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The familiar click of a lighter made Zoro lower his gaze from the moon onto the deck of the Going Merry. It was the middle of the night, far too late to go to bed and much too early to consider getting up. Only the person on watch duty should be awake at this hour, that being the swordsman.
Even so, seeing the crew’s chain-smoker on deck while the rest of their nakama slept had become a well-known routine.
Sometimes Zoro wondered if Sanji ever slept. After all, the first light of dawn always seemed to rise from the galley rather than the horizon, yet the cook was often the last to slip into the boys’ cabin at night.
The swordsman wouldn’t have paid any more attention to his restless crewmate had it not been for the sound of the lighter snapping repeatedly in the darkness and the short, heavy breaths disrupting the otherwise quiet night.
Sanji was distressed.
With a deep sigh, Zoro climbed down from the crow’s nest.
He wasn’t looking forward to comforting the curly-browed idiot, mostly because this wasn’t how their dynamic worked. They fought and bickered, they didn’t talk about feelings. But considering no one else was awake, he would have to do.
“Need help with that, Curly-brow?”
Before the question could fully be registered by the blonde, the lighter was smoothly taken from trembling fists and a flame was held up to the cigarette that had already begun to crumble between the clenched teeth of their panting owner.
In a fleeting moment, the orange glow illuminated Sanji’s face and Zoro was able to see the dry tracks of tears on his cheek. Then, the cook turned his head away to the railing of the Going Merry, taking a long drag of smoke.
“What do you want, Marimo?”
The swordsman was sure the question was meant to deliver annoyance, but it lacked the usual bite. In fact, it was barely audible between sharp breathing.
“For you to learn how to get air into your lungs properly,” Zoro mocked, observing eyes analyzing the shivering man before them with a hint of worry. The blunt fighter wasn’t sure how to handle a panicking cook. He guessed physical contact could help.
Even if Sanji wouldn’t like it, he would get angry at him, which would help all the same.
The short, desperate intakes of air halted shortly as strong arms enveloped the cook’s upper body from behind, a broad chest pressing against the spine of the shaking frame.
Zoro felt the surprised tension in his crewmate, felt the hammering heartbeat and rapid rise and fall of his ribcage.
Sanji didn’t fight it.
The swordsman had fully braced himself for a strong kick or a hissed insult. At the very least, he had expected a shove to shatter their sudden closeness. Instead, quiet sobs were making the chef’s shoulders quiver.
This lack of resistance felt wrong to Zoro. For the first time since they had met on the Baratie, the prideful, unyielding cook didn’t put on an act in front of his rival.
With a sigh, the Strawhat’s first mate guided his trembling crewmate down until they were sitting against the railing. He tried to provide the blonde with the comfort he so obviously needed, hiding his own uneasiness.
Although he felt uncomfortable with a crying cook in his arms, he wasn’t about to tell him that and risk him getting worse. In all honesty, he felt relieved that Sanji was able to let his clearly pent-up emotions out. He just wished it would be someone else holding the sobbing man.
“Be careful with your cigarette, idiot,” Zoro grunted bluntly, a reminder spoken just in time, because when the chef turned and buried his head into a shirt that was probably smelling like sweat and steel already, the wearer was convinced he would’ve gotten burned otherwise.
Instead, the glowing paper-stick was discarded on the deck, forgotten as the nicotine addict had found more effective comfort in the grounding heartbeat of a stinking sword-wielder.
Zoro didn't ask what was going on. He didn't care to pry about the nightmares, the memories, or whatever hidden baggage had driven Sanji onto the deck in the middle of the night.
They all carried ghosts from their pasts.
He wouldn’t want anyone to dig Kuina up, would probably unsheathe Wado at the mere mention of her out of the cook’s ignorant mouth.
So, he chose silence as he absentmindedly stared at the burned down cigarette next to his feet, patiently waiting for his nakama to calm down and preparing himself for the argument that would probably arise after.
--
No argument came.
Instead, the curly-browed idiot fled. In the days that followed, he began to avoid the swordsman entirely.
At first, Zoro didn’t mind, but then it started to get on his nerves. Nothing happened, why would Sanji refuse to look at him?
Sometimes people just needed support from their friends, it was that simple. No reason to be so dramatic about it.
He was itching for a fight at this point, missing their usual spars in between his napping.
It took a week of annoyance and a lot of questioning looks from their freshly recovered navigator for Zoro to decide he needed to confront the maddening cook. If not, Nami would start to voice her questions out loud and the witch would probably find a way to raise his debt again.
“You’re avoiding me.“
Zoro studied Sanji’s reaction to his blunt statement while leaning on the door frame of the galley.
The sun was in the last minutes of setting, leaving the room in a dim, red light. Sanji seemed to be too focused on his work to notice the growing darkness, or the lights would've gotten switched on already.
The blonde was standing behind the kitchen island, a scribbling block and pen in his hands.
Sacks and boxes from the pantry were surrounding him, ingredients spread out and sorted in a way the swordsman wouldn't understand.
The cook stiffened slightly, but that was all the reaction Zoro could observe. It was pissing him off. No angry snapping, not even an irritated glance.
Sanji was deliberately ignoring his crewmate and it started to get infuriating.
This wasn't like them. They always fought and insulted one another. Neither of them restrained themselves around the other. Zoro wanted that back. Had he known Sanji would make such a big deal out of nothing, he would’ve woken up Luffy to help him.
Without even looking up, the tired looking man spoke without any of the usual heat in his voice.
“What do you want, Mosshead. I’m busy.“
‘For you to learn how to get air into your lungs properly’
Zoro shook his head, ignoring the feeling of a déjà vu.
Instead, he repeated his earlier observation, rephrasing it into a demand with his arms crossed: “I want to know why you’re avoiding me, idiot.“
“Well, tough luck, It’s none of your business.”
He gritted his teeth, aggravated at Sanji’s uncharacteristically dismissive behavior. He wanted Sanji to yell at him. It was way better than this. So, the swordsman pushed himself away from the doorframe, stepping further into the kitchen. Invading the cook's personal space usually got him a frustrated kick or shout at least.
“It is. The witch has already noticed, soon the crew will get impacted by your dramatic behavior,” Zoro grinned tauntingly, knowing exactly how to get the cook riled up. When he still didn’t get a reaction, not even a correction for his insult at Nami, he continued: “Are you embarrassed? Is your pride as a man really that easy to break? Are you that scared of looking weak?-“
“For fuck’s sake, yes, of course I’m embarrassed!”
The words were spat with a sudden anger, leaving the chef trembling as he finally lifted his gaze to glare at Zoro.
With a dumbfounded expression, the swordsman stared back.
For a few, long seconds only the sound of waves filled the silence between them.
Then, Sanji turned back to his work again, like he just remembered he was supposed to ignore his crewmate.
“What?“ Zoro answered eventually, still stunned by the cook’s reaction. He wasn’t surprised at the outburst, he had expected it. What he didn’t expect were his words spoken as provocation actually being the reason for Sanji’s avoidance.
“We cuddled! I cried in front of you like a sissy. Why are you so chill about it? Do you fancy men or what is happening??”
The previous rage morphing into panicked confusion didn’t go unnoticed by Zoro.
Contrary to popular belief, he could be very observant if he wanted to. He assumed it came naturally after years of studying his opponents while fighting. It was an essential skill he needed if he wanted to reach his goal of becoming the world’s greatest swordsman.
That confusion was the only reason that kept him from blowing up at the cook.
Instead, he just shrugged.
“I don’t care about gender. It’s a stupid invention.”
“That doesn’t even make sense!”
A deep breath cut through the exasperated spoken words, clearly being an attempt to calm Sanji’s raging thoughts. Back to his cold, dismissive attitude, he hissed: “Do what you want but keep me out of it. Do it with other queers”
The sentence made Zoro’s blood boil. He didn’t even flirt with the idiot, but apparently having emotions was reason enough to become defensive and judgemental for the ‘chivalrous’ chef.
With his patience slowly running thin, he moved to stand beside the blonde, his stance intimidating and fists clenched.
“Keep you out of what? You make it sound like it’s contagious. You’re not suddenly into guys because you cried in front of one.”
The swordsman grunted while leaning closer to Sanji. He wasn’t going to let the cook utter this complete bullshit in front of him without at least doing something about it.
“Should’ve expected the perverted cook to be a judgemental piece of shit. This whole thing? This is embarrassing, not you showing vulnerability for once”
Finally, Sanji stopped his sorting and turned around to face his crewmate. Now that the swordsman was able to see Sanji’s face in such close proximity, he noticed how tired their cook looked.
Zoro scanned the clenched jaw, the stiff posture and slight trembling, like he had to physically hold himself back from lashing out and kicking him out of the kitchen.
Almost subconsciously he placed his hand over Wado’s hilt, preparing for it already.
This was familiar, how they should be. Soon, he would get kicked out of the galley, then they would fight on deck and everything would feel normal again.
Maybe the moron could sleep well for once. He looked concerningly exhausted.
“I don’t care about that, you can fuck guys all you want as long as it’s not me,” Sanji snarled at his nakama with an angry scowl.
Before Zoro could voice his thoughts, saying something like ‘I didn’t even say I preferred men, but I guess there’s no use in explaining’, he got cut off as soon as he opened his mouth, like the cook wanted to prevent him from saying anything more.
“Now, get out of my kitchen, Marimo. I have an actual job to do. One that isn’t just sleeping through the whole day.“
The idiot cook had turned his attention back to his list of ingredients, apparently not fazed by his rival’s attempts at instigating a fight.
Instead of leaving, Zoro eyed his nakama suspiciously, one hand still hovering over Wado.
Sanji put a cigarette in his mouth, not lighting it yet. He was still trembling and tense.
Something wasn't right. Zoro frowned.
If he was trembling with pent-up anger, he would've already tried to kick Zoro. His curly eyebrow would be scrunched down, but it was scrunched up, barely noticeable.
Occasionally, the cook ran a hand through his hair nervously. He was biting down on the still unlit cigarette, like it would somehow give him security.
If one would disregard the spoken insults and would just observe his expressions, he appeared more jittery than mad.
“Why are you trembling?” Zoro voiced his inner thoughts out loud, a mixture of annoyed confusion and concern clearly audible. He took another step closer, this time with no intent to provoke the blonde for once.
And then, their cook flinched. He was backing away from him. His visible eye wide like a deer caught in headlights, he was staring at the swordsman, completely unmoving.
Zoro froze. Time seemed to halt as they both stood still. Sanji had flinched away from him. Sanji never flinched in fear. When he was afraid, his response was to fight.
There was something deeply uncanny about seeing the cook like this.
He was staring at him like he got caught doing a big mistake, probably thinking the same thing Zoro did. With the addition of regret and shame.
The swordsman could relate to that. They were supposed to be the crew’s strongest. Their best fighters. They weren’t allowed to flinch. It was a sign of weakness.
“You’re scared of me…” Zoro mumbled, taking five steps back, putting distance between them. Giving his nakama more space. He tried to change his posture into a less threatening one, his hands hanging loosely to the side, the grip on Wado gone.
Sanji wouldn’t meet his concerned gaze, his gaze fixed on a mango that was placed on the counter.
“Like you could scare me,” he scoffed.
Zoro could easily see this as a desperate attempt to keep his act up and deny the spoken truth. Everyone would be able to see with the way his back was pressed against the fridge.
“Cut the bullshit, Curly,” the swordsman broke his stare to glance at the door instead. Maybe he should leave. Sanji had explicitly told him to. It was dark now, the sunset fully replaced by stars twinkling down on the Going Merry. He had the first night watch anyway.
“Maybe I’m just afraid you’re gonna make a move on me”
“…right”
Zoro turned around without saying another word after that. He didn’t look back at Sanji as he left the kitchen. He had no idea whether he was leaving out of frustration about the utter crap the moron was saying or leaving to give him space, out of concern.
When he heard the cook sliding down to the floor, just before the door was fully shut, he felt his chest tighten almost painfully.
--
In a naïve way, Sanji had thought he left his past ghosts behind when he left the Baratie to become a pirate. He had hoped Luffy could just… magically fix his issues. It wasn't even too far-fetched, there was something about Luffy that Sanji couldn't put into words.
When he looked back to his teenage years, he supposed he had been coping better already. Sure, his early childhood had formed him in some ways, but he wasn’t driven by anxiety anymore, wasn’t that terrified kid anymore. That terrified kid he hated and yet wished he would’ve been able to protect.
His panic attacks happened less and less, until they became a rare occurrence, his night terrors never quite left, but he got better at dealing with them.
He had become a good fighter, he wasn’t weak anymore.
In retrospect, the cook felt foolish for that wishful thinking.
Of course, he couldn’t live without ever getting triggered. But the trigger being a comforting hug from the shitty swordsman wasn’t what he would’ve expected.
Sanji wasn’t genuinely mad at Zoro after that night. Ignoring the Mosshead was just… easier than confronting the chaos that was going on in his head.
He was mad at himself that he got so close to a man. He wasn’t supposed to. Being weak, crying, showing vulnerability… those were traits he trained himself to push aside for a decade.
For the next few days, Sanji felt twitchy and anxious. He avoided everyone, except for the ladies on the ship. The blonde noticed his own nervous habits returning. When he wasn't twirling around Vivi and Nami, he was busy counting their supplies almost obsessively. His hands were tangled in his hair more often than they were cutting vegetables, painfully pulling and clenching into fists around loose strands. Still, he expected to feel cold iron beneath his fingertips every time.
It bothered him, how easily Zoro fucked with his head, intentionally or not.
A hug. All it took for Sanji to relapse into his old habits was a hug from someone he thought he couldn’t even stand.
And he had seriously believed he wasn’t weak anymore. What a joke.
Then, the shitty swordsman confronted him. And Sanji flinched away from him.
Because at that moment, all he saw was Yonji, stepping towards him. Caging him, Niji and Ichiji laughing mockingly from behind.
And now, a failed experiment was sitting on the kitchen floor in the dark, legs outstretched and a pile of cigarettes accumulating beside him.
A rare exception to Zeff’s strict 'no smoking where food is being cooked' rule. One that Sanji normally honored.
Sanji felt ashamed.
Not only because he allowed himself to flinch, or because he allowed himself to find comfort in the Marimo’s arms in the first place, but also because he knew he had said things he should’ve kept to himself.
It wasn’t like he didn’t believe what he said.
But Zoro evidently interpreted his words as judgement, which simply wasn’t true.
He wasn’t judging men loving other men in general- well, maybe a little bit. But only because he didn’t understand how anyone couldn’t love women.
Women were gorgeous and kind, they moved with such beautiful elegance that Sanji always envied and when they touched him with their soft skin, his heart fluttered, finding solace in the tenderness.
When a woman smiled, it made Sanji’s world whole again.
Once, Nami had explained to him that she only liked girls, wearing a pitiful expression that Sanji failed to understand the meaning of. Why would she pity him?
He had admired her courage to tell him, showering her with compliments and emphasising the relief he felt, because no man would deserve her anyway.
He had supported her to no end and had cooked only her favourite dishes for a whole week, until she had told him to stop.
So then, how could Zoro accuse him of being judgmental about it.
But enjoying the comfort Zoro so willingly offered- it felt like he was betraying his love for women. Because, and he couldn’t deny it to himself anymore, he had felt attraction towards the brainless idiot a few times already.
Being attracted to men wasn’t who he was. It felt wrong. Not because liking men was wrong, but because men were simply undesirable humans. Men were violent, controlling, destructive.
Men were to be feared. And now he had to reconcile his deep-rooted fear of men with his new undeniable attraction to one.
Rationally, Sanji knew better. He trusted Zeff. And Luffy. Or Patty and Carne, or Usopp. Even Zoro.
But now that he got this close to one, it was like his subconsciousness reminded him of all the reasons he had been afraid of men for a long time.
Trusting someone in battle was a completely different kind of trust than opening his heart to someone. He hadn’t learned that yet. Zeff was always the ‘tough love’ kind of father figure.
By the time Sanji stood up, the galley was filled with a cloud of smoke. He sighed, deciding he had wallowed enough in his misery. He opened the windows, put the burned down cigarettes in the ashtray on the table and put all ingredients back into the pantry.
When he was done, he cleaned the kitchen, just to keep himself busy a bit longer.
He knew he was stalling. He needed to apologize to Zoro.
Not that the shitty Marimo deserved it. But Sanji evidently wasn’t coping well and he couldn’t keep avoiding everyone or else the crew would soon suffer.
With well-prepared midnight snacks, the cook made his way to the crow’s nest and shoved a plate of macarons towards the swordsman. Zoro didn’t look at him. But he took a macaron.
It was a silent peace offering and it got accepted. Or maybe the Mosshead was just hungry.
Either way, Sanji took it as an invitation to sit down, three swords serving as a calculated wall between them.
A long silence stretched out between them. They were both stubborn and bad at communicating. At least without fighting. Sanji knew he was the one who messed up, so he would have to start talking eventually.
“I shouldn’t have said what I said. You were just helping. And it’s completely fine that you prefer guys. Or whatever it is you’re attracted to.”
Sanji pulled out a cigarette to give his crewmate time to respond if he wanted to. When he got nothing but a grunt, he continued.
“You asked why I was avoiding you. The truth is, I needed time to think. I still do. It’s confusing”
Sanji inhaled a deep drag of nicotine, blowing the smoke out into the night sky. There was a certain calmness between them this time. This wasn’t anything new. In between their bickering, both pirates understood each other much better than others would’ve guessed. Above anything else, they were nakama.
“Why did you flinch away from me?” Zoro spoke into the silence eventually.
Sanji had expected the question. It wasn’t like the green-haired idiot to beat around the bush.
He knew he had to explain if he wanted to fix this, or Zoro would forever believe he was disgusted with him. It didn’t change the uneasiness he felt, though.
“I’m not supposed to feel comforted by men, but I did. You managed to help me and that’s not how it should be. A hug from a man never felt good before.”
The cook paused to choose his next words carefully, but Zoro seemed to think he was done explaining, because he interrupted his thoughts.
“So, you think getting help while having a panic attack means you like to fuck guys. That’s extremely dumb, even for you. Is that how you view the world? Loving men makes you weak, so you must be tough?”
Sanji huffed, kicking his crewmate without any strength behind it. He would never admit this, but the only reason he didn’t think like that anymore was the muscular man in front of him. Zoro was strong, one of the strongest people he knew. And apparently a fag.
He would rather eat a devil fruit and jump into the ocean than admit that to the man, though.
“I don’t think that. Stop putting words in my mouth. It’s just... I don’t like men. I adore women. Women are beautiful. They’re gentle, compassionate, they radiate kindness and safety…”
A disagreeing scoff was answered with a disapproving glare at the swordsman, but as Sanji didn’t get interrupted further, he continued. “…Men aren’t that.”
“Do you seriously believe being attracted to men means you’re not allowed to like women anymore? Also, this doesn’t explain shit on why you flinched. You never flinch away from me.”
“It ‘doesn’t explain shit’, because I wasn’t done, you moron. I know that being attracted to a man doesn’t contradict my love for women. I know someone can desire both. I’m not that uneducated. I know I’m not automatically turned around after hugging you. I know wanting a man wouldn’t make me weak. For fuck’s sake, can you listen to me without making it about me being narrow-minded for one second? I’m trying to tell you, I flinched because I am weak, regardless of my preferences. It’s confusing to like men, because men scare me, okay?!”
Almost subconsciously, Sanji pulled his hair again. He hated admitting this. Revealing how weak he was. The only reason he managed to keep a little bit of composure was the knowledge that Zoro would never treat him like fragile glass.
“... You really think I’d hurt my nakama without reason?”
The cook shook his head, discarding his burned down cigarette and releasing his hair. “You really think your friends will fall down the stairs and die if they aren’t holding onto the railing like their life depended on it? I doubt that. But you’re still yelling at us to do so, because of past experiences, I assume. Fear doesn’t always have to be rational.”
‘But mine is’ was left unsaid.
Despite watching the sky, Sanji noticed the swordsman tensing and shifting towards Wado Ichimonji on instinct. He noticed the Marimo’s gaze at him. He felt it, the analyzing stare, giving him goosebumps. It felt wrong to bring up Zoro’s fear of stairs. Every crewmember had their topics you just don’t talk about without reason. But it was the only way Sanji was able to explain. To get Zoro to understand.
“You’re saying men hurt you when you were younger.” It wasn’t a question, so the blonde man didn’t feel compelled to answer. It was an observation, a realization that Zoro spoke out loud, while Sanji had dodged naming it.
“I’m not them”
The swordsman spoke in such a straight-forward way, like it was that easy. Like that simple fact would fix Sanji’s issues.
And the cook hated how it worked. How everything felt less heavy for a moment, how relief washed over him, like that reassurance was everything Sanji had needed.
“I know that.”
He rolled his eyes, finally turning his head to meet the other’s stare.
“Thank you for reminding me, though.”
Neither felt the need to talk anymore, both eating the macarons and watching the ocean quietly.
It was oddly nice to have spoken about his internal struggles. It went better than Sanji had anticipated. No mocking or pitying.
Maybe it was that relief which gave the smoker the courage to open up even more. Or maybe it was the peaceful co-existence. Either way, Sanji spoke into the quiet night again, hesitantly leaning his head against Zoro’s shoulder.
“You do look a little like one of them. You have the same hair color”
This might be the first detailed information Sanji ever told anyone about his time before he met Zeff. Except when he had mentioned coming from the North Blue to Nami and Usopp, which, in all honesty, had been a slip-up.
Zoro stretched out his legs comfortably, before asking with a careful hint in his voice: “Who was he?”
“His name is Yonji”
At this point, there was no going back, Sanji knew that. His name being Sanji wasn’t too strange, but as soon as one of his siblings’ names were known, it became obvious that they were named after numbers. Even the stupid Mosshead would realize that.
Vinsmoke Sanji, the third prince of Germa 66.
The thought alone made Sanji nauseous.
“…The hell,” was all the cook heard as a response. Typical Marimo. Then: “I guess you have two older siblings, then?”
“Three actually. My sister Reiju is the oldest. I’m the third son.”
“That doesn’t sound like your old man”
“Oh- the old geezer basically adopted me. He saved my life once, you know. After that he had to play dad with an annoying brat”
The thought of Zoro believing Zeff would be unfeeling enough to name his children after numbers- Sanji pushed it away immediately.
“How can I imagine it? You’re scared of men, because all men were cruel to you as a kid and this pathetic fawning over women you do is just because women were your heroes then?”
The cook assumed Zoro meant to sound like he was mocking him, but all Sanji could hear was curiosity and interest.
“That sums it up pretty accurately,” Sanji gazed at the plate of macarons as he thought of his mum, smiling faintly.
“You do realize it’s still dumb, right? I get where you’re coming from, but it’s bullshit. In my experience, there is barely any difference between men and women. You- differentiating between them, favoring one over the other, seeing women as something fragile you must protect- It irritates me.” Sanji could swear he heard a quiet “Kuina would’ve hated it”, but he didn’t ask. The last part was clearly not meant for him. Just a mumble to oneself.
“Well, I disagree,” the cook huffed, grabbing a macaron from the plate. “I see a lot of difference. But I don’t see women as fragile. I protect them because I love them, not because I think they aren’t capable. I always admired women, and when the old geezer taught me chivalry, it just made sense. Not like you brute could ever understand.”
Both men knew they couldn’t shake the other from their beliefs. Their experiences had shaped them differently in that regard and to convince the other felt invasive.
They sat in quiet solidarity, both listening to the rhythmic sound of waves splashing against the ship’s bow and the soft humming of wind through the ropes. The cook managed to smoke his next cigarette down to its filter without either of them talking, his head still leaning on Zoro’s shoulder.
“You know, I became a cook, because of my mother. I loved her so much. These macarons always remind me of her.”
The anxiety the chef had felt before, thinking of his brothers, revealing anything however trivial about his early childhood- it all got chased away by a soft smile on his lips, when he spoke about her for the first time in years. Only now did he fully register how peaceful the night was, the cool air brushing away the tension.
“…She teach you?”
“Quite the opposite, actually,” suddenly Sanji felt way more comfortable talking, his words flowing effortlessly, like the honey he had draped over apple slices a few hours prior.
“She never criticized my cooking. She was deathly sick and I always cooked for her. I knew it wouldn’t heal her, but a little part of me hoped, I guess,” Sanji was sad. But it was the kind of sadness that felt less like drowning and more like floating on a calm, deep sea. “I was terrible at cooking as a child. But she always smiled so brightly while lying to me about how good it tasted.”
The memory made Sanji chuckle genuinely, feeling warm and nostalgic.
He thought about all the burned food, how hard it had been to reach the cupboards, how he tried again and again to make the perfect dish, doubting himself. Only for his mum to say it was perfect already, just to make him happy.
“Even as she was dying, she tried to make me happy, hiding her suffering. Every meal I make, I’m making for her.”
“She sounds nice.”
The simple answer didn’t surprise Sanji. It was typical for the Marimo. Still, there was a sincerity hanging in the air that made the cook wonder what the Mosshead was thinking about.
“She was. She was kind and gentle, with the biggest heart in the world. She saw only the best in everyone. She hated when people suffered, too forgiving and self-sacrificing for her own good.”
Silence stretched out between them again as Sanji hesitated.
“I don’t remember her face well. But I like to imagine I look like her. She had the same blond hair and blue eyes.”
Zoro shifted in a way that forced Sanji to lift his head from its resting place. When he looked at the swordsman, he noticed the returning gaze was studying him, analyzing, as if his crewmate was deep in thought.
“You do look like her, then.”
The cook couldn’t help but feel like there was more behind the simple sentence.
“How are you so sure about it? It’s not like you knew her”
He just got a shrug in return.
Only half an hour later, when the plate Sanji had brought was empty and he began to feel cold, when his eyes started to flutter, demanding rest and forcing him to stand up with the intention of leaving- only then, Zoro muttered his answer.
“You described her the same way Luffy sees you.”