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“ Ain't you pissed, cook?”
“Hm? What are you talking about? Did the mold from your hair finally get to your brain too? Why would I be pissed?”
“Well, your hand got injured. And that'll probably scar.”
“I don't follow. You're asking me if I'm pissed about a stupid cut?”
“Ye. You injured your hand. Your ‘most precious tools’. And you're smoking like a chimney. Also, you’re drinking. So something’s wrong.”
Sanji burst out laughing. “THAT'S GOLD. No, I'm not pissed, Marimo. I’m fine. Seriously.”
“Then what's with the whiskey and chain you got going on here?” Zoro pointed to the ashtray with the rising pile of dust growing atop it and the half-touched glass filled with whiskey. He wasn't wrong per se. Sanji had been smoking since dinner started – about two hours ago – but he’d only been sipping at the drink for an hour.
“Food's running low. Nami says it'll be about two weeks until we reach the next island – maybe more – and at the rate we're eating, stock's gonna run out in a week and a half.” Sanji sighed, tugging at the roots of his hair. “Just trying to figure it out.”
“Just lock Luffy in the crow’s nest or something.”
“That would end with a hangry captain, broken mast, pissed shipwright, and zero food. Thanks for the suggestion, but I'll find something, don't worry your pretty mossy head about it.”
“Fuck off,” Zoro said with no real heat behind the words. “So you're really not annoyed? I assumed you'd be a lot more angry.”
“Let me show you something.” Sanji held out his hand. “Take it.”
“This isn't some scam, is it?” Zoro arched an eyebrow and side-eyed Sanji’s hand carefully.
“Ughh, no, it's not not. Now take my hand.”
Zoro took Sanji's hand, feeling the temperature difference between them. Where Zoro's was warm, Sanji’s was cold and stiff, like the cold had already set in deep in his bones.
“What am I supposed to be doing here?” Zoro deadpanned out. The interaction was strangely quiet between them, one of the few moments they were peaceful, simply existing around the other in pure, comfortable silence.
Sanji turned his hand ever so slightly, revealing a small scar at the base of his palm. “See that? I got that one from when I was peeling potatoes and the knife slipped.” Zoro traced over it with his thumb. “And that one?” Sanji turned his hand once again, twisting his arm to show Zoro the side of his hand. “That one’s from a broken cup. It broke and I was, what? Nine? And nobody was around, so I tried to clean it up by myself. But nobody told me the glass was sharp. Pretty sure there’s still fragments under the skin.” Sanji smiled fondly despite recounting the times he injured himself. On his hands, nonetheless.
“Why’re you telling me this?”
“To show I’m not angry. I have a bunch more scars on my hands, but I don’t care. I like them.”
“But aren’t…?” Zoro was confused. Sanji was always the one saying that he would never fight with his hands to avoid damaging them.
“...They my greatest asset in the kitchen? Yeah, but I like the scars because I didn’t get them as a fighter, I got them as a chef. Every single chef in the world has stupid things like these. I wouldn’t be one without them.”
Zoro kept tracing the faint scar that travelled over the cook’s hand. “So you really don’t care?”
“Nope.” Sanji left his hand there. He didn’t know why, but Zoro’s hand trailing over it wasn’t bad. The feeling it left behind was actually pleasant, a sort of care that he hadn’t felt since he first got the injury. And even then, Zoro’s touch was gentler, light as a feather. “I’ve got a way worse one from the kitchen.”
“Really? Lemme see.”
“It’s so bad, though. And it’s under my shirt,” Sanji whined.
“Don’t care. Show me.”
“But what if people see???”
“We’re on a boat in the middle of the ocean and it’s the middle of the night, curls. We’re the only two people awake. Come on, make night watch a little less boring. I’ll show you my worst one if you do.”
“That’s not fair, I’ve already seen yours, since you walk around like a fucking neanderthal. But fine. I’ll play along.” Sanji removed his hand from Zoro’s, feeling the absence immediately.
“Whoa, you really must’ve had your fair share of cigarettes and booze if you’re doing it without beating my ass.” Zoro crossed his arms as he watched Sanji, tracking every movement, studying him.
“Fuck off.” Sanji wanted to give him the finger, but his hands were currently too busy with the buttons of his shirt to be able to.
“How many cigs, cook?”
“Like… 12.”
“Seas, you’re gonna be the first to die, aren’t you? Not from a fight but from some stupid lung cancer. I feel bad for Chopper.”
Sanji completely removed his shirt and tie, leaving his torso bare under the non-existent moonlight from the new cycle. Zoro took in the scene. Sanji’s skin, pearly alabaster, completely bare of any layers or coats. He rarely got to see the man’s forearms, and now, in the dead of night, he got a full view.
“Like what you see, mosshead?”
Zoro snapped his mind back to the present and his eyes back to Sanji’s. “Just making sure it’s still skin you have underneath those suits and not just bones like Brook.” Sanji rolled his eyes. “Now what is it?”
Sanji lifted his left arm above his head, exposing his side further. “See for yourself.”
Zoro reached out again, barely skimming over the skin of Sanji’s scar. It was gnarly and healed wrong, from something burning through the surface of his entire side. “How’d you get it?”
“Cleaning duty one night. Was about to sieve our frying oil to make sure there weren’t chunks of food swimming in it. I ended up dropping the searing hot oil, and it spilled all over me.”
“It looks so painful. I don’t know how I never noticed it, it’s huge.” Zoro kept tracing, keeping his touches feather-light. He didn’t question why Sanji was letting him do this, letting him be so… domestic.
“It’s ‘cause you’re a blind idiot who can’t tell his left from his right.”
No retort.
“Does it still hurt?”
“Hm?” Sanji hummed from out of his small spell made by smoke and spirits.
Zoro shrugged off his coat to show Sanji his own. The giant slash that made itself at home bisecting his chest. Mihawk’s blade had hurt, but the shame that came with it hurt more. “Mine still hurts every now and then. Mostly in fights. Does yours?”
“Not really. I got it when I was young, so I got used to it. But it’ll ache sometimes when I think about it. What about that one?” Sanji dropped his arm from the side of his head, and brought up his right hand to cup Zoro’s face. “You said you’d show me your worst one, but I was there for it. Tell me about this one.” Sanji’s thumb skimmed over the line that shut Zoro’s eye permanently. It was clean, almost intentional, a sword strike that got too close.
“Unimportant.” Despite having leaned into Sanji’s hand, Zoro still refused. Sanji’s heart panged a bit at that, the fact that Zoro refused to talk about it with anyone, but he understood the intent behind it. Not to hurt anyone else, but to keep focused on the future – not the past. To Zoro, the scars were something to remind him, to keep pushing him to be stronger, but never something to dwell on.
“Then can I at least see some other scars of yours?” Sanji’s fingers chimed Zoro’s earrings together and let them ring while running his thumb across Zoro’s cheek. The sound faded out quickly, hidden behind the sound of the ocean lapping at the Sunny’s keel.
It was a nice moment. Quiet.
“If you insist,” Zoro chuckled out before lifting his head and stretching his neck to the sky. “Look under the left side of my chin. You’ll see it.”
Sanji dropped his hand from the side of Zoro’s head and followed the line of his jaw with his index finger. Sure enough, there was a small mark, a nick where something had broken through.
“How’d you get it?”
Their voices weren’t much louder than a breathy whisper now. Both were too much cowards to break the compliance between them.
“I fell. Stupid injury, I know. I was maybe 5 years old. My friend knocked me over while we were wrestling outside and ended up hitting my chin on the rock. I cried like a baby until she told me to get over it.” Sanji skimmed the nick under his chin, his finger going back and forth from top to bottom. It was mindless, driven only by the night.
“That’s funny, never thought you’d be one to admit defeat.” Sanji took the smallest step forward, an unconscious movement. He leaned his arm onto the railing of the Sunny. “Did your mom kiss it to make you feel better?”
“Nah, I’m an orphan, barely remember my parents.”
Sanji mumbled a sorry before continuing. “So one’s ever taken the pain away with a kiss?”
“No. Never.” Zoro’s breath hitched as Sanji leaned in, breath and lips ghosting over his neck. It was barely a kiss. It meant nothing. “You’re drunk.”
“I’m tipsy. There’s a difference,” Sanji murmured into Zoro’s neck. It was warm despite the night. Sanji kept pushing how far the line went, how long Zoro would let him keep going. “‘m still sober.”
Their positions were precarious: both were shirtless and entirely too close for the label of friendship to apply; Sanji’s face was buried in Zoro’s neck, while Zoro’s hand still lingered on Sanji’s burn.
“You’ll regret this,” Zoro said as a warning with no real intent. He could make this whole thing stop right now. He didn’t want to.
“And how might you know?” Sanji nuzzled in closer still, the gap between them growing nonexistent. Heat radiated off of Zoro’s body and sent goosebumps up Sanji’s arm. He should stop now. End this whole thing before letting it start. But he’s a pirate and an asshole, so he’ll be damned if he followed what should be done.
Zoro didn’t say anything. He didn’t pull away or move his hand, either. All he did was stand there, still, save for the fingers that followed the patch of skin healed wrong underneath the gap of Sanji’s arm. It was a sort of silent permission. He was giving Sanji that choice.
Seconds stretched out, time slowing down, as Sanji continued to breathe into his neck. At some point, they had drifted closer to each other, chests pressing together. Sanji pressed his lips against Zoro’s jaw again. It wasn’t a lot. A small pressure, not long or intense, but there nonetheless.
Zoro leaned his head back down once Sanji let go. He knocked his forehead against Sanji’s, both of them leaning on the other. Familiarity struck through Zoro. This was the same way they fought, heads clashing, but now the context was different: Zoro’s nose brushed against Sanji’s and no foul words were being thrown around. Tame. Gentle.
“I’m telling you, you’re gonna regret this.”
“I won’t.” Sanji’s gaze dropped to Zoro’s lips, with something hidden behind it. Not lust, not desire. A simple want and care. “Because you don’t know how long I’ve waited for this.”
Zoro brought his other arm around to hold Sanji by the waist. He pulled him in as close as he could. The distance between their lips closed, and the world was reduced to just that moment. The Sunny, the crew, the night watch. It all faded away until it was just the two of them.
Sanji hadn’t felt like this in a while. Calm. Happy. Maybe it was the buzz of alcohol running through his veins, but he didn’t care. Life with the Straw Hats was fun and chaotic, and the nice moments of peace were odd, if not lacking nowadays. Zoro’s embrace was grounding, like an anchor.
The kiss wasn’t deep, just enough for it to mean something.
They parted for air, but the distance became a chasm. Zoro moved first, leaning down into Sanji’s neck and leaving small pecks that trailed down around his collar. “What are you doing? That tickles.”
“You have more scars than me, curls.” The nickname bloomed a warmth deep in Sanji’s core. Sure, it was meant to be an insult, but it lost its meaning somewhere along their journey.
“And what does that mean, mossy?”
“That you need a couple more kisses to make it go away.” Oh. Zoro was following the lightning strike that had nestled into Sanji’s veins, which marked him from head to toe.
“Who knew the great Demon of the East could be so nice?”
“Fuck off,” Zoro said gently into Sanji’s shoulder. He left more presses across Sanji’s shoulder, some longer and some shorter, careful not to leave any lasting hickeys. The lightning strike from Skypiea was violent, a million volts that would’ve killed Usopp if Sanji hadn’t jumped in suicidally. Now all there was to remember that was the bursts of scar tissue on his skin.
Sanji brought up Zoro’s head and pulled him into a proper kiss. Sanji’s tongue brushed up against Zoro’s lip, asking for something deeper. Zoro opened up and let the moment happen. Their hands pulled against one another, fingers clawing on backs and running down stomachs. The night was cold, and yet Sanji was perfectly warm and content, groaning into Zoro’s mouth while playing with his earrings and hair.
The rhythm was slow, careful. It could’ve been minutes or hours they spent getting lost in themselves. Zoro carded through Sanji’s hair with one of his hands, feeling the silk-like texture beneath his fingers, while the other still held him flush against him by the waist.
Sanji shivered when Zoro touched the small of his back. He broke the kiss and pushed away.
“Fuck, are you okay? Knew you were gonna regret this,” Zoro said, concerned. His eyes were blown wide, lips full, and hair messy. Sanji looked back at him, watching the confusion get painted on his face. He had to fix it.
“No, no, no. It’s not… It’s not that. I– You touched my scar. That one’s sensitive. Sorry. I got surprised.”
“What scar do you have back there?” Zoro was heavily confused. As far as he remembered, Sanji’s back was as clean as his.
“Drum Island. Broke my back, remember?” Sanji turned around, showing Zoro the line where Dr. Kureha had operated on him. “It’s usually fine, but if I don’t expect it, I flinch.”
“I forgot about that. Seems so long ago, strange to think that it’s only been two years.” Zoro walked over to Sanji again. “Can I?” His hand hovered over the thin surgical line that took up the lower portion of his back.
Sanji felt the warmth dancing above him. “Yeah, it’s fine. I was just caught off-guard, that’s all.”
“Then you’re a shitty night watch person.” Zoro said, light, well-meaning. His fingers ran down the curve, outlining it in its entirety. “Why you’d even sign up tonight? Thought we’d all agreed that you wouldn’t take watches.”
“I dunno. Felt like it, I guess.” Sanji tensed up at the contact, but his shoulders released quickly once the tracing became a constant rhythm. “Robin’s also been really tired this week, so I thought she could get some more rest.”
They sat in a comfortable silence after that. There were a thousand things to talk about, but they could wait. The night didn’t demand it. Sanji’s skin prickled after Zoro’s faint touches, and his mind was fuddled from the weight of whiskey and warmth.
“Hey Zoro?” Sanji pulled away, not flinching or running, just slowly ebbing away from Zoro’s hand. He turned around to face Zoro properly, face to face. “Thanks.”
Zoro noted the use of his real name, not “marimo” or “mosshead”. Just Zoro. The sound felt strange coming from Sanji’s lips. “What for? I’ve been sitting here the whole time, didn’t do shit.”
Sanji bent down to pick up the discarded shirt on the floor, placing his fingers under Zoro’s chin on his way back up. He let the fondest smile take over his face. The action reassured Zoro, making sure he knew that this whole night wasn’t a one time thing – the feelings were real.
“I know what I’m gonna do now.”