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“You’re being an idiot, mosshead.” Sanji says. His arms are crossed and he’s standing on the deck of the Sunny, staring at a stubborn looking Zoro, who’s putting his swords on his hip in preparation to head into town.
“Tch. I’ll be fine, curly brows. I’m just going to get more booze.” Zoro retorts sternly.
“You’re going to get lost and it’s going to rain. You’ll be soaked by the time you’re back.”
“I’m not gonna get lost. Nami said I had 20 minutes until the rain starts, I have time to run into town and back.”
An exasperated sigh fell from Sanji’s lips. His eyes rolled and he turned around. He shook his head as he stepped back towards the kitchen, where he had been dicing ingredients for tonights dinner.
“Hmph. Well, don’t come complaining to me when you’re soaking wet.”
Zoro grumbled an insult under his breath that Sanji didn’t pay any attention to. Both of the men went their separate ways, Zoro going off to find alcohol, Sanji returning to his duties as the crew’s cook.
Stunningly, Zoro made his way to the pub without issue. It was like the only thing he knew how to find his way to was alcohol, but with everything else he was hopeless when it came to directions. He purchased as many bottles as he could carry, then started his race against the rain clouds where the finish line was the ship.
With every step he took, the clouds got darker. Thunder rumbled and vibrated below Zoro’s feet, lightning was illuminating the sky.
Sanji watched the lightshow through the porthole in the kitchen and his thoughts wandered to the missing swordsman. He was wondering how the mosshead was doing, how lost he was, how long it’d be until he came back. The cook was worrying about Zoro, even though if someone asked he’d say the idea of worrying about Zoro was repulsive.
The first few droplets were starting to come down, like they were counting down to Zoro’s inevitable doom. He upped his pace slightly, moving with the urgency that was reserved for when he was going to fight an enemy, except in this circumstance the enemy was mother nature.
The Sunny was still nowhere to be seen, even though he’d certainly been walking for longer than he had on his journey to town. He kept glancing around frantically, trying to find landmarks he made note of on the way to town. Nothing seemed recognizable, the trees, rocks, plants, and path all seemed unfamiliar. He kept walking, randomly turning when he noticed things that definitely weren’t there before. The rain came hard and fast, soaking Zoro’s hair and clothes. He popped open one of the bottles of sake he was carrying in an attempt to warm up, as the breeze was really starting to bite and alcohol always warmed the bones.
Not only did the alcohol warm him up, it also made him think. Mainly, about how frustrated he was. He hated that the cook had been right. He hated that he’d done exactly what he’d predicted, gotten lost in the rain. And now he’d have to go back to the ship dripping wet and face a cocky Sanji.
For a moment he thought that maybe it’d be better to just stay lost until the storm ended so he wouldn’t have to face the blonde. A story was already piecing together in his mind, the rain came sooner than he had been expecting and he’d stayed at an inn instead of walking back in it. He could camp it out under a tree, enjoy his sake and even nap while he waited for the storm to end.
The only problem was the wind blowing against his back, completely killing the idea. With renewed determination (or maybe it was desperation) he kept walking through the forest.
Finally, when he was almost too cold and soaked to keep walking, he heard the crew’s laughter. As if a sailor being led by a siren’s song, he dragged his feet towards the noise, until he reached the shore where the Sunny was banked.
Despite the noise, he saw that nobody was on deck. It made perfect sense for them not to be outside in this torrential downpour, but Zoro couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed by the lack of his friends there to greet him. He climbed up and finally, finally escaped the rain.
Sanji was the only person who heard him stomping his way inside. He slipped away from his spot at the table unnoticed since everyone was distracted by one of Luffy’s antics and went to see Zoro. At first he was going because he wanted to say ‘I told you so’, but the words died in his throat when he caught sight of the swordsman. It was an image Sanji should’ve found pathetic, should’ve laughed at and made fun of. Instead his chest swelled with a feeling of warmth.
There was Zoro, sopping wet, with an expression that could only be described as an angry pout. He had two bottles of sake under his arm, then another open one in his hand. He turned his head away from Sanji, not wanting to meet his gaze.
“You poor poor thing,” Sanji says mockingly, though there was a hint of fondness remained underneath the teasing.
Zoro retorts with a grunt, his fist clenched around the neck of the bottle and blood rushing to his cheeks and ears, turning him a shade of red. Sanji chuckles and shook his head.
“Silly Marimo, you know you’re not actually moss, right? You don’t need watering?” He teases, just turning Zoro redder.
“Shuddup cook,” Zoro mumbles. He’s burning with embarrassment, he probably would’ve had his swords out if it weren’t for the precious bottles in his arms.
“That’s not what you should say to the man who’s going to go get you a towel. The word you’re looking for is please,” Sanji says, his tone as if he was dealingwith a young child asking for something.
“Please..” Zoro mutters, but the word is spoken so quietly it’s inaudible.
“Hm? What was that?” Sanji asks, tilting his head and cupping his ear in an exaggerated manner.
“Please,” Zoro repeats, loud enough for Sanji to hear, but still quiet.
“I couldn’t quite hear you… speak up if you need something Zoro” Sanji responds, just to irk Zoro.
“PLEASE!” Zoro practically shouts now, vocalizing his humiliation and frustration.
“Please what?” The cook asks, quirking one of his curly eyebrows and smirking.
“Please get me a towel, cook,” These words come out more gently, more pleadingly than before. He’s got his lip stuck out in a pout again, with those eyes he uses to try and get Sanji to give him alcohol. His expression combined with his soaking appearance can only be compared to that of a wet cat. Sanji softens at the sight.
“I’ll be right back Zo,” He says sincerely. “Let me take your bottles and but them away,” after slight hesitation on Zoro’s end, he hands them over and Sanji carries them out of sight, off to put the bottles away and grab towels.
When he returns, he has a stack of towels and a blanket piled up in his arms. He sets the pile down and grabs the biggest towel, then wraps Zoro up in a warm embrace.
Zoro tenses before he lets himself melt into the hug. He hadn’t realized how much wandering around in the rain had drained him, but now in Sanji’s warm arms he’s ready to curl up and fall asleep.
After a minute, Sanji pulls away, which earns him a whine of protest from Zoro.
“C’mon, let’s go somewhere more comfortable,” Sanji says in response to his whimper, grabbing the extra towels and blankets and leading Zoro to the boys cabin. It’s currently empty, Luffy and the others still having roaring conversations elsewhere. He guides Zoro to sit down on one of the hammocks and brushes some of the wet hair clinging to his forehead back out of his face.
“Will you ever learn to listen to me?” Sanji scolds softly. Zoro just shrugs in response, out of words for the night.
The chef kneels down and Zoro watches him with keen eyes. Sanji starts to ease off his shoes, using an extra towel to dry off his feet. He moves up, next reaching to pull open his robe and slide it off his shoulders. It requires him to pull the towel open for a few moments and Zoro makes a noise in protest when cold air hits his skin. Sanji shushes him, staying diligent and continuing to undress him.
Once the wet garments have been removed, he grabs a new dry towel and rubs down Zoro’s arms, legs, and torso. Lastly he scrubs the green moss on top of his head.
“Thought you weren’t gonna take care of me when I came back sopping wet,” Zoro says, breaking the calm silence that had built after having some life warmed back into him.
“I just said I wouldn’t listen to you complain,” Sanji chides, then quickly adds “So don’t start talking too much.”
That gets Zoro to shut his lips tightly, enjoying being pampered more than he cares to admit. Sanji wraps him back up, this time with a soft blanket. He moves to put the wet clothing in a hamper and grab a new outfit for Zoro to wear. He picks out a pair of sweat pants and a tshirt. For a moment, he considers giving them to Zoro and leaving the room, but something about the intimacy of the moment has him act otherwise.
He starts to dress Zoro, guiding both feet into the right holes of the pants, then sliding the shirt over his head. Zoro doesn’t protest, just lets Sanji take care of him. After Zoro’s all dressed and wrapped back up in blankets, Sanji starts to leave. He doesn’t know where this moment is going next, still can’t decipher Zoro’s intentions even after all the moments the two have shared with each other. Part of him is convinced the only reason the swordsman let him take care of him was so he could hold it over Sanji’s head and gloat later on.
That’s why he’s caught off guard when Zoro speaks up softly, in a tone too sweet to be fraudulent.
“Wait- why are you leaving?”
“Because um- you don’t need me anymore?”
“But I want you to stay,” Zoro says, reaching out to try and pull Sanji back towards him. The cook hesitantly takes a step back towards Zoro. Then he takes another, and another, until Zoro grabs onto him and pulls him against his chest, laying them down on the cot.
The strong arms he’s used to holding him down when they fight now are just simply holding him. That muscular chest he’s used to admiring from afar is pressed against his cheek, rising and falling with every breath that gets blown against his scalp. Sanji doesn’t have time to think of the right words for this moment, the right question to ask about what this means. Zoro falls asleep too quickly, leaving Sanji room to think. But he decides not to, to not worry about what this might mean or what will happen when they wake up in the morning still holding each other.
Instead, he chooses to feel, to bask in the comfort of being held like he’s wanted, maybe even like he’s loved. Those feelings translate into pleasant dreams. He dreams that he’s lying on a bed of moss, warm, content, and complete.