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The sea is quiet.
Too quiet.
The Thousand Sunny drifts under a bruised purple sky, the aftermath of battle still lingering in the air like smoke. Splintered wood. Torn sails. The metallic scent of blood.
Most of the crew passed out the moment the danger was gone.
But the kitchen light is still on.
And so is the argument.
“You absolute brainless, self-destructive idiot.”
“Keep yelling, cook. Maybe the sea kings didn’t hear you the first time.”
Sanji slams a bottle of antiseptic onto the counter hard enough to rattle the knives. His tie hangs loose around his neck, sleeves rolled, hair damp from sweat and seawater. There’s a thin cut across his cheek he hasn’t bothered treating.
Across from him stands Roronoa Zoro, shirt torn open, chest streaked with drying blood, three fresh bandages wrapped tight around his ribs. He’s leaning casually against the counter like he didn’t almost die an hour ago.
Sanji wants to hit him.
Instead, he grabs a clean cloth and steps forward.
“You could’ve waited,” Sanji snaps. “You didn’t have to take that hit alone.”
Zoro shrugs.
It’s small. Controlled.
It still looks wrong.
“You were busy,” Zoro says.
“With what?”
“Protecting the others.”
Sanji’s jaw tightens.
“And what, you’re not included in that?”
Zoro meets his eyes then. Steady. Calm. Infuriating.
“I don’t need protecting.”
The cloth presses into the wound a little harder than necessary.
Zoro sucks in a breath.
Sanji notices.
His hand stills.
For half a second, the anger fractures.
“You scared me,” Sanji says, and it’s not loud anymore.
Zoro blinks.
That wasn’t supposed to come out.
Sanji huffs, looking away like he can shove the words back in. “You went down. You didn’t get up. For a minute I thought...”
He cuts himself off.
Zoro studies him quietly.
He remembers it.
The impact. The crack of bone. The taste of iron in his mouth. The way the sky blurred.
And the only clear thing he recalls before blacking out,
Sanji’s voice.
Not yelling.
Panicking.
Zoro straightens slowly.
Sanji moves closer again to rewrap the bandage, fingers sliding across scarred skin. Focused. Careful.
Too careful.
“You’re shaking,” Zoro says.
“I am not.”
“You are.”
Sanji’s hands tighten reflexively at his sides.
“You don’t get to point that out,” he mutters. “You’re the one who keeps trying to get yourself killed.”
Zoro exhales through his nose. “Wasn’t planning on dying.”
“Great. Next time maybe plan harder.”
Silence falls again.
But this one feels different.
Thicker.
Sanji finishes securing the bandage and steps back.
Zoro doesn’t move.
They’re close enough that he can feel the heat of him.
Sanji smells like smoke and citrus and salt. Zoro smells like steel and sweat and something uniquely him.
Zoro had decided something when he hit the deck earlier.
When he thought, just for a flicker, that this might be it.
He was tired of leaving things unsaid.
He was tired of pretending.
And if he was going to die one day, he wasn’t going to do it wondering.
Sanji turns to put the supplies away.
Zoro catches his wrist.
Not hard.
Just enough.
Sanji freezes.
“What,” he says, but the bite is weaker now.
Zoro’s grip shifts from wrist to hand. Rough fingers sliding over calloused knuckles.
“You were scared,” Zoro says quietly.
Sanji doesn’t look at him.
“For five seconds,” he answers. “Then I was pissed.”
Zoro huffs a soft laugh.
“Liar.”
Sanji’s head snaps up.
Their faces are too close.
There’s something electric in the air now. Charged.
“You think I care that much about you?” Sanji says.
Zoro steps forward.
Sanji doesn’t step back.
“I know you do.”
It’s not smug.
It’s not teasing.
It’s certain.
And that certainty cracks something open.
Sanji’s breath falters.
Zoro’s thumb brushes the inside of his wrist, slow.
“I was gonna do something stupid tonight,” Zoro admits, voice lower now.
Sanji’s pulse jumps under his fingers.
“More stupid than usual?”
“Yeah.”
Zoro leans in just enough that their foreheads nearly touch.
“I was gonna kiss you.”
There.
It hangs between them.
Heavy. Real.
Sanji’s eyes widen just a fraction.
Zoro’s heart pounds once. Twice.
He’s going to do it.
He’s going to close the distance.
He..
Sanji moves first.
He grabs Zoro by the collar and slams their mouths together.
It’s not hesitant.
It’s not gentle.
It’s furious relief and fear and months of tension snapping in half.
Zoro makes a low, startled sound before responding instantly, hands sliding to Sanji’s waist, pulling him closer despite the flare of pain in his ribs.
Sanji kisses like he fights.
Sharp. Controlled. Intense.
He bites Zoro’s lower lip, not enough to hurt, just enough to claim.
Zoro answers by backing him into the counter.
Metal clatters behind them.
Sanji’s hands slide into Zoro’s hair, gripping.
They break apart only long enough to breathe.
“You were too slow,” Sanji murmurs against his mouth.
Zoro smirks faintly. “Wasn’t.”
“Yeah?” Sanji challenges softly.
Zoro kisses him again.
Slower this time.
Deeper.
One hand moves up to cup the back of Sanji’s neck. The other settles at his hip.
Sanji shudders.
It’s different now.
Not just heat.
Something else.
Zoro pulls back just enough to look at him.
“I thought I wasn’t getting up,” he says quietly.
Sanji’s expression shifts instantly.
“Don’t.”
“I did,” Zoro continues. “And the only thing I could think about was you.”
Sanji’s breath catches.
“You idiot,” he whispers.
Zoro leans his forehead against his.
“I don’t wanna leave things unsaid.”
Sanji stares at him.
Then softer, barely above a breath:
“You won’t.”
Zoro’s thumb brushes under his jaw.
“Then say it.”
Sanji swallows.
“I..” He exhales sharply. “I care about you. More than I should. More than makes sense.”
Zoro smiles faintly.
“Good.”
Sanji’s eyes narrow. “That’s your response?”
Zoro shrugs slightly. “I care about you too.”
Sanji stares at him.
“You absolute..”
Zoro kisses him again to shut him up.
This time it’s not rushed.
It’s deep and slow and deliberate.
Sanji melts into it, fingers tightening in Zoro’s shirt.
Zoro’s hands wander lower, thumbs hooking briefly at his waistband before sliding back up his sides, memorizing.
Sanji’s breath turns uneven.
“Your ribs,” he murmurs between kisses.
“Still there.”
Sanji huffs softly against his mouth.
“Come here,” he says instead.
He takes Zoro’s hand and leads him out of the kitchen.
The hallway is quiet. Dark.
Their footsteps are soft against the wood.
Sanji’s room door closes with a quiet click.
The rest of the night is warmth and skin and whispered confessions in the dark.
Not rushed.
Not frantic.
Just hands exploring slowly. Lips learning. Foreheads pressed together.
Zoro tracing the curve of Sanji’s waist like he’s committing it to memory.
Sanji pressing careful kisses along Zoro’s scars like they’re something precious instead of broken.
At some point, words dissolve.
And later,
Much later,
They fall asleep tangled together.
Morning light spills gold across the room.
Zoro wakes first.
He doesn’t move.
Sanji is curled against his side, one arm draped over his chest, hair messy and warm against his shoulder.
Zoro stares at the ceiling for a long moment.
Then down at him.
He adjusts slightly, careful of his ribs.
Sanji stirs.
“Mosshead,” he mumbles sleepily.
Zoro’s lips twitch.
“Cook.”
Sanji blinks awake slowly.
There’s a moment of stillness.
Then awareness.
Then something softer.
“You’re still here,” Sanji says quietly.
“Yeah.”
Sanji hums faintly and shifts closer.
Zoro hesitates.
Then wraps an arm around him fully.
They stay like that.
No rush.
No arguing.
Just quiet breathing and sunlight and the steady rock of the ship.
Eventually,
“Breakfast,” Sanji sighs reluctantly.
Zoro smirks. “Crew’ll get suspicious.”
Sanji pulls back, already slipping the mask back on. “If you say anything,”
“I won’t.”
They get dressed in comfortable silence.
When they step onto the deck, the crew is already awake.
Usopp squints at them.
“Why do you both look weird?”
“They always look weird,” Nami says without looking up.
Sanji lights a cigarette smoothly. “Breakfast will be ready in ten.”
Zoro heads toward his usual training spot.
They don’t look at each other.
Not once.
But when Zoro passes by,
Their hands brush.
Just briefly.
Intentional.
And later, when no one’s looking,
Sanji sets down a plate beside him.
Extra protein.
Zoro doesn’t comment.
He just eats it.
And their eyes meet for half a second longer than usual.
Everything normal.
Nothing normal at all.