to look away, to hide—to run—but he couldn’t. Couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. He could only meet Zoro’s gaze, feel the intensity of it pressing against him like a tide he couldn’t fight.
And then, exhaustion hit him—not just the fatigue from the past days, but a deep, aching weariness of the soul. Tired of running, tired of pretending, tired of locking every feeling away like a cell in his chest. Tired of fighting a battle he could no longer win against himself.
So he stopped.
He let his walls crumble, just a little. He let himself feel the fear, the panic, the relief, the anger—all the chaos he had buried—without shame, without excuses. The storm inside him had nowhere to go but out, and he let it.
“…Don’t leave,” he whispered, barely audible, almost to himself, but enough for Zoro to hear.
The words trembled, fragile, like glass, but they carried everything he had been holding back: the terror of almost losing him, the guilt of not being able to control it, the desperate need for him to stay.
Zoro’s eyes flickered for a fraction of a second, just enough for Sanji to see it. Something soft, almost imperceptible, passed through the green.
“Good,” Zoro said finally, voice low, steady. “Then I’ll stay.”
Sanji’s chest felt tight, like it might burst. He could only nod, once, stiffly, like that would suffice.
Zoro took another small step closer, his presence pressing in, warm and insistent, like gravity pulling Sanji off balance. Then he reached up, slowly, and brushed a stray lock of hair from Sanji’s face.
Sanji’s knees threatened to buckle. His mind raced, every part of him screaming.
This isn’t real. He can’t be here. This is not happening. It's all in my mind He's not here.
And yet, here he was.
Sanji took a shaky step closer. He leaned forward just slightly, letting himself be seen—not as the fearless cook, not as the arrogant rival, but as a man who had been scared out of his mind and had finally stopped pretending he wasn’t.
“Yeah… good,” he muttered, almost to himself, voice trembling.
And then—light, almost impossibly gentle—Zoro’s lips brushed against his. A tentative, featherlight touch that lingered just long enough to make Sanji’s heart hammer, panic and desire crashing together in a storm he couldn’t control. His hands trembled, hovering uncertainly near Zoro, torn between pushing him away and pulling him closer. The rational part of his mind screamed stop, don’t do this, he’s still fragile, but every instinct, every buried, unspoken feeling, defied it
The swordsman didn’t pull back. Instead, he pressed fully against Sanji. The touch was no longer tentative—it was insistent, claiming, as if he had been holding back all his frustration, fear, and whatever fragile tenderness he had for far too long.
Something inside Sanji gave way. He leaned in, hands trembling, gripping Zoro’s shoulders with a desperation that surprised even him. All the walls he had built, all the control he had clung to, crumbled. The panic, the terror of losing him, the helplessness—it all spilled over, raw and overwhelming.
Zoro’s hands found Sanji’s waist, steadying him, holding him close. The grip was firm but grounding, an unspoken promise: I’m here. I won’t leave.
The kiss deepened, evolving into something heavier. Each movement, each press of lips against lips, was a confession in itself—raw, urgent, and irrevocable.
Pulling back just slightly, gasping, Sanji pushed at Zoro’s chest with shaking hands, trying to regain a fragment of control. “I will… hurt you if you keep this up,” he warned, voice low, trembling with a mix of fear and desire.
Zoro smirked against him, the corner of his mouth tugging in that rare, infuriating way. “Like you could,” he muttered, voice rough, teasing, and somehow perfectly calm in contrast to Sanji’s chaos.
Sanji groaned, pressing his forehead against Zoro’s, exhaling shakily. “Damn it… you’re impossible,” he muttered.
Zoro’s hands tightened slightly on Sanji’s waist, not in force but in grounding support, as if saying without words: I’m not going anywhere. I’ve got you.
The kiss deepened again, slower this time, not desperate, but deliberate—a silent conversation neither had dared to voice until now. Sanji let himself melt into it, letting go of every bit of restraint, every bit of fear, and for the first time, allowed himself to be utterly, completely present with Zoro.
After few minutes of kissing, they finally parted, barely an inch between them, Sanji’s chest rose and fell with ragged breaths. His hand lingered on Zoro’s shoulder, fingers brushing the firm muscle beneath, grounding himself in reality—and in the fact that Zoro was really there, really alive, and really not going anywhere.
They stayed like that for a while, just breathing, hands resting lightly on each other, shoulders relaxed, the silence comfortable and unbroken. The world outside seemed to disappear, leaving just the two of them in that quiet bubble.
After a long moment, Sanji let out a small, muffled laugh against Zoro’s chest. “I—uh… didn’t think it would… feel like this,” he whispered, voice weak but tinged with relief.
Zoro let out a low, almost amused groan.
Sanji shook his head, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Damn it, Mosshead…”
Zoro gave the faintest, rare smile in response, but it was genuine. “Yeah?”
Sanji eventually pulled back just slightly, resting a hand on Zoro’s shoulder. “How did you know?”
Zoro looked at him for a long moment, eyebrows knitting together as if he was searching for the right words. He didn’t answer right away. His gaze drifted for a second, unfocused, before returning to Sanji—softer now, quieter. And that look alone made something warm bloom in Sanji’s chest.
He still had trouble understanding all of this. Trouble accepting that this was real. That Zoro was here. Awake. Looking at him like that.
“I heard you,” Zoro said finally, voice low. “When I was lying in bed.” He paused, jaw tightening slightly. “I heard you crying.”
Sanji froze. His fingers twitched against Zoro’s shoulder. For a split second, he considered laughing it off, turning it into a joke, pretending it hadn’t happened.
“…Shit,” he breathed instead.
“I wasn’t fully awake,” Zoro went on. “In and out. But I heard you that time. Not everything. But I heard enough.” He hesitated, then added quietly, “You never cry. Not like that.”
Sanji let out a shaky breath, looking away again, embarrassed. “Tch. Guess I really was a mess.”
Zoro shook his head. “I’m not complaining.”
“Don’t get used to it,” Sanji said weakly. “Wasn’t exactly… my proudest moment.”
Zoro’s lips twitched. “I’m glad you did. I’m glad I heard you… » he hesitated before adding : “Because then I knew that I had a chance.”
That made Sanji glance back at him, surprised. Zoro was serious. Completely.
“Since when…?” Sanji started, but the words caught in his throat. He didn’t finish the question. He didn’t need to.
Zoro understood anyway.
“For a while now,” he replied simply.
Sanji frowned, disbelief flashing across his face. “Then why didn’t you say anything? I— I couldn’t tell. At all.”
He shook his head slightly, still struggling to process it. Sanji had spent years believing Zoro hated him just as much as he hated (at least thought he hated) the swordsman. That their rivalry was real. Mutual. Permanent.
Zoro snorted softly, but there was no amusement in it. “Can you blame me?” he said. “You never gave me a chance. Not even one. All we ever did was fight. Trade insults. Throw punches.”
His jaw tightened slightly. “You only ever had eyes for women. You never looked at me. Not like that.”
The words hit harder than Sanji expected. Like a punch straight to the gut.
He felt his chest tighten, guilt creeping in now that the fog had cleared. He’d always seen Zoro as unshakable—brutal, distant, someone who didn’t care about anything beyond his swords, his fights, and his next drink. Someone who didn’t care enough to feel things deeply.
He’d been wrong.
So wrong.
“…I didn’t know,” Sanji murmured. “I really didn’t.”
Zoro studied him for a long moment, then nodded once.
“I know,” he said softly. “But now you do.”
“I…” Sanji swallowed, his chest tightening. “I’m sorry.”
Zoro didn’t interrupt.
“I’m sorry it took you almost dying for me to realize…” His voice dropped, raw and quiet. “That I don’t hate you.”
Zoro watched him closely, expression unreadable for a moment. Then, slowly, he kissed Sanji’s lips. A light peck, nothing more.
They stayed looking, finally looking, at each other for a while. But suddenly, Zoro shifted slightly, a faint wince crossing his face before he could hide it. It was subtle—but Sanji noticed immediately.
“Tch… don’t even think about pretending you’re fine,” Sanji muttered. “You should be resting.”
Zoro let out a quiet huff. “I am resting.”
“Standing in the middle of my room after almost dying doesn’t count as resting,” Sanji shot back, though his tone lacked its usual bite.
Zoro smirked faintly, still holding his gaze, but made no move to argue.
Sanji sighed, rubbing his temple. “Idiot…” Then, quieter, almost reluctant: “Come on.”
He guided Zoro toward the bed, one hand firm at his back. Zoro hesitated when he realized.
“Your bed?” he asked.
Sanji shrugged, trying to sound casual. “Yeah. You’re not walking back in that state, and I’m not carrying you again. So this is easier.”
Zoro studied him for a second, then nodded. “Alright.”
Sanji helped him sit, then hesitated himself, hovering awkwardly. After a moment, he cleared his throat.
“Move over.”
Zoro raised an eyebrow but obeyed, shifting to give him space. Sanji lay down beside him, careful not to jostle his injuries. They faced the ceiling, shoulders barely touching—but the contact was there. Real. Warm.
“Don’t get weird ideas,” he muttered. “You’re just… recovering.”
Zoro smirked faintly. “Sure.”
Minutes passed. Zoro’s breathing evened out, slow and steady. Sanji turned his head slightly, watching him—alive, warm, real.
But this time, when he closed his eyes, there was no blood.
No silence.
No fear.
Just green eyes, steady and alive.
“Tch…” he whispered. “Guess I really am the idiot.”
The next morning, everything looked the same.
The crew laughed.
Luffy asked for food.
Zoro complained.
Sanji insulted him back.
“You’re still an asshole,” Sanji said, lighting a cigarette.
Zoro smirked. “Yeah.”
But when their gazes crossed for just a second longer than usual—when Zoro didn’t look away, and Sanji didn’t either—they both knew.
Nothing was the same anymore.
And maybe… that okay.
Thanks for reading !!
This is my first time writing a Zosan, and my first time posting in here so let me know if you enjoyed it !