Archive of Our Own

( zoro )
- How he writes my name

Falling to a gentle rhythm, the evening rain hums a quiet, tranquil song. Peals of thunder rumbles faintly in the distance. The rainfall's serene melody melts harrowing tension out of Zoro's bones, and alleviates the ache of indigo bruises from a fight against the Marines. His breathing slows down to a relaxed pace where he savors every lungful of air. Like the singing hiss from sharpening swords and kitchen knives, Zoro finds solace in the hushed rain.

Temptation lures Zoro to doze off. But there's something even more enticing than sleep that ensnares him to stay awake. Warm amber lamplight reflects off a silver pen tip, thin rays refracting like illuminated threads. As the pen whispers soft scratches across the page, black ink glides over the pale ochre landscape. Zoro's eyes follow the path of grandly swooping lines, and blink as lowercase i's are precisely dotted.

Sitting close to each other, Zoro watches Sanji write in the journal. Sanji's prolific nature of documenting cooking recipes, research and thoughts already fills half of the pages. Under the pool of lamplight, dusty reddish tones of the brown leather cover stands out even more.

When Zoro gets lost during their last supply run, he discovers this handmade journal in a bookstore. Even just by a glance, Zoro sees the profound care and heart put into crafting the journal. Zoro gives it to Sanji as a surprise gift, and laughs as he's bombarded with kisses in return.

In the endless carousel of memories, Zoro sees those ceruleans soften. Sanji runs his fingers down the smooth leather, then opens the journal to caress a page. It's with the same reverence of Sanji feeling kitchen knives after Zoro sharpens them exactly to the cook's liking, or Sanji tracing Zoro's scars while sharing a quiet night in the crow's nest.

"Do you remember this one?" Sanji taps where the ink dries into cursive 'espresso panna cotta' followed by detailed notes about the taste, ingredients, texture, presentation and more. He begins drawing a simple sketch of the dessert. "How was it?"

"Really fucking good." Humming, Zoro leans against his partner. "Yeah, I liked it a lot."

Zoro revels in the familiarity of faint nicotine smoke, and crisp ocean breeze clinging onto Sanji's pinstripe shirt. Underneath the white and cornflower blue fabric is the most comforting scent that Zoro can only describe as home.

"It was my first time having espresso-" Zoro's eyes flicker from the sketch to the dessert's name, "--panna cotta. Nice how it wasn't too sweet."

"Mmm, I see." Smiling to himself, Sanji jots down more notes, including Zoro's earnest feedback of 'really fucking good' in sophisticated cursive. "We'll need to get espresso some time. High-quality, of course." He draws a criss-crossing star beside 'panna cotta', then keeps writing some more.

Perhaps it's the sound of the rain, or Sanji's warmth that relaxes Zoro. Closing his eyes, Zoro leans his head against the cook's shoulder. His cheek rests upon the curve leading towards Sanji's neck, a glimpse of burgundy marks climbing out from the loosened shirt collar. Zoro nuzzles him with languid affection. Warmth stirs inside of Zoro's chest at how Sanji shifts his shoulder slightly, so it's more comfortable for the swordsman.

Exhaling slowly, Zoro relaxes so much that even his filter melts away. "I love your handwriting."

The pen freezes at the end of drawing a horizontal line through a 't'. Sanji lifts the silver point before the ink blots. "You do?" The curve of his amused smile brushes over Zoro's hair.

Nodding, Zoro lifts his head off Sanji's shoulder. Even while Zoro keeps his eyes on the page, he sees Sanji's fond gaze from his peripheral. Zoro tries fighting the wave of hot scarlet dusting across his face.

Whether it's a flash of impulsive madness, or a little bit of bravery, Zoro asks, "Can you write my name?"

Sanji's eyes widen. As if spring arrives early, something warm and pure blooms inside of his chest like a field of wildflowers. Even after getting together, it's rare for Zoro to ask anything from Sanji. At most, Zoro will ask to spar, although that's less in the shape of words, and more in the form of Zoro already drawing out his swords. But Zoro doesn't ask for help with treating his wounds, even though Sanji will always do it. And Zoro hardly asks Sanji to make a specific dish, whereas rest of the crew never hesitates to share their requests.

Of all things Zoro can ask for, it's Sanji writing his name.

Sanji's heart seizes with unbridled joy. Light floods his veins, pouring all the way down to his fingertips. His face already aches from a beaming smile.

"Roronora Zoro," Sanji murmurs to himself with a slow, contemplative breath.

Even just the waterfall of syllables cascading off the tip of his tongue feels delightful. His heart swells even more. Sanji adores how the name suits Zoro perfectly-- he's a man known for his lethal expertise and sharp gaze, yet his full name is shaped with soft, melodic vowels. His name mirrors his unexpected, gentle nature that catches people close to him off guard, then puts them at ease with tenderness.

It's the kind of quiet compassion that shows when Zoro asks Usopp to share stories about his mother, so her memory stays alive. Or Zoro drinking with Nami on nights when she wrestles with the failures, shame, rage and heartbreak of her turbulent past. Or Zoro initiating hugs with Luffy, especially on days when Luffy is a little quieter from missing loved ones.

Sanji knows the depth of Zoro's kindness better than anyone. Zoro wakes Sanji from night terrors, and holds him close, but never pries into what haunts the man. Not once does Sanji ever feel pressured to share his scarred history with Zoro as a bid for affection. Zoro's care and love are always freely given whether it's tending to Sanji's wounds after a battle, or holding his hand in public.

"I know I call you every moss-related thing under the sun, but I must admit--" With a soft, dreamy sigh, Sanji dips the pen in black ink. "I love your name. It's going to be beautiful to write."

Turning to a crisp new page, Sanji muses about the rolling crest waves of the lowercase letters. Perhaps he'll give bit of a flourish to the R. He can envision the Z's sharp elegance, and the third stroke sweeping under the following o.

Zoro's heart drums wildly in his chest. With keen, eager eyes, Zoro watches Sanji take the silver pen tip to the blank page. The pen dances across the page with a soft, melodious hush.

The light in Zoro's eyes gleam brighter with every curve and line that Sanji creates. It's nothing like how Zoro writes his name. His handwriting mimics the act of slicing and slashing with his sword aggressively. Fast, angry, feral slashes. All caps. Even the O's are slanted diamonds that can suddenly jump off the page, and bite someone's arm.

"There! All done!" Sanji smiles after writing the last 'o'. Setting the pen aside, Sanji passes the journal over to his partner, and taps a finger upon the page. He reads out loud, "Roronora Zoro" as if it's the most magnificent, beloved name in existence.

Hesitation flickers across Zoro's face. He never thinks twice about diving into a fight even with the odds against him, or crashing through a six-story window for an impromptu escape route. Violence, grief, metal shrapnel, blood-- a lifetime of battle marks Zoro's roughly scarred hands. After shoving his arms into the blazing fire endlessly, Zoro believes he only deserves fistfuls of broken glass.

And yet with Sanji, Zoro yearns to hold something precious, lovely, good-- like Sanji's hands. During the days of excruciatingly intense pining, Zoro gazes at Sanji's hands in silent admiration. Those skillful hands conquer any kitchen, effortlessly wielding an array of knives with finesse, artistry and beauty. Strong and soft, dangerous and elegant. Sanji's hands are always protected and taken care of.

But Zoro catches glimpses of ancient scars. Fractured spiderwebs spill down his arms, climbing over knuckles. These old scars only show when the light catches upon them at a certain angle. But fabric buries the lines, explosions, abstract shapes of rising scar tissue. Although they already shared many moments of heated intimacy, there are still nights when Sanji holds his breath as Zoro undresses him.

Zoro wants to know the story behind those scars. Not to sate his own morbid curiosity. But Zoro's well-versed enough in the language of violence to know scars from battle, sparring and training versus scars from...something else. Something cruel and heinous. Something so profoundly painful that it hurts to speak of. Zoro wants to know who the fuck hurt Sanji, so he can make sure it never happens again.

But Zoro waits. He witnesses firsthand the subtle signs of veiled distress whenever Sanji's history is lightly touched upon. Tense shoulders. Hand running through blonde hair, fingers scratching behind his neck. Laughter that hits out of tune, sharp notes. Zoro can wait for Sanji to share his past when he's ready. And even if he never does, Zoro won't love him any less for it. Sanji doesn't need to reopen old wounds to prove anything.

When Zoro receives the journal, his fingers caress over the back Sanji's of hand. Zoro's breath hitches like the first time their fingers brush outside of sparring or a battle. There's a spark. It catches flame, bringing to life a roaring hearth that warms Zoro from the inside out.

"Wow--" Zoro exhales breathlessly. Eyes full of quiet wonder, he gazes at the swooping lines and curves of inked cursive flowing across the page. "It's like I'm seeing my name for the first time." Zoro breathes in slowly, his ribs aching from struggling to hold in all this overwhelming love. "Thank you, Sanji."

Zoro stares at the written letters.

Sanji stares at Zoro.

A deep, simmering ache resonates within Sanji's chest as his heart swells too vastly. 'Beautiful,' whispers inside of Sanji's mind while taking in the sight of this man. Lamplight cascades down the side of Zoro's face, waterfalling into the curve of his neck and shoulder, and reflecting off gold earrings. In those warm gray eyes is the same reverence Zoro shows while cleaning his blades, or when he looks up at halcyon sunlight pouring between forest leaves.

Most people mistake Zoro for being apathetic, devoid of emotion, cynical, or all the above. Zoro doesn't purposefully try coming off that way. But he grows to wear that persona like armor. Easier to let people think he's a bloodthirsty, tough brute with nothing on his mind, but spilling blood. Easier to let people think he's heartless.

But Sanji doesn't know anyone like Zoro who feels so deeply. This epiphany dawns on Sanji the first time he cooks for Zoro, and it's only the two of them in the galley. Zoro doesn't just scarf down food. He takes his time eating, so he can experience the full depth of texture, flavor, and whatever else goes on his mind while truly enjoying the food. Never has Sanji felt more seen, more vulnerable.

Or so he thinks until the night when they're alone in the crow's nest, and Zoro kisses nearly invisible scars on his hand. Or that late afternoon while Zoro checks on Sanji's injuries he dressed earlier, making sure that Sanji's healing well. Or that moment before daybreak as Zoro tucks blonde strands behind Sanji's ear, the touch so unbearably heartfelt.

"Actually--" Sanji reaches for the dip pen again. "There's one more thing I want to write for you."

Curious, Zoro places the journal back down on the desk. After seeing the first few letters that Sanji writes, Zoro inhales sharply. Muscles grow taut as Zoro exercises all willpower to control himself. The moment Sanji's done writing, Zoro grasps the side of his partner's face, and surges in fiercely for a kiss. Sanji's warm, bright laughter melts between colliding lips.

As shadows pass over the page like birds taking flight, lamplight shines upon Sanji's written words.

Roronora Zoro
I love you

( sanji )
- Always fixes my tie perfectly
- But doesn't know how to tie his own tie???
- The way he looks in a suit

"Hey, cook. Can you help me?"

"Oh, my. What's this?" Quirking a brow, Sanji grins. "Is Mossy asking me for help--"

Sanji's brain short-circuits. Catastrophically combusts. Every neuron collapses. Then suddenly flares back to life as his mind goes haywire with wantwantwant.

Sharp, refined lines that draw a stunning silhouette. A mesmerizing contour. Midnight blazer jacket fitted perfectly to emphasize broad shoulders and a strong torso, leading down to a neatly trimmed waist. Button-up shirt that matches the dark jacket, but has a smooth, subtle sheen of deep navy. Even the slacks are tailored just right to accent his legs.

For the first time, Sanji sees Zoro wearing a formal suit.

"Uhm..." Zoro rubs the back of his neck. Uncertainty flickers inside once seeing how Sanji falls eerily still and silent. "Does it look bad?"

"Bad?" Shaking his head, Sanji return to his senses. "No, darling. This is much worse." His eyes narrow into an intense stare. "You look terribly, atrociously, dangerously handsome." Sanji runs a hand down the front of Zoro's shirt, utterly shameless as he feels the sculpted abs underneath. "Too sexy, too fucking hot." As his palm glides around to Zoro's side, Sanji's eyes darken at the nuanced shiver under his touch. "How dare you, Roronora Zoro--" Sanji jabs an accusing finger at Zoro's heart. "What am I supposed to do with this? Who said you can be this bloody attractive?"

"Fuck." Burning scarlet, Zoro runs a hand through his hair. He lets out a flustered laugh, and looks away as shyness overwhelms him. "Goddamn, I can't even--" Drawing in a shaky breath, Zoro's eyes return to Sanji. He basks in the praise, and being devoured alive by Sanji's intense, hungry stare. But old reflexes kick in as Zoro struggles to accept the compliment. "It's just clothes."

"Yes, it's just clothes on anyone else. But on you, it's..." Sanji lets the insatiable glint in his eyes, and deep rumbling purr fill in the blanks. He smirks at how Zoro's face darkens another shade of red. "So, my dear beloved mossy--" Sanji's fingers drum an arpeggio upon the suit jacket lapel. "What do you need help with?"

Zoro holds out a black necktie. "Can you tie this for me? It's complicated as fuck."

"Of course, love." Sanji takes the necktie, and unfolds it to full length. "Wait-" Blinking, Sanji stares at the tie. "But you fix my tie all the time. And you're amazing at it."

These days, Sanji doesn't need to do his own necktie, since Zoro always takes care of it. Sometimes, they're heatedly debating throughout the entire exchange. Zoro might play unfair by tugging Sanji closer after finishing the knot, and kissing him in the middle of the cook's counterargument. But Sanji never truly minds as long as he gets another kiss. Or two. Or five.

"You can't do your own tie?" There isn't any mockery or judgement in Sanji's voice. Only genuine confusion.

Suddenly, Zoro's intrigued by his sleeve cuff. "Learnedhowtodoitforyou."

Sanji stares. Slowly, an endeared smile emerges. 'Fuck, he's cute.' Sanji fights the urge to ambush Zoro with kisses. Maybe wind the necktie around Zoro's wrists instead of his neck, and ravish him senseless.

With a terrible attempt at playing innocent, Sanji tilts his head. "You did what?"

"I fucking learned it for you, goddamnit!" Zoro barks, eyes flaring up.

"Oh-" Sanji lets out a startled laugh. "Oh, my gosh, marimo!" As more laughter spills out, Sanji leans against Zoro, so he doesn't keel over. Once catching his breath, Sanji looks at the man with glittering blue eyes. He touches that blushstained cheek. "You're so precious."

Zoro swears he's going to go up in flames with how much the blush scorches. "Damnit, cook. You gonna do my tie or not-"

Zoro's voice is cut off by the smooth, sultry hiss of silk. Holding his breath, Zoro stands still as Sanji slides the necktie into place.

Sanji can finish a tie within mere seconds. Yet tonight, he indulges by taking his time. Sanji would do his own ties during his time at The Baratie out of muscle memory. But for his partner, Sanji gives utmost care and meticulous attention like when dressing a gourmet plate. His eyes never stray. Every moment draws out with simmering intimacy. While adjusting the shirt collar, the back of Sanji's fingers trace along that sharp jawline. 

Zoro forgets how to breathe. It already takes a great deal of courage for him to ask Sanji for help with this. Not because he's too prideful. But he fucking loathes burdening anyone else with his shortcomings. Zoro assumes Sanji will get this done and over with in a few seconds. But Zoro feels raw with vulnerability like the first time they shower together, cleaning off traces of red. Or nights when Sanji paints the inside of Zoro's thighs with maroon marks and searing praise. Zoro's body is wired to receive violence. But Sanji unravels him with tenderness, reminding Zoro that he's more than just a weapon.

With deft fingers, Sanji finishes the necktie perfectly. "Beautiful," he says with his eyes on Zoro.

Sanji loops his hand around the necktie, then tugs Zoro closer until their mouths crash in a sweet kiss. Zoro blushes fiercely. He's so fucking weak for how Sanji makes him swoon into oblivion.

As amusement laces his purr, Sanji remarks, "Now I see why you love kissing me this way."

Zoro wraps an arm around Sanji's waist, and pulls him closer again. "Can you blame me? You look hot as fuck with a tie." He presses their lips together. When Sanji's tongue flickers across his lower lip, Zoro lets out a deep groan, and squeezes his partner's hip. "Sanji," he half-warns, half-pleads.

"I know, love." Sanji relents as he reluctantly leans back. "Don't worry, I'll be on my best behavior. But--" Smiling coyly, he drapes his arms over Zoro's shoulders. "Soon as we get this undercover mission over with, I'm going to help you take this tie off." His fingers trace the sharp line of Zoro's jacket lapel. "And everything else, of course."

Ducking his head, Zoro laughs under his breath. His heart feels overwhelmingly full with how Sanji wants him. And damn right, Zoro wants Sanji too.

Raising his eyes, Zoro grins. "You're such a charmer."

Sanji takes Zoro's hand, and starts leading the way. Over his shoulder, Sanji throws out a wink. "Only for you, marimo."

( zoro )
- Doesn't shame me for grief, depression

A gun aiming point blank range at his heart. The blur of a swiftly approaching uppercut. A knife mere seconds away from stabbing his abdomen.

Zoro knows how to evade, block and counterattack against violent threats. He trains his entire life to hone his mind, body and spirit to be a weapon and shield.

But today, there isn't any gun, clenched fist, or knife. There are only clear blue skies, the dazzling sun, and an achingly vicious, hollow void carving out Zoro's chest.

Without warning or mercy, this black hole ruptures the center of Zoro's torso, and freezes the warmth out of everything. Tremendously heavy ribs, and drowning lungs collapse into a sinkhole. He can't breathe. A trapdoor swings open. Grief drains all color. Sadness murders hunger. Venomous, quiet self-loathing runs bone deep.

It hurts to look at the sun, see how gloriously bright it shines today, and struggle to find reasons to justify his existence.

'Here we go again.' Zoro heaves a sigh breaking at the seams with exhaustion. The gravity of grief rips relentlessly at each muscle. For a man who can climb a mountain while carrying colossal cargo, or fight Marines in a bar without even drawing a single blade, Zoro struggles to scrape up the energy to inhale while lying in bed.

Shame skins him alive. How dare Zoro be so fucking weak, and keep losing against whatever's going on in his mind. He never thinks less of anyone for wrestling with depression, anxiety, trauma, or any other battles. But Zoro can't lose to this. If he's going to be the world's greatest swordsman, he can't let imaginary enemies defeat him. How will the Strawhats still trust him? How will Sanji still love him?

"You should go out with the others." Zoro's voice grates rough and ragged, brushing over soft blonde hair. "Like y'know-- have fun with them at the festival."

While Zoro keeps an arm around Sanji, parasitic guilt gnashes at the swordsman's insides. Zoro holds onto Sanji tighter. Something from the depths of invisible wounds hiss and snarl about Zoro being too weak, too selfish, too needy.

Turning his head, Zoro sees a glimpse of the port from the slight space where curtains don't meet. It's one of those times when the crew gets lodging in a town. Sanji and Zoro even have their own room. As nightfall approaches, ultramarine skies darken into deep shades of shadowy indigo. But there's still a cluster of colorful, glowing lights as the festival comes to life. Zoro doesn't remember what holiday this festival is meant for, but the whole town's determined to party until sunrise.

Rest of the Strawhats are already celebrating. Sanji should be out there too. Not trapped here with Zoro, and his uninvited guest that has too many names. Sometimes it goes by depression. Or grief. Or trauma. Every time, this guest overstays its welcome.

Zoro squeezes his grasp on Sanji's side, traps a breath inside withering lungs, then loosens the embrace as he exhales. "If you head out now, you can still catch up with them."

"But I like this bed." Purring, Sanji stretches like a content, smitten feline who found the perfect spot to relax. "It's not like the-" In a sudden fit of laughter that shakes his body, Sanji can barely get the words out. "The- the quicksand one-- y'know, at that last inn-" Sanji's laugh muffles as he rolls towards Zoro, and buries his face against his partner's shoulder.

The corner of Zoro's mouth twitches with the hint of a smile. Of course, the couple was grateful to have a room once arriving at that town. But the moment Zoro and Sanji laid down on the bed, they realized the mattress was soft. Too soft. As if not a single spring existed in the mattress. Even laying on sand would have more firmness. It had them both breaking out into hysterics.

Fighting a grin, Zoro drags a hand down his face. "Can't believe we tried to fuck on that bed."

"I'm sure if we got a little more creative, we could've made it work," Sanji muses playfully, gliding a finger down Zoro's chest.

Zoro raises a brow, and looks over at his partner. "You didn't like fucking on the floor?"

"Silly marimo, I never said that." With a coy smirk, Sanji lightly pecks the side of Zoro's face.

A blush surfaces on Zoro's cheek, and spreads to the rest of his face. Zoro stares at Sanji, taking in the sight of his laidback smile, and the graceful sweep of bangs that show a glimpse of his usually hidden eye.

He's so fucking beautiful, and I don't deserve him.

Another wound rips open inside of Zoro. Poorly done sutures break apart one by one.

Like how it hurts to see the sun, sometimes it hurts to see Sanji.

When Zoro was younger, he used to feel too much of everything. It grow cataclysmic after he loses Kuina. Mild irritation exploding into rage, clenched fists striking trees, baring fangs, swears dripping venom. Every emotion cranks up to max. A flicker of sadness spirals into drowning on land, sobs in the lonely dark, stop crying, stop fucking crying, why are you still crying?

The boy desperately seeks ways to turn off the engine, to induce numbness, to cut out his heart. What the fuck are emotions good for? How does feeling everything help his dream of being the world's greatest swordsman?

But as Zoro gets older, it's all too easy not to feel. Zoro doesn't know how or when his emotions switched off. But once his heart shuts down, he doesn't see any practical reason to turn it back on ever again.

Rationally, he recognizes how dangerous this brand of numbness can be. Zoro doesn't flinch when a blade swerves too close to his cheek, or a bullet nearly grazes his arm. This numbness is dangerous, cannibalistic, eating away at him from the inside out.

But Zoro only exists for a dream that doubles as a promise to a lost best friend. He just needs to survive long enough to achieve that dream. It doesn't matter if he destroys himself along the way.

So, it's easier not to feel.

Until Sanji.

Sanji who makes Zoro suddenly feel too much of everything. Sanji who brings Zoro's heart back to life by stealing it. Sanji who gives Zoro a reason to break all his rules, and it's the best damned thing to ever happen to him.

Exhaling slowly, Zoro looks back at that sliver of space between the muted gray curtains. The festival lights burn even brighter. "Sanji, I'm okay. You don't need to stay here."

If Zoro says this enough times, maybe Sanji will finally get fed up, and leave. Yes, they're in love. Yes, they're in a relationship. But no, Sanji isn't responsible for Zoro's bad days. Sanji shouldn't be trapped with Zoro when the depression, the grief, the trauma, whatever fuck else you want to call this shackles Zoro. Sanji shouldn't stay. Sanji shouldn't waste his love on Zoro-

Sanji slips out of the embrace.

Zoro's heart crashes through the mattress, the floorboards, the ground. But Zoro forces himself to be stoic, so he doesn't make Sanji feel bad for leaving.

"Oh, marimo--"

Zoro braces himself. He can take a bullet, a knife, a fist to the chest. But he can't defend himself against what he imagines Sanji will say someday: 'I love you, Zoro, I really do, but this is too much for me. It's not going to work out between us. I'm sorry-'

"You'll have to fight me."

Zoro blinks. "What? Fight y-"

Zoro inhales sharply as Sanji pins the swordsman on his back. It's all one seamless, fluid motion as Sanji slides his leg over Zoro's other side, and straddles him. Natural, sublime grace with power that doesn't need to prove itself. Zoro's mind reels from vertigo. He can't ever get over how Sanji moves so lethally fast like a lithe wildcat, then cradles his heart with compassionate hands.

"You'll have to fight me if you want me to leave." Sanji rests his palm on Zoro's chest, claiming that wild heartbeat. Defiance burns fiercely in his intense, unwavering blue gaze. "And I promise, I'm not going to lose."

Stunned, Zoro stares in bewildered silence. As tears slowly burn Zoro's eyes, his blurring sight melts lines and shapes. But he still desperately holds onto the vibrance of those breathtaking ocean hues.

"It's not just me you're fighting." Zoro's voice cracks with shame bleeding through the fractures. He covers his eyes with his forearm, clenching his fist at the scalding burn of tears. "I'm sorry."

Darkness lasts only for a moment before Sanji grasps Zoro wrist, and gently draws his arm away. Their gazes reunite. Zoro's chest throbs at how he can't find the slightest hint of exasperation in Sanji's eyes. No judgement. No agitation. Not even a flicker of anything bad. 

There's only love.

"You never have to apologize for this. It's not your fault." Softly, Sanji presses their lips together. "I'm staying, Zoro. Because I want to."

Something inside of Zoro cracks open a little wider. Instead of blistering pain and terror rushing into the gap, something warm, kind and soothing floods in. Reaching out, Zoro grasps the back of Sanji's head, fingers curling into those silken strands.

"Thank you, Sanji. For everything." Zoro brushes a kiss across Sanji's lips, then gives him another one that melts deeper. "I love you. Fuck-" He wraps his arms around the man, and holds him tightly. "Love you so fucking much."

"I love you too." Sanji guides Zoro's face into the safe space of his neck and shoulder. "Always."

Closing his eyes, Zoro lets Sanji holds him in the protective embrace. There's so much he wants to apologize for. Like still not fixing himself, no matter how hard he's been trying. Or staining Sanji's shirt with tears. But Sanji only holds Zoro tighter, murmuring promises of I'm never leaving you, I love you, I'm yours. Zoro can't get rid of this grief overnight. Maybe it'll always be the unwanted guest living in the decaying corner of his tired, scarred heart.

But Sanji's here with him now. And he'll be here tomorrow. And the next day. Not out of obligation. But always out of love. Zoro grasps at the back of Sanji's shirt, whispering, Thank you for staying.

( sanji )
- Galley slowdance

"Oh!" Eyes widening, Sanji jolts with a sharp inhale. The plate almost slips from his fingers, but instinctive reflexes keep it safely in his grasp.

"What?" Zoro's on the verge of drawing out his blades. Fuck it, he'll even use the butter knife he's halfway through drying. Zoro scans the galley to see any hint of a threat. "What's going on?" All the time Zoro's known Sanji, the cook never loses grasp on any dishware or cutlery. Not even a single fork slips from his steadfast fingers.

"No, no, marimo, it's okay." Chuckling, Sanji safely sets the plate away in the cabinet, and closes his eyes. Slowly, he lets out a measured breath. "Do you hear that?" A smile blooms across his face.

Zoro blinks. It's not only the raucous mayhem of a busy, lively port they hear from the galley. There's a grand flourishing of strings with rich, brilliant sunbursts of a golden melody. Throughout the evening, there's been all kinds of music playing.

But this is the first piece that makes Sanji sigh. It's the kind of soft, dreamy sigh that Zoro hears when Sanji shares glimpses of his childhood. The heartwarming vignettes that Sanji shares often revolve around his mother.

"Is this a composer that your mother liked?" While thoroughly drying another plate, Zoro admires Sanji from the corner of his eye.

Eyes widening with startled delight, Sanji lights up. "Yes!" Bangs cascade in a gentle blonde wave as Sanji looks down at the sink, and lets out a sheepish laugh. "I can't believe you remembered. Thought I was just talking your ear off at the bar that night."

With gentle care that contrasts his rough hands, Zoro wipes down another glass. "You're my favorite person to listen to."

That solar flare ache grows tenfold within Sanji's rib cage. He shares only the kinder memories of his childhood with Zoro. Only happy stories. The good times. All scarce, but Sanji feels each of them so deeply that he can talk about every crumb of rare joy for hours. Because in those memories, his mother is still alive.

But Sanji will never forget the cruelty, terror and malice that poisons the rest of his past. Countless times, his father vehemently hisses keep silent, be invisible, you do not matter, you are nothing. Even after Sanji leaves that part of his life behind, there's moments when his father's ruthless voice plays on loop.

When Sanji rambles away excitedly to the Strawhats, town merchants, barkeepers, anyone-- his father will snarl, bark, spit venom. You are a parasite. You are a mistake. You are inconveniencing everyone with your existence. In the middle of talking, Sanji will suddenly change the subject, pass the verbal baton to someone else, or make an excuse to end the conversation. He talked too much. He shouldn't waste people's time. He should leave. He should disappear.

But under the warm amber lights of that bar, Zoro never takes his eyes off Sanji. He doesn't feign interest while thinking about something else. He doesn't hum and nod on auto-pilot. Zoro listens attentively, gaze softening when Sanji shares how his mother taught him how to read music, chuckling at Sanji's anecdotes about early cooking disasters, and resting a hand on his shoulder when Sanji's voice breaks while struggling to recall if the center jewel of his mother's favorite pendant was sapphire or amethyst.

Zoro listens with such profound care that he remembers everything. Sometimes, Zoro even remembers better than Sanji. It eases Sanji's terror and heartbreak about forgetting his mother, because he doesn't need to remember everything on his own anymore.

"Well, Mossy--" Sanji chuckles, trying to cover up how his voice wavers at the edges. His love for Zoro grows so overwhelming at times that it hurts to breathe. But it's an ache that Sanji embraces. "You're my favorite person to talk to."

Inhaling deeply, Sanji busies himself by finishing up the last silverware, and wiping down the counters. The music outside begins to swell again, flooding into the galley. Sanji doesn't remember the name of this orchestral piece. But when Sanji grasps the counter's edge, and closes his eyes, he can see his mother's finger tracing notes inked across sheet music. She sings along softly to the vinyl playing in the background.

Zoro's gaze never drifts away from Sanji. He dries his hands, then reaches for Sanji to pull him closer. The sudden rush of motion takes Sanji off guard, eyes snapping open with a gasp.

"Marimo!" Sanji's surprise scatters into bright laughter like dappled forest light. Blonde strands sweep over his eye, highlights burnishing white gold. "What're you doing?"

"Honestly, I have no fucking clue." Zoro circles his arm around Sanji's waist, and keeps their chest pressed flush. "Never slow danced with anyone before. Or danced at all." The corner of his mouth pulls up into a grin. "Felt like tonight's a good time to start."

Sanji stares with incredulous joy. He used to pride himself in being the best romantic in all the seas. But Sanji's fantasies about love never compare to what Zoro gives him. Smiling, Sanji leans more against Zoro, and wraps his arms around those strong, broad shoulders.

"Same," Sanji whispers near Zoro's ear. "You're my first." He presses a soft kiss on his cheek. "My only."

Heart against heart, chest to chest, they let the music carry them. Shadows glide across the walls. But the couple discovers that they're better fighters than dancers when they bump into the counter. Sanji's in the midst of laughing when Zoro lifts him by his thighs, seats him on the counter, and surges in for a kiss. The heaviness in Sanji's heart lifts until love renders him breathless. 

As his voice caresses across gold earrings, Sanji whispers, "You're spoiling me."

"Good." Zoro kisses the corner of Sanji's smile, under his jaw, over the hummingbird pulse in his neck. "Because I want to give you everything."

( zoro )
- Wears my shirt to bed

Early morning rays of sepia and goldenrod paint over the room in broad strokes. With a deep inhale, Zoro slowly stirs awake, and opens his eyes to half-mast. He blearily blinks until the gorgeous chaos of blonde locks take up most of his vision. Everything in sight burns soft gold.

Breathing steadily while still asleep, Sanji rests his head on the swordsman's chest. Waves of light cascade over silken gold hair, and brightly burnish the tips, so the strands glow pure white.

Despite the lingering drowsiness blanketing over Zoro, nothing can dampen his amazement. His breath hitches. Wonder and admiration harshly slam into Zoro's bones like the first time he sees daylight play with Sanji's hair. Zoro recalls how the light strikingly brings out the vivid ceruleans of Sanji's eyes. Those blues shine almost neon in contrast with the vast, clear skies hovering above.

If Zoro does this only once, maybe it can go by unnoticed. But he can't help himself especially when they're on the deck together. Zoro gets so caught up with just staring that Sanji mistakes it as Zoro being unreasonably passive-aggressive. Sanji throws out a sharp what?, which only provokes Zoro to volley back a rougher what? until they're trading swears and attacks.

It riles up Sanji how Zoro can't hold back his feral grin as they fight. Neither can Sanji. The sharpness of Sanji's exhilarated smile thrills Zoro. Sanji pins Zoro down, and laughs breathlessly, the light catching upon windswept blonde strands, his eyes so brilliant and alive--

Zoro thinks, He's beautiful.

But watching Sanji from afar burns Zoro's heart. The lows in Zoro's time of pining floods with excruciating anguish. Yearning mutates into a ceaselessly throbbing wound that Zoro has no idea how to suture. Shapeshifting uncertainty melts the ground into anxious quicksand. Parasitic insecurity whispers how can someone like him love someone like you? Thorns of self-loathing scratch at inner rib cage walls, digging deeper into infected gashes.

But when Zoro catches a glimpse of Sanji's genuine smile, or even gets a carefree laugh out of him, Zoro falls for him even more. Zoro hasn't seen the whole world yet. But Zoro already knows nothing across all the seas will make him feel so fucking alive like Sanji.

With a languid hum, Sanji stretches on the bed, then nuzzles Zoro's neck with warm affection. A light kiss brushes over the cluster of ruby hickeys, his lips touching a few wildflowers that darkened into a lovely deep maroon. Sanji already lays half on top of Zoro with an arm draped over his chest, and a leg thrown over his waist. But that doesn't stop Sanji from curling up closer, and burrowing into Zoro's warmth. From the way Sanji deeply inhales, and caresses the swordsman's side, Zoro knows his partner is beginning to wake up.

Zoro chuckles fondly. "Really?" Sleep roughens his voice into a deeper octave, but nothing can bury the warm notes of endearment. "Already gonna be this cute in the morning?"

Sanji melts at the baritone of Zoro's chuckle reverberating within his chest. Head still resting over Zoro's heart, Sanji adores the trembling vibrations of joy.

"Mmmmm-- no," Sanji mumbles sleepily against Zoro's collarbone. Softly, he presses a kiss on the sublime line of that clavicle. "I'm not cute."

Zoro huffs out a quiet laugh. "Says the man who's affectionate even while half-asleep." His fingers run through soft blonde strands, gently tucking a lock behind Sanji's ear.

Blue eyes flickering up, Sanji tilts his face towards his partner. "Should I stop?"

"No way." Zoro traces callused fingers along the curve of Sanji's ear. Gaze warming, Zoro cradles the side of his face, and guides his partner closer for a kiss. "Can't fucking get enough of you." His thumb caresses across that light red cheek.

The sound of Zoro's voice scatters dozens of rippling sparks across Sanji's body. Sanji melts even more into a happy, pliant mess. From the moment of their first encounter, Zoro's voice enthralls Sanji. Most people hear just a flat, deadpan monotone with hardly any hint of emotion. But Sanji adores the subtle changes in Zoro's cadence, the quiet confidence, the way a soft exhale under his breath speaks more volume than a loud, boisterous speech or raging, vehement tirade.

With a smitten hum, Sanji's about to indulge by nuzzling his partner some more. But he yelps when Zoro suddenly flips him over. "Marimo!"

Sanji's elated laughter muffles as Zoro pins him on his back. It would be easy for Sanji to break free, pin Zoro down, or retaliate in a number of different ways. Just because Sanji's still rousing from sleep doesn't mean he forgot how to unravel Zoro.

His memories from the other night are vivid as ever-- Sanji taking Zoro apart thread by thread, drawing out a symphony of splendidly wanton sounds, wrecking him into ruins. Sanji's shamelessly insatiable about overwhelming Zoro with pleasure, and discovering new ways of encouraging him to beg.

But Sanji relents once feeling Zoro's deeply satisfied purr rumbling across his chest. During mornings like these, Sanji adores how Zoro takes on the nature of a relaxed, content house cat. There's a rare softness that only Sanji gets to witness. An ache throbs inside his rib cage at Zoro trusting him both on the battlefield while fighting back to back, and behind clothes doors while holding each other.

Something that sounds like a confused "wait, what-" stifles against Sanji's chest. Before Sanji can ask what's wrong, Zoro leans up. He brackets Sanji's head with his forearms, then stares at the man's chest.

"Is this...?" Brows knitting together, Zoro tilts his head to the side. His stare grows more puzzled by the second. "Is this my shirt?"

"What?" Sanji follows Zoro's line of sight down to his own torso. "Oh." Faint rose dusts over his cheeks, darkening by shade with every passing moment. Sanji would very much like for the bed to split open and swallow him right now. "Yes, it's yours."

Blues wavering, Sanji looks anywhere and everywhere except at his partner. The panicked stare flickers around like an alarmed bird fluttering inside a glass cage. Avoiding eye contact does nothing to stop the crimson scorching down his neck.

"I was--" Sanji nervously gnaws on his lower lip. "I don't know, I was feeling kind of-..." Fingers trace along the shirt collar once slowly, then twice longingly. "I was restless last night, so I borrowed it."

While Zoro was out late yesterday, Sanji's mind spontaneously falls back into self-sabotage, and slams the detonator on explosives sewn into his organs. Poisonous thorns and briers mercilessly tear apart his chest into carnage. Molten lava pours through his veins, so that he burns alive from the inside.

It's maddening, even shameful. Because it's one of those times when Sanji doesn't even know what he's anxious about. He just is.

Burying his face into Zoro's pillow, and losing himself in that comforting scent will usually calm him down. Sanji tries that. Even gets close to smothering himself. But that corrosive mess of dreadful apprehension keeps mutating inside his rib cage. He runs his hand through his hair repeatedly, just so he can scrape his palm across his face, and remind himself there's no metal, no helmet, he isn't locked away.

Delirious and desperate, Sanji slides into one of Zoro's shirts. It's a simple, ordinary black shirt that softens over time from wear. Something about wearing Zoro's shirt douses the wildfire eating away at Sanji. His breathing evens out. The malicious storm in his chest quells into calm waters. He's safe.

Finally, Sanji can sleep.

It must've been dark when Zoro slips into bed, so he doesn't see what Sanji's wearing. All Sanji remembers is the solid, cherished warmth of Zoro's chest against his back, and strong arms protectively holding him.

"Sorry, I should've asked first," Sanji mumbles while gently tugging at the shirt hem. "I can take it off-"

Zoro catches Sanji's hand. "Keep it." In slow strokes, his thumb brushes across the rise and fall of knuckles. "Looks better on you anyways." Zoro leans closer to trail a kiss over Sanji's collarbone, then glides a stream of words up his neck. "You can always wear anything of mine."

Warmth unfurls inside of Sanji's chest. Maybe it isn't a big deal for most people if their significant other lets them wear their clothes. But for Sanji who so badly craves belonging to Zoro, this feeds that enormous yearning.

In the past, Sanji's a dirty secret to be hidden six feet under, a convenience, a placeholder, an experiment, a warm body to throw outside before sunrise, a passing fancy.

But Zoro never mistreats Sanji. Zoro doesn't even tentatively ease into their relationship. From the moment they get together, Zoro refers to Sanji as 'my partner.' He asks a local shopkeeper, "What other kitchen knives do you have? My partner needs another one." He growls savagely at the Marines, "Don't you dare fucking touch my partner." And Zoro makes it clear as day he means it romantically, because he holds Sanji's hand through market stalls, or pulls Sanji in for a kiss after slashing down a dozen enemies.

"I'm gonna steal all your clothes now. Thank you, mossy." Sanji leans closer to lightly kiss Zoro's cheek, right over where he knows that precious smile dimple will emerge. "I love you."

Zoro's face aches from the smile. Turning his head, he presses their lips together. "Love you too." He echoes those words by scattering light, small kisses down the beloved path of Sanji's jaw, neck and shoulder. "I'm hungry."

While playing with evergreen strands, Sanji mentally goes through the galley. "Anything you want for breakfast?"

Zoro swipes his tongue across a hickey. "You."

"Marimo!" Sanji gasps, eyes wide and face burning. He's about to make a scandalized remark. But his heart stutters to a halt once Zoro's laughing shyly, and trying to hide a blush.

It's maddening how Zoro is so earnest with his want and adoration for Sanji. Zoro claims he doesn't know how to flirt or seduce, but unfailingly charms Sanji beyond belief. Sanji strives to be a well-composed gentleman. But he's on the brink of going feral when Zoro is sweet like this.

"Well, my dearest mossy--" As a Cheshire smile curves coyly, Sanji stretches his arms above his head. "We still have some time before I need to be in the galley."

Sanji's shirt rides up just enough to reveal a glimpse of skin. Hints of rouge love bites spill over the curve of Sanji's hips, and trickle down into the waistband. Slowly, indulgently, Sanji glides his leg up Zoro's side. The pace is deliberately slow, so Sanji can savor the rippling of Zoro's muscles as the swordsman lets out a shuddering breath. Sanji's smile grows at how Zoro closes his eyes, clearly trying to exercise self-control.

But Sanji doesn't want self-control. He wants Zoro untamed, free, vulnerable, real, pouring out all his wants, claiming every part of Sanji, branding him with love. Even Sanji's eye obscured by bangs shows flashes of ultramarine darkening with desire.

Smiling sharply, Sanji grasps the back of Zoro's neck. "Show me how hungry you are."

Sanji's heart sings when Zoro attacks his throat savagely, lovingly.

( sanji )
- First to give me flowers
- Knows my favorite flowers

"Oh, fuck--" Rough words escape with wisps of smoke rising into the air, silver pirouettes spinning higher until fading away. "Is he lost? How in the world could he get lost?" Sharply, Sanji flicks dying embers and pale ashes off the cigarette's glowing end. "There's no way he'd take this long. Damnit, he must've gotten lost." Heaving a frustrated sigh, Sanji raises the half-charred cigarette to his pensive frown.

Sanji's pacing. Sanji's swearing. Sanji's imagining worst-case scenarios. None of them involve Zoro succumbing to being ambushed, kidnapped, or attacked until he's bloodied and bruised.

All of the scenarios involve Zoro beating the daylights out of enemies. Which may very well lead to a fleet of outraged Marines, or a crew of bloodthirsty pirates to storm after the Strawhats. It's happened few times in the past. Zoro has an ongoing track record for riling up strangers, especially violent and heavily armed strangers.

"C'mon, marimo." Sighing again, Sanji crosses his arms upon the ship's railing, and gazes out to the distance. Concern wells in his eyes as he searches for even the slightest glimpse of evergreen. "Where are you?"

Despite Sanji playfully teasing Zoro's affinity for getting lost, Sanji never sincerely gets mad at him for it. Not everyone can be good at everything. Such as how Sanji lacks self-control once discovering another marvelous kitchen knife in the market. Sanji will passionately insist that he needs that knife for his collection, even if he has more than enough knives for the galley to be an armory.

This volcanic frustration dangerously careens towards the verge of exploding into panic. Guilt ruthlessly bites at Sanji's arms. Zoro volunteers to go on a last few errands at this new port. Meanwhile Sanji stays on the ship to unload and organize goods from today's supply run. He debates on going to look for Zoro. But what if Zoro makes it back while Sanji's away? Then Zoro will just go looking for Sanji, and they'll be searching for each other in circles.

Fuck it. Zoro can provoke every Marine, pirate, thug, criminal, rowdy bar guest in the world, and bring them here. Sanji will fight them off. He just wants his partner back.

Sanji and rest of the crew knows that Zoro can handle himself. But Sanji's heart twists into a tangled web while thinking something bad might happen to Zoro, and Sanji isn't there with him.

Just when Sanji's about to race down the gangplank, and search for the swordsman, he sees that stunning green. An overwhelming tsunami wave of relief crashes into Sanji.

"Zoro!" Sanji lights up. His overjoyed shout startles a flock of nearby seagulls into abrupt flight. Raising a hand in the air, Sanji waves excitedly. "Goodness, mossy! Did you get lost again-"

As Zoro walks onto the deck, Sanji's beaming smile falters, and he jolts to a sudden halt. Shock douses Sanji with glacier water. Chaotic rips and tears scatter across Zoro's disheveled clothes. Luckily, there aren't any bloodstains, or signs of injury. But Zoro looks like he walked through a raging hurricane, then climbed out of a crater. There's even something like dusty charcoal smudging across a cheekbone.

And cradled in Zoro's arms is an abundant bouquet of magnificent, proud delphiniums.

Starclusters of blue petals climb up and down the tall stems. Like lapis lazuli, there's such astonishing vibrancy and rich depth to the azure flowers. Under the late hour of afternoon light, an enchanting air surrounds the delphiniums with how they glow so brightly. Touching those flowers may stain fingers with vibrant blue ink, since every petal drips with saturated color.

Before the cigarette slips from his frozen hand, Sanji's instincts flare to life, and he puts out the stub. Smoking is the furthest thing from his mind.

"Oh, fuck--" No way can Sanji hold a cigarette properly right now when tremors shake his hands. Even his rib bones rattle around as his heart threatens to implode. "Zoro!"

The elated outcry of Zoro's name breaks into breathless laughter. Sanji rushes towards the man, and reaches out to cup the side of his face. The mere touch of Sanji's hand softens those gray eyes with warmth. Like the ocean wave answering the beckoning moon, Zoro leans closer, and meets Sanji halfway in the kiss. A soft sigh melts between reuniting lips.

Smiling into the kiss, Zoro circles his other arm around the cook's waist. He draws Sanji closer while being careful with the floral bouquet. Even once the kiss breaks, Zoro presses a lighter kiss on Sanji's cheek. His lips dwell for a moment longer just to feel that dimple as Sanji smiles.

"I know it took a while, but--" Zoro passes the flowers over to Sanji. "I made it back."

The lovely flowers. That signature smirk. While Sanji cradles the precious flowers to his chest, his ecstatically singing heart refuses to fall silent. Petals tremble from his wildly rampant heartbeat. Never in his life has Sanji held a bouquet meant just for him.

"Damnit, mosshead-" Sanji absolutely has to kiss Zoro again. The kiss melts slower this time, so he can savor the curve of that smile. "Can't believe you're outromancing me."

Chuckling, Zoro grins wryly. "Trust me, nobody can outromance you."

Heart racing, Sanji thinks he may have to hold the bouquet further from his body. The flowers might catch on fire as this relentless blush incinerates him alive. But Sanji's too ridiculously, hopelessly enamored to let go of the gorgeous delphiniums.

Sanji's about to get lost in the captivating flora, and engrave every intricate detail into the sketchbook pages of memory. But worry clouds over Sanji's stare as he looks over Zoro. "Are you hurt anywhere? What happened?"

"Don't worry, babe. Got roughened up a bit along the way, but I'm good." Zoro gives a reassuring kiss to Sanji's temple. "It's just that I- uhm--" Looking elsewhere, Zoro clears his throat. "I might have gotten lost. I asked someone where the nearest flower shop is, but-" Zoro shrugs sheepishly. "I ended up in the woods."

"The woods?!" Sheer shock kicks up Sanji's voice half an octave higher. His eyes widen with bewilderment. "What? How?"

"Honestly, I have no idea." Zoro genuinely sounds more confused than Sanji. Even when he mentally retraces his steps, Zoro doesn't know he ventured off into the open wilderness. "Then I ended up in the mountains. And back in the woods."

"Mountains? I-- you--? What?!" Blinking fast, Sanji struggles to understand how Zoro ends up all the way out there in the mountain range. "But that's on the other side of the island?"

Zoro shrugs with an easy, laid back grin. "Guess you can say I took a couple of detours." As the sea breeze sweeps through forest strands, Zoro's warm gaze falls upon the blue petals. He touches the light umber paper wrapped around the bouquet. Softer, he murmurs, "But when it's for you, it was worth it."

Sanji swears his heart's going to drop kick its way out of his chest, and fall right into Zoro's palm. Any remnants of childhood innocence still lingering inside feels more alive than ever. Small hands colored in violet bruises and rouge abrasions brushing over fairytale books. Whimsical illustrations that portray stories where love conquers all. Sanji's always delighted in stories where brave, heroic knights embark upon a perilous quest for true love.

But Sanji's life is better than any fairytale. Instead of slaying dragons, Zoro brings Sanji flowers.

Ruby warmly colors across Sanji's cheeks. The blush stands out more when he raises the azure flowers, and slowly breathes in their scent. Light and airy with a hint of sweetness.

"Nobody's given me flowers before," Sanji admits quietly. The confession barely rises above a whisper. Blues wavering with vulnerability, Sanji's gaze lifts from the flowers to his partner. "Thank you, Zoro."

An ache bristles within the center of Zoro's chest. It's tempting for Zoro to hunt down every person Sanji's been with in the past, brandish all three swords at them, and demand to know why the fuck they didn't give Sanji flowers. Or learn how to make coffee just the way he likes it. Or take him on dates. Or hold his hand while walking in the open streets.

The first time Zoro reaches for Sanji's hand in public, Sanji holds his breath as if there's a knife lodged between brittle ribs. It only makes Zoro lace their fingers together, and brush his thumb over Sanji's knuckles. He feels the strain of Sanji fighting tears while the cook squeezes Zoro's hand. Maybe kindness burns Sanji like how it burns Zoro.

"And you--" Breath hitching, Sanji lightly touches the edge of a blue petal. "You remembered what my favorite flowers are."

"Yeah, of course." Zoro brushes a kiss over soft blonde hair. "You also said it was your mother's favorite."

Not a knife.

Not a gun.

But Zoro remembering his mother's favorite flowers is what undoes Sanji.

Rising tears melt the cerulean flora into watercolor blurs, paint spreading into abstract shapes, but the hues remain vibrant and beautiful as ever. Sanji buries his face into Zoro's shoulder, and muffles the jagged fragment of a sob.

Sanji still hasn't revealed his mother's name to Zoro. Maybe he never will. It shamefully eats away at Sanji how he can't say Sora without visceral, cold terror gripping his heart, and sinking talons into his veins. There's always the slight chance that Zoro will somehow know exactly which family Sora and Sanji come from.

What if all the warmth in Zoro's eyes extinguish once he learns about the inhumane, vile, unforgivable horrors in Sanji's family? What if Zoro realizes Sanji is a monster, a parasite, a failure? What if Zoro hates him? What if Zoro falls out of love with him? What if Zoro leaves him?

Mother, please forgive me, Sanji whispers silently every time he buries her name deeper. Far out of reach.

Zoro never asks about his mother's name.

Instead Zoro asks, What did your mother love to do?

Sanji radiates brighter than a thousand brilliant suns, and talks about his mother's passion for taking care of flowers. She teaches Sanji how to tend to flowers with patience, love and care. Sanji even learns how to give flowers longerlasting life by creating dyes with petals, or capturing flowers in clear resin.

As Sanji tells Zoro about her, Sanji sees his mother in lush gardens where the sun casts everything in a soft, aurelian glow. It's kinder than seeing his mother hide silent pain behind a strained smile, and growing sickly pale in bed.

Zoro doesn't know the name Sora. But Zoro knows that Sanji's mother taught her son how to read ancient myths in constellations. And how she adored milk tea with a dash of lavender and honey. Sanji's mother had the gift for recognizing classical pieces within the first few notes and rests, especially Tchaikovsky, Chopin and Beethoven.

Zoro knows that her favorite color was blue. With Sanji in her lap, and a massive book on Impressionism spread out before them, Sanji's mother points out different shades. Ultramarine. Cerulean. Phthalo blue. Cobalt teal. Her fingers lovingly caress over Monet's daylight studies of the Rouen Cathedral, and chase after the swirls of Van Gogh's starspeckled skies.

As Sanji smooths out Zoro's shirt, his fingers brush over a rip in the cloth. He makes a mental note to mend it with needle and thread later. "My mother would've loved you."

Chest tightening, a quiet breath catches in Zoro's throat. "You think?"

"Absolutely!" Sanji looks up with a bright smile. "I would've talked about you all the time." Shaking his head, Sanji laughs. "She'd know I was in love with you before I knew." Sanji's mind isn't a stranger to elaborate daydreams about his mother and Zoro meeting. His imagination even details out several three-act scripts. "She would dote on you so much, Zoro. Just be utterly enthralled by you."

Sanji can hear his mother's elated gasp the first time she sees Zoro, eyes sparkling and hands clasping against her chest, remarking how Zoro's perfect for Sanji. Oh, Sanji, he's wonderful! Absolutely lovely! Zoro can be the most intimidating man in a bar with merely a razor sharp stare. But around Sanji's mother, Zoro would be awfully shy, flustered, likely even combust from all the praise.

While cooking his mother's and Zoro's favorite chicken alfredo pasta, Sanji looks out the kitchen window. He sees his two beloved people kneeling by the garden, surrounded by snow white daffodils, sapphire delphiniums, golden sunflowers, and an infinite palette of more colorful flowers. Sora teaches Zoro how to tend to these plants, and praises him for such steady, gentle hands. No doubt that Sora's sharing childhood stories about Sanji, since Zoro throws his head back to laugh. Zoro tells his own stories about Sanji at sea, which has Sora leaning against Zoro in a fit of delirious joy.

Fuck.

Sanji misses her.

Holding the bouquet a little closer to his throbbing chest, Sanji looks towards the railing, and down below. The ship's shadow darkens the waters into a shadowy, empty abyss. Sanji wants to ask the ocean if time truly heals all wounds. If the answer is yes, then why does the taste of lavender milk tea explode acid on his tongue? Why does Sanji wakes with silent tears after dreaming about his mother happily eating that rainsoaked meal? Why does grief never end?

"Oh-" Sanji startles when that warm, broad chest rests against his back, and protective arms wrap around him. With a slow exhale, Sanji relaxes. He breathes in the comforting scent of cedarwood, pine and steel.

Near Sanji's ear, Zoro murmurs, "I would've loved her too." His knuckles massage against the center of Sanji's chest, so he can soothe the burning ache. "From what you told me about your mother-- I think I know why delphiniums are her favorite."

Blinking curiously, Sanji turns around in the embrace, and faces his partner. "Why?"

Zoro brushes back Sanji's bangs. "Probably the same reason blue is her favorite color." He smiles once seeing the same hue of delphiniums in Sanji's eyes. "And mine too."

A rush of emotions crash into Sanji, and almost throw him overboard. "Marimo! What- You--!" Sanji doesn't know whether to swat at Zoro's arm, or shield his eyes to hide the tears. His trembling hand stays caught in midair.

Chuckling warmly, Zoro grasps Sanji's hand, then kisses the back of it. A throe resonates deeply within Sanji's chest. He holds the bouquet out to the side, so he can melt into Zoro's embrace.

Zoro brushes his thumb across Sanji's knuckles, relearning old scars that he already knows by heart. "If I met your mother, there's something I would ask her."

Heart caught in freefall, Sanji watches Zoro's thumb caress his left ring finger. The most overwhelming rush of scalding tears begin to rise. "What would you ask?"

Zoro kisses Sanji's ring finger, then raises his gaze. "I would ask your mother if I can spend the rest of my life with her son. I'd promise her that I'll always protect him. Never leave him. And give him all the love that he always deserved." Rays of sunset reflect off the glimmer in Zoro's eyes, evergreens shining brightly with fierce love. "I would ask your mother if I can marry you."

It's not until Zoro reaches out to dry his tears that Sanji realizes he's crying.

Sanji can never make his mother afternoon tea again. Sanji can never play his mother's favorite Chopin nocturne after finally learning it. Sanji can never take his mother to The Baratie, and see her bring Zeff to tears as she thanks him for taking care of her son. Sanji can never introduce her to The Strawhats, and witness how she unconditionally loves people into wholeness-- she reassures Luffy it's not his fault that Shanks lost his arm, promises Nami there's nothing broken about her, and tells Usopp that he would absolutely make his own mother proud.

Sanji can never cook for her again. Never see her smile again. Never hold her again. Never say I love you and hear back I love you too.

But Sanji can surprise Usopp with his favorite comfort food that Usopp's mother used to make, something Sanji learns from late nights of Usopp sharing stories, and Sanji giving tight embraces. Sanji can win a cat plush from a carnival game for Nami, because he knows what it's like to have your childhood stolen, and still have innocent wants like animal plushes, summer sparklers, birthday cakes, and a home. Sanji can squeeze Luffy in a hug until his captain's laughter muffles into his chest, and Sanji can whisper thank you for believing in me, because he refuses to waste time holding back on loving the people in his life.

Sanji can make chocolate desserts less sweet, so Zoro enjoys them. Sanji can use delphinium petals to dye a scarf for Zoro in the color of the ocean. Sanji can hold Zoro through the night, even if grief invades the bedroom. Sanji can tend to Zoro's injuries whether it's a gash from a Marine's blade, or still bleeding wounds from childhood monsters. Sanji can write Zoro's name a million times over, so Zoro sees how he's so adored.

In this moment, Sanji can and will kiss Zoro fiercely, bravely, pouring all of his heart into the collision of elated smiles, tasting victory and hope, one hand returning home on the side of Zoro's neck, palm memorizing that beloved heartbeat.

For the rest of his life, Sanji will love Zoro.

And Sanji's overwhelmed by how Zoro will love him too.

"--yes," Sanji gasps breathlessly once the kiss breaks. Sunlight burns white gold across windswept locks, and gleam upon scintillating brilliance in delphinium eyes. "My mother would have said yes." Sanji exhales shakily with joy. His heart stands unwavering in that truth. "And marimo-" Warm laughter brings out the sparkle of tears brimming his gaze. Sanji raises Zoro's left hand to kiss his ring finger. "You know what my answer is?"

Face aching with a smile, Zoro leans closer, and rests their foreheads together. He cradles the side of Sanji's face, thumb brushing across his cheek. "Same answer as mine, cook."

As Sanji returns that smile, glorious sunset rays of crimson and gold pour through the space between them. Zoro chases after the light until their lips reunite. The kiss burns fiercely with hope, full of promise, brave and resilient like scars, bright and beautiful like delphiniums.