𝑺𝒕𝒊𝒕𝒄𝒉𝒆𝒅 𝒊𝒏 𝑺𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕

— ⚔️ —

They meet on a battlefield in Mitrasphera.

The continent has been under attack by the Black Ice for decades now, an army of soulless soldiers created by the Ancient Rulers that seeks absolute perfection, known for fighting in disciplined formations.

…At least that's what Usopp told him in the car on the way here. Between his full time job at the Baratie and publishing his own cook book, Sanji really didn't have time to read up on any lore.

Usopp was lucky he even said yes. It's become an annual thing, where his eccentric friend would fall to his knees and beg him to join them for "a weekend of mead and maidens, Sanji! You're going to love it, trust me."

He's been going there for years, along with his girlfriend Kaya. The two of them absolutely thrived in these settings — be it Renaissance Fairs or Live Action Role Play, you can count them in. It had been a battle of endurance to get Sanji to at least play Dungeons & Dragons with them, something they'd also been bugging him about for years. He finally caved last December after one of their regulars moved to a different city, and reluctantly had to admit that he didn't actually hate it as much as he thought he would.

Playing a character was… freeing, in a way. His over the top chivalry is mostly met with eye rolls and scoffs in the real world, but in D&D land? Maidens swooned. Princesses offered him their hand. Nobody laughed at his antics.

So after much consideration — and after Usopp said he could borrow any and all essentials, including a theme-fitting tent — he'd caved.

And boy, it's fucking surreal.

An honest to God orc just slammed his ridiculously oversized sword into an Undead's chest, latex mask firmly glued to his face as he grunts and growls his way across the battlefield.

The afternoon sun is blazing down on them, the heat and glare unforgiving, and the slow, rhythmic beat of a war drum reverberates through Sanji's bones. There have to be at least three hundred people scattered across the grassy plane, donning various levels of armor and weaponry as they all throw themselves into battle with unmatched enthusiasm.

Sanji notices the berserker charging at him just in time, a battle cry falling from the guy's lips like it's second nature as he raises his foam axe high into the air. It's really no problem for Sanji — years of martial arts have made him quick on his feet and near impossible to hit. And just like the others before him, the berserker misses by a mile, the swoosh of the axe loud in his ears. The guy tries again, but before he can even fully shift his weight, Sanji smacks his frying pan over his head, hard.

It's also made of foam, of course — no lasting damage, except for your dignity.

It cannot feel good to get knocked out by a dumbass fucking pan.

His other weapon is a cleaver, comically large and speckled with fake blood, and he's ready to pull it when another, smaller enemy rushes toward him, emerging from the bulk of fighters like an angry, stray wasp. Sanji's shoulders tense, stance wide as he assesses his opponent: quick, short, on the thinner side. Probably able to keep up with him, but no match for his pan—

—when an arrow hits them right in the head, the blunt, bulbous tip bouncing off their helmet with a hard, metallic clang. The enemy goes down with theatrical flair, rolling around the dusty ground just once before they stop moving altogether.

Sanji's gaze shoots behind him, and there he is: Usopp — or rather Sogeking, as he's called here — in all his masked glory, bowstring still quivering. Their eyes meet across the battlefield, followed by a quick nod, but before Sanji can yell out a comment, Usopp points to somewhere behind him.

"Look out!"

Quick on his heels, Sanji spins around, the dust kicking up with the speed of his movements. And sure enough, a gigantic monster of a man is walking right toward him. His enormous hammer is still resting on his iron-clad shoulder, the black and blue chest plate large enough to fit at least two normal men, and Sanji's mind jumps into gear as he assesses exactly what he sees before him:

Even strides, long yet slow in execution. A large, spiked hammerhead attached to six feet of fake wood; a wide arc, easy to dodge. On his head sits a helmet, but his breastplate doesn't fully connect to it. There's no chain mail, or even a gambeson — just some fabric between Sanji's heavy blade and that guy's neck.

It's a no-brainer: lure the guy in, let him swing, dodge the attack — maybe even with a flip — then chop his head off with the cleaver. Really rub it in that you're losing against a goddamn cook. And if the guy plays his role right, he should go right down, champion or not.

Nobody can live without a head.

…Except maybe for The Undead Flesh — a different faction of enemies, something akin to voodoo zombies. Sanji didn't really have time to learn about those, yet.

Switching weapons, he hooks the pan back onto his belt as he pulls out the cleaver. He smirks as the guy keeps coming closer, glowing blue contacts clearly visible beneath the shadow of his helmet. Then he lifts his hammer high into the air, followed by an honestly impressive roar booming from his chest just as he begins to swing—

—when a fucking green-haired barbarian suddenly jumps in front of Sanji, blocking the hit with crossed swords and bulging biceps.

The brute skids across the dirt floor, absorbing the powerful blow with the sheer strength of his body. Sure, it's not the real deal, but those foam weapons still pack a punch. Sanji had been more than surprised to find not just a couple of bruises after the first day, where he'd fought a bitter duel with a nasty Black Ice officer, taking several hits of the quick guy's axe against his actually not so thick leather armor.

…But at least he's wearing armor, unlike the barbarian in front of him. No, he's just in loose black pants, with a deep red sash tied tightly around his waist. Thick fabric wraps around his lower arms, from his middle finger all the way to his elbow, and together with the tightly bound leg wraps it's the only actual protection his costume is offering — because his whole torso is bare.

Sure, there are some drawn on tattoos — a symmetrical design that curls around what looks like a stylistic sun — but beside the insane amount of muscle, nothing is saving him from a direct hit to the gut. A tattered cloak trails after him, following the flow of his heroic yet completely unnecessary dash in front of Sanji.

The hammer-wielding champion is pushing all his weight onto his opponent, but a skilled maneuver by the underdressed barbarian has him topple forward toward the ground. The guy smoothly flips from underneath him, pulling his swords along the exposed flesh of his neck in one smooth motion.

And just like that, the Black Ice goon drops, along with Sanji's jaw. Sure, he hasn't been doing bad at all — especially considering this is his first time — but that guy is good. He almost looks professional, and Sanji feels his heart thudding against his throat when the guy leans over to help up the fallen soldier as soon as he's breathed his final, imaginary breath.

They shake hands, forearms clasped, and the enemy champion flips his hammer upside down to retreat to his base. Around them, the rest of the Black Ice has admitted defeat as well, Sanji's comrades consistently pushing them back and finally forcing them into tactical retreat.

Meanwhile, the green-haired hunk turns around, revealing a bronze chest with pecs so full you could easily bounce a coin off of them. He's breathing heavily, the movement rippling though his gleaming, sweaty set of abs, and Sanji's mouth fills with saliva.

"You're welcome."

Sanji's eyes flick to the guy's face, and damn, what a treat. Sharp, angular jaw, perfectly symmetrical, with full lips and a smatter of freckles dusting his narrow nose. Three golden pins hang from his left ear, catching the low afternoon sun in a way that has Sanji blinking against the glare.

A surprisingly convincing fake scar runs straight through his left eyebrow, down to his cheek, and it's distracting enough that his words take a second to register. When they do, the guy's unfairly pretty lips are already pulled into a smirk.

And wait, what?

"I had that guy," Sanji scoffs, chest puffing and shoulders squared as the smirk slips from his ally's face.

"You were about to get smashed to pieces."

Another scoff. "Are you kidding me? I had a plan!"

"Was that plan to cook him to death?!"

He gestures to the frying pan dangling off Sanji's belt, and the blond grinds his teeth as he tries to beat the heat creeping up his face into submission. Good thing he's already flushed, the harsh summer heat paired with the strain of battle enough to leave him a little red in the face, so he simply keeps scowling as he steps closer toward the half-naked oaf.

"No, my plan was to let him miss, then slit his throat, idiot."

Now it's his turn to scoff, "Yeah, right." He huffs out an exhale, brows drawn as his pretty face turns to spit onto the floor. Gross. "Either way, guy's dead and you're alive. That's a win in my book."

And there's that grin again, sharp and full of challenge as his steel gray eyes scan the full length of Sanji's body. Before the blond can even start to form a response, there's a call toward their left — some kind of order, a commander yelling for them to defend an attack from behind — and green hair guy rushes off, his two curved swords in hand.

"You can pay me back later!" he calls over his shoulder, and with a wink, he's gone, swallowed by bodies dressed in linen and leather.

And Sanji?

Sanji has no idea what to feel. Ill-placed intrigue, mixed with begrudging arousal, topped off with a whole fucking barrel of pissed-off, maybe.

Because what the fuck did just happen?!

— 🛁 —

The next time they meet, they're both naked as the day they were born.

It wasn't on purpose, okay? It wasn't even Sanji's idea.

But when Kaya and Usopp begged him to join them in the hot tub after their well earned victory on the battlefield, Sanji didn't have it in him to say no. Besides, his side actually ached from a hit he didn't see coming, swung sneakily from behind as he was surrounded by small foot soldiers. Another bruise was forming on his thigh, right near his hip, where an enemy archer had managed to skillfully guide his arrow through not one, but two lines of fighters. Sanji couldn't even be mad at that one — even pretended to limp for his next few steps, much to the archer's visible delight before he drew another arrow, new target already locked in.

When they stepped into the changing room, Sanji had been more than surprised to find out that people didn't wear any kind of undergarments or— medieval swimwear? Was that even a thing?

Anyway, when Kaya calmly unclasped her bodice, right in the middle of the shared space, he thought she'd at least keep her bra on, but no.

No, they're taking this communal bath very seriously.

Sanji can feel the blush creeping up his chest and throat, his own fingers a little stiff as he removes his armor. Kaya doesn't seem to mind, the white, flowy dress already slipping off her shoulders while her and Usopp chat about the previous battle, talking strategy and trading compliments. She's their healer, a service Sanji hadn't deemed important at first — until the arrow hit him straight into the meat of his thigh. Kaya had run towards him immediately, fingers reaching for her herbalist's pouch mid-sprint, and that's when he understood: this was her part in the game.

So he'd ground his teeth, grunted in made-up pain while she pressed a clean, cotton cloth onto his "wound".

"It'll only hurt for a bit!" she'd reassured him, the concern clearly written on her face more than believable. Then she'd closed her eyes, mumbling something in a language Sanji doesn't know — elvish, probably, considering that's who they're playing.

He'd just been sitting there, writhing every now and then when Kaya added extra pressure to his thigh, and just like that, he was right as rain again.

Her outfit was clearly a labor of love, enhanced and improved over countless years until it practically screamed elven healer; the soft leather bodice was well-worn, dried herbs and potion bottles of various shapes and sizes dangling from her belt like natural ornaments. A layer of leaf-shaped fabric covered her off-white linen dress, a recurring element in her character's design: ivy leaves were braided into her long, blonde hair, and a crown of woven twigs adorned her forehead, the singular, oval emerald catching the light every now and then making her look ethereal.

Now it simply rests on the changing room's bench, momentarily forgotten as Kaya takes off the small remainder of her clothes. Sanji quickly averts his gaze, his eyes locking on the vast expanse of tawny skin that is a naked Usopp instead. It's not that he has a thing for Kaya — he sees her as a sister, honestly, and he knows there's nothing inherently sexual about being naked — it's just that it's… odd. Isn't it?

Would you be comfortable seeing your best friends naked?

Apparently, that's a Sanji thing, because nobody else even bats an eye when the three of them slip into the large, wooden tub a few moments later, freshly showered and completely bare.

…Except for those fucking ears.

He'd almost changed his mind about the whole thing when Usopp presented him with them: a handful of prosthetic ears, various lengths and shades of skin tones to pick from. Usopp's own were fairly long and a beautiful dark brown that matched his skintone perfectly, while the ones he offered Sanji came from Kaya's collection.

"Absolutely not."

Two pairs of hands had clasped together, the couple in perfect sync as they pulled out their best puppy eyes.

"Aw, come on!" Usopp exclaimed with a pout, at the same time as Kaya's stretched "pleeease?"

A sigh.

Fine.

Who is he to deny a beautiful lady such a simple wish?

So he'd picked the smallest ears possible — the kind that covers almost the whole shell of his own, actual ear — and checked if they fit his complexion.

They were a bit too pale, but the base color matched, so that was that. He didn't think the ears would really matter, would even be noticeable between puffy sleeves and cinched leather.

He'd never expected to wear nothing but the ears, and out in public, too!

The hot tub rests on a raised podium, giving him a perfect view of the busy market square: Vendors are haggling with commoners, trading wares for coin, while others simply sit in the sun, munching on meat skewers or roasted potatoes. A bard's mellow violin tune dances through the air, perfectly capturing the feel of this little pocket of the earth that is so very odd, yet so very endearing.

There's a second wooden tub right beside them, a small group of adventurers already nestled inside the hot water, but Sanji doesn't pay them any mind.

No, for now, all he can focus on is the warmth embracing him as he sinks down further until only his head is sticking out. The water level is up to Kaya's collarbones, making it easier to talk to her now that her curves are hidden by the murky liquid. It isn't dirty, of course — they're not that authentic — but bath salts and herbs float freely inside, giving anything beneath the surface a blurred and dreamlike quality.

Sanji closes his eyes and drapes his arms over the side of the tub. There's lots of space left, the wooden barrel easily able to fit five — six, if you really wanna feel like a sardine — but with just the three of them, it's perfect. Sandalwood and peppermint curls into his nose, the steam pleasant against his sun-kissed skin. It's incredibly relaxing, especially after the Big Fight, and now he understands why Kaya and Usopp had been so adamant about all of them going. They're even allowed to bring their own drinks, so Usopp brought a whole jug of mead which he's now enthusiastically pouring into their mugs.

"To another battle won!" Usopp toasts, raising his drink, and Kaya and Sanji immediately join him.

"Hear ye, hear ye!" comes from the neighboring tub, and all three heads snap toward the sound.

And there he fucking is.

Completely bare except for those three golden earrings, his stupidly bulging muscles on full display. That fake scar is still running down his eye, though his tattoos have mostly been washed away. They're more of a shadow now, but the garish patch of grass he calls hair is more than recognizable.

"Ugh, there's algae in the other tub," Sanji comments with a sneer, his nose upturned and gaze half-lidded. "Disgusting."

The guy hasn't been paying attention, eyes closed as he'd relaxed into the tub in a similar manner to Sanji, but at the insult, his non-scarred eye cracks open.

"What the fuck did you just—" he starts, but his scowl smooths down immediately when he sees just who it is that commented on his lawn.

"It's you," he ends up saying, frown slipping into a smirk, wide and just a little feral. "The helpless elf from before."

At once, all hackles rise. "I wasn't helpless! You stole my kill!"

"I didn't steal anything."

Sanji glares, a small 'tch' falling from his lips as he crosses his arms over his chest.

So much for a relaxing bath.

It's Usopp who finally decides to butt in. "Wait a minute, hold up. How do you know Marimo?"

Sanji's brow twitches even further down. "Mari-who?"

"He's talking about me, dimwit."

Of course it's the green haired douche — or Marimo, apparently — who's now leaning on the edge of the tub, arms folded on the wood while his head rests upon them.

Sanji swears he's heard that name before. Or that word, at least, but he can't place it right now. Still—

"What a stupid name."

Not rising to the bait, Marimo simply lifts a single eyebrow. "And what's your name, Mr. High-and-mighty?"

Sanji's arms are still crossed, but he can't help but turn toward the other man. "It's Sandriël."

Marimo has the audacity to chuckle at that, a low rumble that has his shoulders shake with mirth. "Yeah, cause that doesn't sound stupid."

Before Sanji can say something else — defend his name, his honor, anything — a female voice cuts in.

"Anyway, it's good to run into you! We tried to find your camp but you weren't with the Gecko's."

Sanji hasn't even noticed the other people in the tub, and the gravity of his mistake slams into him like a six foot spiked hammer — because wow.

A stunning redhead is perched next to Marimo, her hair tied in a high ponytail that falls over her shoulders like molten copper. Her gorgeous face, hazel eyes, and swirly tattoo — that did not come off in the shower — make her beautiful on the outside, but she also has a certain… aura that really draws Sanji in.

Like she can commandeer a whole room with nothing but a smile and a cock of her hips.

Usopp has barely started his reply, going on about disagreements with self-centered campsite managers when Sanji feels it. Words, bubbling up his chest with the excitement of a startled beehive. He tries to keep them in, but before Usopp even finishes his story, it all spills out.

"What beauty graces my eyes!" he swoons, arms uncrossing only to grasp his chest in most theatrical fashion. "And how may I address you, oh fair maiden?"

He's laying it on thick, but he knows that he can — here, in fantasy land, it's okay to speak like this.

Sadly, the gorgeous redhead doesn't seem to agree, and the snort she breaks into turns Sanji's jackrabbit heart into stone faster than you can say Medusa.

"Wow, you're something," she comments with a little shake of her head, but at least there's still a small smile adorning her perfectly plush lips. "I'm Navi."

"You gotta be careful around her," Usopp stage-whispers, loud enough for everyone to hear. "She's a thief, and a mighty good one at that. Better keep your copper close if you don't want to lose it!"

A row of chuckles follows through both tubs, and Sanji's mortification slowly melts along with the knots in his back. Fine, not every shot can land — but you miss every arrow you don't shoot, or however that saying goes.

"I'm Luffin!"

Another voice booms across the square, so loud that Usopp — who's sitting closest to the source — flinches hard enough to slosh some of the water overboard.

It belongs to a short, scrawny guy, probably a few years younger than Sanji, and it's also the same voice that commented on their toast just moments prior. His short black hair is sticking in every direction, and something dangles off his neck on a leather chord. It could be… a hat, maybe? Sanji can't quite tell from here.

And either way, there's more important matters to discuss.

"So, you guys know each other?"

Five sets of eyes snap toward him, but he keeps his head high and his shoulders relaxed.

Kaya is the first one to speak.

"Yeah, we've been allies for years. Navi once saved us from getting mugged on our way back from the tavern."

Sanji's eyebrows raise, his heart cracking its stony shell to beat a few paces quicker again. "Really? How?"

Navi runs a hand through her hair, letting her ponytail dangle outside the tub. "Wasn't that hard. A simple feat of misdirection."

She adds a wink to the words, fanning the flames of Sanji's love even further, when Luffin speaks up again.

"Merry also healed Zo—"

He's interrupted by an elbow to the side, Navi's glare boring into his soul until Luffin's confusion melts and he continues, "She healed Marimo and me dozens of times!"

Sanji huffs, attention shifting back to the moss-infested brute across from him. "Huh, who would've thought that flesh and skin alone doesn't make the best armor?"

But Marimo's smirk only grows. "We fought two dozen undead soldiers and only needed a minor spell to mend some bones. That's still impressive."

An eye roll, followed by an aloof, "Whatever makes you sleep at night."

Still, Sanji's gaze sticks to Marimo like freshly made toffee, warm and sticky: his tan skin, almost bronze in the afternoon sun; the rivulets of water running down the creases formed by his impeccable anatomy. There's a very thin layer of fat covering his insanely sculpted body, but it only adds to the allure, giving him that certain squish that's so nice to lay your head on—

Wait.

What is he even thinking?

Sanji snaps his eyes back up, away from those unfairly plump pecs, and finds Marimo straight up grinning at him, his steely eyes never leaving Sanji's face.

Startled, he shakes his head, forcing the inappropriate thoughts to tumble out of his consciousness lest he does something really stupid, and focuses back on the conversation.

"—so it's too bad that there won't be any cock fights tonight. Right?"

It's Navi who says it, but the intonation is all… weird. It's like she's talking in code, innuendo dripping off every other word, and Sanji's brows pull together in confusion as he glances toward Usopp, hoping to get some answers — but his friend is already shifting toward the redhead excitedly.

"Ohh, there won't, huh? So I don't need any tickets, since nothing is happening?"

Not enjoying being left out, Sanji leans toward Kaya. "What are they talking about?"

The blonde is equally enraptured, quickly dismissing him with a whispered, "I'll tell you later."

Unsatisfied, Sanji slumps back in his seat, lower lip jutting out as he tries to piece the conversation together by context clues alone.

"It's not like we would've sent in a cock ourselves, if there were any cock fights," Marimo adds around a grin, for once not pinning Sanji with his gaze. "That would've given us a bunch of extra tickets."

By now, Usopp is bending over the side of the tub, bare butt above the water as he whispers something toward Navi. Some kind of offer, it seems, judging by the contemplation spreading across her beautiful face. She leans forward as well, and oh God, her boobs are right there!

Sanji flicks his eyes away lightning quick, scanning the crowd below them instead. The hot tubs are right between a tavern and a booth that sells "dragon waffles", whatever the fuck that is. There's even a dragon's head made of styrofoam or some other craft material built into the backdrop, and Sanji actually huffs out a laugh when he watches a waffle fall down a ramp starting from its maw.

He takes a sip of his mead, its Fir-honey taste sweet on his tongue. He didn't know there were such differences between meads — not only what you mix it with, but the honey itself. It makes sense, of course, but he was still pleasantly surprised when the merchant let them try a wide variety of honey wines before they eventually landed on this one. It's sweet yet earthy, not as floral as some of the others. More grounded. Balanced.

His eyes slip closed again, and he tries to let his mind go blank as the slow stream of conversation continues around him.

A question floats in the air, dancing in the steam, but Sanji barely hears it, too drowsy now that the mead is kicking in.

"Hey, cook!"

The barked words startle him out of his trance, and he turns toward the annoyingly handsome source.

"What?" he barks back, annoyance threatening to overcome him once again.

"I said 'Can I have some?'" The brute nods toward the mead in his hands, greed shimmering around his irises. "You know, since you owe me?"

Ridiculous.

Utterly ridiculous.

"I don't owe you shit," Sanji mutters, but if he's learned anything during the past two days they've been here, it's that LARPers love to share. Mead, bread, weapons — you need it? You'll get it. So he reluctantly tops off his mug before reaching over toward the mannerless oaf, whose scar riddled hands reach for it with gusto.

"Thanks, long-ear."

The words are delivered with such a shit-eating grin that Sanji would love nothing more than to slap the mug right out of his hands again, but unlike the moldy barbarian in the other tub, he has manners.

Besides, it would be horrible to clean, and he really doesn't want to impose the nice people running the tubs.

So he takes the high road, choosing to ignore the jab as he simply waits for Marimo to take a sip and return his drink.

And he waits.

And waits.

And is that motherfucker still drinking?!

It's becoming increasingly clear that the idiot does not intend to leave a single drop, and Sanji sees fucking red.

"Oi, algae-brains! You wanted some, not a whole fucking cask!"

A warm hand lands on his shoulder just as he's about to climb out of the tub to reclaim his drink. It's Usopp, an apologetic look crossing his features as he shakes his head somberly. "I'm sorry man, but that's gone now."

Sanji recoils — because what?!

Incredulous blue eyes scan the rest of both parties, but he's met with nothing but condolences.

"Should've warned you," Kaya adds apologetically, just as Marimo finishes the last of the mead with a satisfied sigh and a smack of his lips.

"Thanks," he drawls as he hands the empty mug back, smugness all but radiating off his stellar frame.

What an asshole.

Sanji has to channel every ounce of discipline he has to not stick his tongue out in childish defeat. Instead, he yanks the mug back and simply refills it again, keeping it clutched in a white knuckled grip.

"I guess they're all a bunch of thieves," he grumbles into his mug, and the laughter that erupts around him, as well as the relaxed smile tugging on Marimo's lips, almost makes it worth it.

Almost.

It isn't until they're back in the changing rooms that Sanji brings up the cock fights again. He just cannot fathom anything that doesn't involve animal cruelty or a sausage fest, so he gently taps Kaya's shoulder as soon as she's slipped on her dress.

"So, what is the deal with the cock fights?"

She looks surprised for all but a second, before her expression morphs into amusement.

"Well, there aren't any, of course!"

If she weren't such a kind, beautiful lady, Sanji would absolutely shake her by the shoulders until the truth finally tumbled out of her mouth. She must see the growing impatience on his face — his eye is probably twitching along to the bard's rhythm by now — because she finally takes pity on him.

"There aren't any actual animals involved, and nobody's naked." Her voice is low, hushed, like she's sharing a secret. "It's a lot of fun, and it's very exclusive. It's insanely hard to get tickets if you don't know a participant."

Sanji frowns. "But we do?"

She nods, her smile full of mischief. "We do. Sogeking made a deal with Navi to give us their extra tickets in exchange for free drinks at the tavern tonight."

His eyebrows shoot up lightning quick. Drinks at the tavern aren't paid in copper or gold — that's real money right there.

"Trust me, it's better to see for yourself," she adds with a final wink, and Sanji can't help but huff out an incredulous laugh. Fine, if she says so, he'll trust her.

The cock fights better be insane.

— 🐓 —

The cock fights are fucking insane.

Sanji really doesn't know what he expected, but it certainly isn't this.

See, Navi had picked them up at their camp a good thirty minutes after the bath, giving them enough time to drop off their things and get ready.

Sanji's wearing a beautiful, sleeveless coat the color of the ocean, a deep Prussian blue with elven accents. He'd bought it just yesterday at a market stall and fell in love immediately; golden stars were stitched into the shiny teal wrap draping across the front, while elegant swirls and lines decorated the prominent lapels. The inner layer reached to mid-thigh, cinched tight at the waist by a matching belt, while the outer silk cascaded lower like a cloak made of starlight. It was beautiful.

It was also hella expensive, but it's better not to think about that right now. Either way, he'd been looking forward to finally wearing it, even if he'll be wildly overdressed for any kind of fight — cock or not. He put it on over an off-white linen blouse with bell sleeves, snug around the wrist and just revealing enough to show a bit of his chest hair.

Navi even complimented his look, a low whistle escaping her as she scanned him from head to toe upon her arrival, so it was already a wild success.

And yeah, now that he's here, he can confirm that his outfit doesn't match the vibe at all: broken straws of hay cover the floor, bales of it arranged in a circle to form a makeshift arena. A shabby, barely-standing booth is overflowing with people trying to place a last minute bet, frantically waving their coin pouches and yelling out names and numbers.

"I already put sixty copper on Luffin," Navi comments off-handedly, the words dripping with fake indifference as she pins her gaze on Sanji, eyes sparkling with challenge. "You wanna go against?"

As if.

First of all, Sanji doesn't even have sixty copper — barely has ten, and even that's just because Usopp gave him some at the start of their trip. The archer had suggested that Sanji sell some of his home-made treats — candied nuts and stuffed dates — for some extra coin, but he ended up giving most of it away to beautiful ladies and giggling kids instead.

Sue him for being soft.

Second of all, he still has no fucking idea what's about to happen. So Luffin is one of the contestants, great — but what does that mean?!

Besides, there's another, much more simple reason.

"Why would I bet against a brilliant mind like yours? No matter what impression you got of me in the tub, I'm not a fool."

He tops it off with a wink, then tugs his hands into the pockets of his breeches. There's easily a hundred people crammed into the small space shielded by tents on every side, and he still hasn't seen or heard any of the contestants. A small group of bards is playing a fun little tune, holding the attention of a group of travelers singing along in uneven harmony, while others are yelling over the music, trying to talk up their cocks — and what a weird thought that is — or goad people into betting. Usopp and Kaya are standing in line for the betting booth, needling Navi about the other cocks and their track records, when a casual scan of the crowd has Sanji's breath hitch in his throat.

Because there he is.

The object of his desire, no matter how unwelcome. His latest unhealthy obsession.

His pulse is hammering against his throat, a war drum signaling a confrontation he doesn't know he's ready for.

Marimo is just a few paces away, letting his gaze sweep across the hubbub of people with equal fervor—

—until their eyes meet.

There's no bravado, no inherent need to keep his cool, no — Marimo's lips simply pull into a grin, wide and carefree, and gravity shifts as it tugs the two of them together.

...or three of them, actually. Because there's a kid with the handsome brute, around eight or nine years old, with wide brown eyes and the cutest pair of antlers attached to his head.

Is Marimo… a dad?!

"Hi."

Just one word from the mosshead, and Sanji's insides start to melt. His inner drum is picking up speed, but it doesn't signal danger anymore — it sounds more like music now, a fast-paced rhythm to dance to.

And it's not even the 'Hi' itself — talk about simplicity — but the way he says it. A little breathless, a little awed. Like he didn't really think Sanji would be here, and is elated that he is.

"Hi yourself," Sanji greets back, successfully keeping his voice even. "Who's this little guy?"

He crouches down then, getting on eye level with the kid that's trying to hide his face behind Marimo's legs, but the brute simply steps to the side before leaning down.

"Come on Chop," he coaxes, voice gentle, and oh God, if that doesn't turn Sanji's insides into goo. "Introduce yourself to the fancy cook."

When the kid still doesn't move, Marimo also crouches down, joining them in a private circle close to the floor to whisper, "If you're lucky he might have candy with him."

Sanji's eyebrows skyrocket, but it's no comparison to the one-eighty the kid's personality does at the prospect of sweets.

"Is that true?" he asks, his squeaky voice absolutely adorable. "Do you have candy?"

His eyes are sparkling now, painted deer nose twitching as he sniffs the air for possible treats, the faint fur markings across his forehead almost too much for Sanji to handle. A passerby jostles him slightly — probably didn't notice their little group crouched in the middle of the crowd — but he catches himself easily before he reaches into his pouch.

"I do, actually."

The small bag of nuts is already in his hand when a thought occurs to him. His gaze flicks toward the other man again and he quickly asks, "He doesn't have any allergies, right?"

Marimo's eyes widen for a second before his face scrunches in thought. "I don't think so? I've seen him eat nuts, if that's what you're asking."

Okay, so probably not his son, then.

…Or he's the worst Dad in history.

"I'm not allergic!" the kid pipes up, nearly vibrating now as his eyes zero in on the little bag in the cook's hand. "I promise!"

Sanji sighs internally. If both of them say it's fine, it's probably fine. Besides, he's picked macadamias — expensive, but a rare one to be allergic to — so he hands out the small packet with little hesitance.

"Yay!"

The young deer immediately reaches inside, popping half the bag into his mouth at once, completely forgetting the other end of the deal.

"You still haven't told me your name," Sanji reminds him, his chest growing warm at both the kid's obvious delight and the mosshead's smitten expression. "Or should I simply call you sugar monster?"

A fit of giggles erupts from the little guy, and he cheerfully exclaims "I'm Choplin!" around a mouthful of nuts.

"Hi Choplin, it's nice to meet you. I'm Sandriël." He reaches out his hand, holding back the coo that threatens to fall from his lips when the kid quickly wipes his hands on his sage green coat before shaking his.

"He's a healer in training," Marimo offers, gesturing toward the tiny vials hanging off the kid's antlers, clinking together softly whenever he moves, like Earth's own, tiny wind chime.

"Have you healed anyone lately?"

The question is directed straight at the kid, and Choplin immediately launches into a story about a wounded drow that he helped patch up earlier that day.

"It's okay if I can't fix it, though," Choplin adds with a shrug. "My mom can just bring them back to life!"

Once again, Sanji's eyebrows raise to his hairline, but when his eyes flick toward Marimo he simply gets a smile and a shake of the head that clearly reads 'don't ask.'

He's just about to shift the conversation back to Marimo — ask about his relationship to Choplin, maybe, or whether he's got any mosslings running around somewhere himself — when a hand clad in fingerless gloves lands on his shoulder.

"Dude, it's about to start!"

It's Usopp, of course, vibrating with excitement just as much as Choplin did just moments before. The three of them raise from the floor and Marimo wastes no time sweeping the young healer up like he weighs nothing before plopping him down onto his shoulders. The kid simply keeps munching his nuts, comfortable with his new perch like he's been there dozens of times before. Marimo's hands are firmly clasped around his tiny leather boots, his body swaying with whatever sudden movement Choplin makes to keep them balanced.

"Have you seen these fights before?" Sanji asks the kid, face angled high to keep looking at him.

"Of course! My Dad is one of the fighters!"

Irrational relief courses through Sanji at the confirmation — Definitely not Marimo's son, then.

Seems like he's the only newbie here. Which is fine. Kaya said it's better to see for himself, and he trusts her judgment.

All at once, the band stops their song mid-chorus, and silence ripples through the crowd like a latent spell cast from above. Low whispers occasionally fill the air, almost always followed by a hush.

Anticipation builds, the silence crackling like static, the scent of hay and candied nuts heavy in the air. Everybody is holding their breath—

—until the curtain Sanji didn't even notice before gets slammed aside, and out comes a looming figure with a booming voice that cuts through the silence like a cleaver through skin, sharp and sudden.

"Friends, foes, and fools alike — step right up, one and all! Behold, for what you are about to witness will set your soul alight!"

The crowd goes wild, cheers erupting all around them as everyone claps their hands and stomps their feet, shaking the earth with their excitement. Choplin is whooping from atop Marimo's shoulder, while the man himself is simply grinning in giddy anticipation. His cool gray eyes are glued to the presenter — a most unusual figure, with electric blue hair and the kind of make up Sanji hasn't seen around here, yet. There are markings around his eyes and his nose is painted red, perfectly matching the crimson sash tied around his waist. He's quite tall, long legs accentuated by the vertical black and gray stripes of his breeches, while his open vest is cleanly divided into two blocks of color. He looks somewhere between a jester and a pirate — surprisingly fitting for someone who runs underground cock fights, if you ask him.

"Are you ready to see blood? Feathers flying in the dark as our poor old roosters fight for their lives?"

The crowd roars again, egged on by the glint in the showman's eyes and the volume of his words.

There's an edge to his voice that can't be described as anything but manic. It sends a shiver down Sanji's spine despite his coat, the skin on his arms pebbling without his consent, and he finds himself shuffling just an inch closer to the barbarian by his side.

The move gently knocks their arms together — they were already standing pretty close, it seems — and Marimo's gaze flicks toward Sanji's for a split second before it returns to the presenter, that feral grin melting into something warmer, more genuine.

Sanji's mouth drops open, words already forming in the back of his throat — an apology, maybe, or simply something to dissolve the awkwardness — but when Marimo simply leans into the touch, they fizzle out like spilled champagne.

He can feel the warmth of the other man seeping into his own skin, the thin layer of his blouse offering no insulation at all. Marimo is wearing the same thing as before — loose black pants, wrapped calves and a sash — but this time, his tattered cloak is actually covering his shoulders instead of just trailing behind him.

Sanji really doesn't mind that the mosshead didn't bother to hide his pecs. It'd be a crime, honestly. He'd hate to call the guards on him.

The presenter's booming voice snatches his attention back to the main event.

"I hope you all placed your bets, because the first fight is about to start! Can you hear them, rattling their cages?"

The man cups his ear theatrically, face open with curiosity. There are no actual cages here, of course — Sanji has grasped that at least, even if he still doesn't know how exactly this whole thing is gonna go — but the crowd still plays along, cheering and hollering as their patience runs thin.

"For our first contestant, we have a recurring fan favorite — forged in a blacksmith's yard, this rooster grew up around sparks and metal dust. A tough contender, with hard edges and a mind of steel: give it up for the Iron Cock!"

The name is ridiculous, but the crowd still screams themselves hoarse when the curtain pulls away again and Iron Cock struts out.

And what the actual fuck even is this.

Yeah, Sanji is a noob and doesn't know shit about LARP, but even if you gave him a hundred guesses he would not have been able to come up with this:

The Iron Cock is simply a man, easily a head taller than Sanji and twice as wide as Marimo, with a fake beak glued to his face and something that looks like two red water balloons dangling from his neck. He's fully comfortable in his role as a rooster, hands tucked beneath his armpits as he wildly flutters his elbows around, frog walking toward the arena as he keeps "bok, boKOK"-ing toward the crowd. His hair is the same shade as the presenter's, and he's wearing nothing but a piece of undergarments and a flowy, white robe that has certainly seen better days.

A gorgeous lady in black trails behind him, easily as tall as the man before her, and her tattered dress flows with each graceful move. Her corset is made up of bones that wrap around her curves beautifully, and the top half of her face is painted all black.

"That's my mom and dad!" Choplin yells as loud as he can, waving his small hands around in excitement. The rooster breaks character for a second, turning toward his son to shoot him a grin that is all teeth and adrenaline, before he resumes his huffing and puffing inside the arena.

The pair takes their place in one corner, Iron Cock in constant movement, when the announcer shifts the attention back to the curtain.

"Now, now, save some excitement for the rest of the roster! Because the next cock has been training for this fight all his life. Drilled from the moment he was hatched, following orders is as ingrained into this rooster's DNA as picking corn."

The showman pauses for a beat, letting the amused chuckles die down before he adds,

"Give it up for Private Pecker!"

The curtain opens once again, revealing another man with an equally silly beak-and-balloons-combo, but his vibe is all different. His stance is similar — the tucked hands, the crouched walk — but his back is ramrod straight, his pristine coat emblazoned with the city guards' crest. Behind him walks a tall man with a large, double-sided axe, donning the same jacket and the same blond hair. Their features are similar enough that they could be related — father and son, maybe, or nephew and uncle — but while the coach's presence is grand and imposing, the rooster's is… lacking, to put it nicely.

His long, blond hair keeps tangling with the balloons, and Sanji's swears he can feel the anxiety hiding behind his false bravado.

Still, Private Pecker walks on like a good little soldier, only squawking once when his coach kicks him lightly to pick up his pace.

His applause is slightly subdued, but that's not saying much — the cheers are still thunderous, even if the occasional insults and boos are mingled in between.

The presenter once again waits for the crowd to calm down, spinning in the middle of the arena with his arms splayed wide as if to physically grab everyone's attention.

"I'm sure you all know the rules by now," he drawls, a wicked grin tugging at the sharp corners of his painted mouth. "But I'm still going to freshen you up.

"It's simple, really — pick your opponent's chest open, or fight until someone surrenders! No hands allowed — because roosters don't have hands, right?"

He delivers that line with a wink, and the audience eats it up with bated breath, seemingly everyone getting pulled in by the magnetic charm pouring off the ringmaster.

"Stay inside the arena or get disqualified! And… that's it!" he concludes, arms once again open wide as he bathes in the noise erupting around him. "Are you ready?!"

He checks in with each rooster, making sure they confirm with a nod, before he hops onto the biggest ball of hay in the center of the barrier.

"Alright! Better stand back unless you want to get drenched in blood, because the Fight. Starts. NOW!"

If Sanji thought it was loud before, the cheers are now deafening. It's insane how into it everybody is, yells of "Go Iron Cock! Show that little Pecker who's boss!" and "Yeah!!! Peck him open!" nearly splitting his ear drums.

The fighters have started to circle each other, awkwardly waddling as they assess their opponent. Private Pecker is considerably smaller, and less experienced, too. It's no wonder that he flinches back the second Iron Cock puffs up, the large man merely taking a step toward him enough to make him cower. His coach yells at him from right outside the ring, slapping his flank with the side of his axe to get him to attack.

And he does — or, tries to, at least. Private Pecker gathers all of his courage and charges at his opponent, running head first toward his chest, spurred on by the excited yells coming from all sides. He almost manages to pop one of the balloons, too, grazing its side with the point of his beak, but Iron Cock is too quick. He easily dodges the attack, using the smaller man's momentum to push him further into the hay barrier.

It's… honestly exciting, and Sanji finds his fingers twitching at his sides when Private Pecker rolls away just in time to avoid an attack that surely would've been deadly.

The cheering, the over the top commentary, the sheer ridiculousness of it all has his blood singing in his veins, buzzing with excitement as he watches on with rapt attention.

It feels like an eternity, even if it's probably only been a couple of minutes, but when Private Pecker once again charges in head first — a one trick pony if Sanji's ever seen one — Iron Cock simply steps to the side ahead of time, throwing all his weight into the back of the passing man, sending him flying into the banisters hard enough that half his body ends up on the other side.

It's enough to count as out of bounds, and the crowd explodes into whoops and hollers when Iron Cock is officially declared this round's winner.

Choplin's excited cry is easily heard over the rest of the noise, and Marimo stumbles slightly into Sanji as he tries to counterbalance the kid's enthusiastic wiggles. The hand that shoots out is automatic — a safety measure learned from spending years around waiters and kitchen staff handling trays of delicacies and tall glasses.

Marimo's skin is hot beneath his palm, fingers splayed across the small of his back. It sends a shockwave through his arm, sparks traveling all the way to his chest where they spread beneath his ribs, warm and tingling. And once again, Marimo simply leans into the touch, eyes flicking toward him as that pleased little grin returns to his face.

Sanji doesn't read into it; doesn't pay attention to the way his heart is morphing back into a rabbit, thumping hard and fast inside his chest.

His hand stays where it is.

The cock fights continue in a similarly ridiculous manner. More contestants get introduced, each branded with their own persona and backstory, and it's fun. It's so much fun.

At one point, Choplin asked to be let down, and he'd scurried off towards his mom as soon as his feet touched the ground. His dad is still in the game, but there's quite some time until he has to go again.

Sanji's hand had slipped off the mosshead's back during the maneuver, much to his dismay, but they're still standing shoulder to shoulder as they continue to watch the commotion unfold before their eyes.

"Who did you bet on?"

Marimo's breath is warm against his skin as he has to yell the question straight into his ear to be able be heard above all the noise.

"Nobody," Sanji yells back, equally close. The other man still smells like the earlier bath — sandalwood and peppermint — but his cloak clearly carries the scent of battle. Sweat and dust cling to the fabric like muscle memory, but it's covered by the omnipresent scent of firewood that coats everything around here. It's earthy, grounding. Just like the man beside him.

A single, angular eyebrow raises in surprise, tugging on the scar trying to keep it in place. "Really? What, too chicken?"

His eyes shine with mirth, mouth pressed together like he's trying to keep from laughing at his own joke. And okay, fine, it was a little funny. Sanji gives him a low chuckle, then shakes his head. "I just don't have a lot of copper to spare."

The other man hums in understanding, but his gaze travels down, eyes scanning the fine embroidery along Sanji's collar.

A hand shoots out — large, tanned, covered in tiny scars — and reaches for the silky wrap that spans across his chest, gently rubbing the fabric between his fingers. "Did you spend it all on this?"

Sanji swallows, his tongue suddenly too large for his mouth. "And what if I did?"

Another hum from Marimo, accompanied by a smile and a drop of eyelids. "Then you spent it well. It's beautiful."

He lets go of the fabric, gaze flicking back toward Sanji's face. His irises are dark beneath the shadow of his lids when he adds, "Suits you."

It's said so casually, so matter-of-fact, that Sanji forgets how to breathe for a second. They both know he didn't use copper for it — real things need to be bought with real money — but it only makes sense to play along as Sanji loses himself in that silver gaze. For a moment, the crowd around them disappears; the noise gets drowned out by the blood rushing though his ears, vision blurring around the edges until he can see nothing but that beautiful hunk of a man in front of him.

Holy shit, he thinks once the gears in his head sputter back to life, he's romantic, too.

Fucking hell.

Sanji swallows down the butterflies trying to flutter up his throat, fighting to keep them confined to his stomach. He's pretty sure the brute wouldn't appreciate him waxing poetic about his quicksilver eyes or the graceful curve of his Cupid's bow.

Instead, he opts for a smile — small, maybe a little coy, and turns back toward the cock fights.

If his cheeks are a tint darker than usual, nobody will know — hidden by the dying light of his last day in Mitrasphera.

The sudden pang in his chest at the thought is as unwelcome as it is surprising. He really didn't think he'd grow so fond of this place in such a short time. It's silly, sure — there are literally two guys pretending to be roosters fighting ten feet away from him — but it's so easy to get lost in the magic of it all. To let go of his worldly worries and just play pretend for a couple of wonderful, mystical days.

Marimo's knuckles brush against the back of his hand, but when Sanji checks, his gaze is still pointed forward. He returns the gesture, spreading his fingers slightly to catch the mosshead's pinky with his own.

They stay like this for the remainder of the fight, neither of them saying a word.

— 🔮 —

The tavern is bursting with life, from the bard's jaunty violin to the hustle and bustle all around him. Dusk is swiftly drifting upon them, the sun at that perfect twilight where the first lanterns start to show, their golden glow warm against the darkening sky.

Sanji's tapping his foot along to the jolly rhythm while he waits for the others to join him at the table, lighting his trusty pipe to take an indulgent hit. It's long and elegant, the kind you'd see in Middle Earth, and it settles his nerves almost at once.

They've split up after the cock fights, with Usopp and Kaya waiting in line to get them drinks while he saves them a table, the couple sending him knowing looks every now and then. Which he can understand, okay? He knows he's acting a little… off. He's basically ignored them all throughout the cock fights, opting to stay tucked close to Marimo's side instead.

Sanji scoffs, leg still bouncing as he keeps smoking, his elbow resting atop the sticky table. Of course his mind goes back to the green-haired idiot the first opportunity it gets.

Said idiot is off getting them some food, the offer falling from his lips like second nature as soon as they'd stepped back onto the dirt roads of the small village. And who was Sanji to refuse? Besides, the mossy brute had looked so cute when he asked what Sanji wanted, like a dog waiting for his next order.

Trusting the mosshead to bring him something good — and maybe trying to figure out his intentions by food choice alone — Sanji had simply said, "Surprise me."

So here he is, all alone at the big table, politely shooing off anyone trying to sit with him as he waits for the others to gather round. His heart is still reeling from everything that happened today, floundering inside his chest whenever he catches a glimpse of green in his periphery.

A slow exhale through his nose and Sanji pointedly fixes his gaze on the bard, who's currently packing up his viola to take a seat at the piano instead. He's a weird guy, fully dressed as a skeleton; it's giving Dia de Los Muertos, with big painted eye sockets and an afro to boot, and Sanji's still taking in the details of his suit when Kaya slams down his drink in front of him.

"So," she starts, pointed and way too smug for Sanji's liking while her and Usopp slide onto the bench across from him. "Marimo, huh?"

Deflect.

Sanji turns toward her, tamping out his pipe while forcing his movements to be slow and languid — the complete opposite of the chaos beneath his ribs.

He puts all his efforts into sounding nonchalant when he lets out an aloof,

"What about him?"

He's not convincing — his hummingbird of a heart makes his voice all fluttery, and Kaya visibly lights up at his awfully bad acting.

"You like him!" she squeals, eyes squeezing together with how hard she's grinning. "And he likes you too!"

A rush of warmth floods his cheeks and spreads to his fingers where they wrap around his bottle of ale. No sense in denying it further — besides, her words let hope bloom straight from his core.

"Right? I'm not imagining it?" Sanji asks, his voice just loud enough to be heard over the other patrons.

"Dude, I don't think you have anything to worry about," Usopp reassures him, his eyebrows wiggling as he pointedly glances at something behind his friend.

Sanji turns so fast he nearly gives himself whiplash, the hummingbird beneath his ribs raging against its cage as soon as his eyes land on Marimo, demanding to be let out immediately.

Because the mossy idiot is absolutely overflowing with food. Skewers, bowls and dishes are stacked precariously on top of each other, and with an impressive show of dexterity — or some kind of miracle — he manages to bring it over without the whole thing toppling.

"What the hell?" Sanji manages around the laugh bubbling up his throat, the absurdity of it all too much to contain.

To his surprise, the barbarian simply puffs out his chest and proclaims, "Now you get to pick," as if it was some kind of genius idea to just get one of everything.

…Well, turns out it actually was — because the second as he sets it all down, Usopp snatches one of the stuffed bread rolls and instantly takes a bite.

"Hey!" Sanji barks, but Marimo gently grabs his wrist when he tries to take it back.

"There's enough to go around," he says with a shrug, then flicks his gaze up to meet Sanji's, eyes sharp yet playful. "Or did you think I bought all of this for you?"

Fuck.

His cheeks flare up hot enough to melt iron as his brain scrambles to come up with any excuse.

"No," he lies — badly, judging by the thoroughly unconvinced stares he's met with — and tries to save it with, "But Luffin's gotta be hungry after that performance."

Marimo chuckles softly as he casually rests his elbow on the table, turning sideways in his seat until the whole length of his body is angled toward Sanji. He's just about to say something else, mouth already open and breath drawn in, when none other than Choplin bounces toward their table, his dad trailing a few steps behind.

"Sandriël!" the little guy exclaims, buzzing with excitement as he reaches for his sleeve. "My mom wants to talk to you! Come on!"

Before Sanji even has the chance to do or say anything, Choplin pulls him from his seat. A little bamboozled, he looks behind himself toward the others — toward Marimo, silently pleading him to demand that Sanji stays right where he is, tucked into his side — but all of them simply snicker at the display.

"Guess I'll be right back?"

The words feel unsure, and his eyes drift toward the mosshead who simply shrugs, a smile playing on his lips.

"We'll be here," he says, a low, soothing rumble that travels all the way down Sanji's spine.

And with that, he's dragged away, pushed behind a heavy curtain that locks out the tavern's messy tangle of bodies and spilled drinks. None of that can be seen from inside the narrow séparée containing a small, round table with a chair on each side, a glowing, shimmering orb sitting in the middle. Ornaments of all kinds are dangling from the roof — dried herbs and flowers, but also furs, teeth and bones, hung low enough that Sanji has to duck past them. A small smatter of sparks douses the booth in just enough light to see, the only bits of brightness beside the orb.

"Welcome, Sandriël."

It's Choplin's mom, the eerie woman from before. Her ominous appearance is alluring yet dangerous, like a siren's call you can't escape from, though her voice is significantly more pleasant than Sanji would've expected — warm, even. There's the barest hint of a smile tugging up her lips, and she gestures for him to sit before she rounds the table to take a seat of her own.

A low chime of bells and bottles signals Choplin's departure, and when the curtain falls closed behind him, so does the rest of the world.

"My name is Fleur de Mors," she continues, "and it's come to my attention that you gave my son a treat, free of charge."

Her words are calm, neutral, said in that warm tone that feels like even though she could harm you, she won't — but there's a certain glint in her eye that somehow feels like trouble.

"Yes?" Sanji admits, unsure where she's going with this. "I asked Marimo about allergies, if that's what you're—"

He's interrupted by a quiet, melodic laugh, Fleur's hands coming up to cover her mouth as she tries to hide her amusement. It would be cute, if her fingers weren't coated in ink, her long, black nails filed to look like claws.

"Oh, none of that. You're not in trouble."

His shoulders relax as he exhales. Okay, so he's not going to get cursed to hell and back. So what..?

"I wanted to thank you," she offers, seemingly reading his mind. "And offer you one of my services, equally free of charge."

She gestures toward the small sign Sanji hasn't paid attention to before.

Madame Fleur's Fates & Follies

Hand reading - 5 Copper

Tarot Reading - 10 Copper

Guided Seance - 3 Silver

Huh. He's never been the kind to believe in horoscopes, or signs from the afterlife… but why not try it out?

After all the other silly things he's done this weekend, this shouldn't be where he draws the line. Besides, he can't say he's not intrigued by Fleur's mystique.

So after giving it some thought, he makes a decision. "I'd love to see what the cards have in store for me."

Fleur's matt black lips pull into another smile as she gracefully reaches for a gold crested deck of cards.

"Have you ever had someone lay the cards for you?"

He shakes his head, so she hands him the deck and continues her instructions. "It's your job to shuffle — infuse the cards with your essence. Let them get to know you, get a feel for who you are."

It sounds like a bunch of humbug, but he still obliges, carefully shuffling the large deck. The cards are smooth beneath his fingers, the papery whisper of the shuffle the only sound around them. Fleur's eyes follow his movements like a hawk, and once she seems satisfied, she reaches out her hand for him to give them back.

"I will now unveil three cards, one for your past, one for your present and one for your future."

She drops said cards face down onto the table in front of him, in perfect rhythm with her words.

"Know that the cards don't decide, Sandriël; they only whisper what's already there. What you do with it is yours to choose."

He swallows, slowly leaning forward in his seat, pulled in by her silky smooth voice. His eyes flick toward the first card just as her inky fingers flip it over.

It shows a single figure, cane in hand and a silly hat upon his head — a classical jester, on the edge of a cliff — but the whole thing is upside down.

"The Fool," Fleur reads, her voice perfectly neutral. "He'll walk into danger head-first. A little too trusting, almost naïve."

Sanji's brows tick down. That doesn't really sound like him at all. He's just about to protest when she continues,

"But it's upside down, representing doubt. Stagnation. Staying in a safe place, just because it's comfortable. Not trusting something new to be something good."

Her eyes flick up, the dark blue of her irises a stark contrast to the black paint covering the upper half of her face. "Sounds like you took a leap, but needed quite a bit of convincing."

Sanji's heartbeat picks up. What seemed like a silly game a minute ago is suddenly starting to feel real — because he did have doubts about this. He was refusing to go, and he's so glad that he changed his mind after all.

"Quite fitting," he admits, trying to keep a cool façade, though he has no doubt Fleur is looking right through him.

She merely hums, then reaches for the next card. "Now, let's see what fate will have in store for you tonight."

With a flick of the wrist, the next card is flipped, revealing a beautiful starry sky. A woman is kneeling before it, carrying two large jugs that spill onto the water and earth below. The golden font at the bottom simply reads "The Stars".

It pulls a surprised chuckle from Fleur, and their eyes meet again. "Seems like the universe is simply asking you to trust it, today. Let the stars guide you, inspire you."

A small gust of wind sneaks past the tent walls, sending goosebumps up Sanji's arms. He has been letting the universe guide him today. The bath, the cock fights — none of these were his idea, and he agreed to them either way, finding that each and every suggestion had been better than the last.

Guess he's doing something right.

"And what about my future?" he rasps, throat suddenly dry. Past and present are easy — you can pretty much interpret these cards however you want — but he can't deny that he's craving to know what tomorrow has in store for him.

Smiling at his sudden curiosity, Fleur's hand moves toward the last card.

"Remember, I only read what's laid before me. What you do with it after... that's beyond my sight."

And with that, she flips the card—

—and Sanji's eyes immediately snap to the gilded letters boldly spelling "DEATH."

The card itself is gorgeous — the Grim Reaper atop a beautiful steed, his shiny scythe reflecting the low light — but Sanji can't help the way his stomach drops straight to the tavern floor.

Death.

That's it, huh?

Tomorrow, this whole spiel ends, and he's just… Sanji again.

His breath comes out shorter, anxiety rising slowly until his skin prickles with it, but before it can fester, Fleur pulls him back to the here and now.

"Now, this is interesting," she starts, but she doesn't look worried, at least. "Death is a most misunderstood card. There's nothing inherently bad about it — new life always comes with it, in one form or another."

Her eyes are kind as she once again smiles at him. "It could be the death of life as you know it. Death of your doubts, maybe." She pointedly taps the upturned fool card.

"It represents transformation, in whichever form it sees fit."

And… okay, that's a bit reassuring.

Still, his stomach's twisted into a tight knot. Sanji sighs, forcing a tired smile onto his lips. She might've tried to pull it around, but the sight of the reaper's mean grin still sits wrong with him. Like all his worries have slammed back to the forefront of his mind, only to settle in his gut, hard and unforgiving.

"Well, this sure was interesting," Sanji says as he rises from his chair. Fleur follows along, rounding the table to step up to him. And just before he can leave — his thank you and good night already at the tip of his tongue — she gently rests her hand on his shoulder.

"There's no point in worrying about what the future may hold. Try to focus on the now, and trust the stars to guide you." She looks like a sage, wise beyond her years, and her mysterious façade cracks just for a second when she winks at him. "It's gotten you this far, hasn't it?"

With that, she pulls back the curtain, and the outside world rushes in all at once. Endless chatter, clinking glasses, patrons yelling over each other or singing along to the bard's jaunty tune — but all Sanji can focus on is the one table in the center row, that grassy green head pulling him in like a lighthouse at sea.

"Thank you," he mumbles toward Fleur, finding his manners just in time before his feet take him back to Marimo.

— 🍻 —

The mosshead's still in the same seat as before, but Sanji's spot has been taken over by a sleeping Choplin. Curled up on his side, the kid's head is resting on Marimo's lap, the barbarian's tattered cloak pulled tightly around his tiny body. It's beyond adorable, and Sanji's step falters when the words 'new life' echo in his memory.

Fuck, what would that look like?

Marimo's in deep conversation with the others — Luffin and Navi have finally joined them, along with Choplin's dad — but his gaze keeps flicking down to the little guy, a small smile ticking up each time.

It's so endearing that Sanji has to look away.

He can't help that he's weak for men who are good with kids, okay? He knows that he wants to start a family some day, that this is something he's asking before he enters any relationship — gay or straight, he needs to know.

Sanji swallows down the strangled noise that threatens to escape him. Why the fuck is he even thinking about this? About— what, having kids with a literal stranger? Some hot dude he met hours ago?

He tramples down his nerves, shutting down any and all train of thought headed into dangerous territory, and closes the distance between them.

"Miss me?" he asks around a grin, his tone playful and teasing, but the way Marimo's face lights up when he finally spots the blond doesn't feel like a game.

"Every second," the brute replies, eyelids drooping as he takes Sanji in from head to toe, as if he's forgotten what he looked like in the measly ten minutes he was gone. It's so dumb, but it still shoots warmth up Sanji's face, his pointy ears nearly burning up.

It's obvious that Marimo wants Sanji to sit beside him again, and the way confusion mixes with desperation as he glances from Choplin to Sanji and back is adorable beyond belief. Before he has to make a decision, Fleur swoops in from behind the blond, crouching low beside her son.

"Looks like it's time for bed for my favorite little healer," she murmurs, running a gentle hand along the kid's side until he stirs. "C'mon, let's say good night to everyone."

Choplin blinks his doe-brown eyes open slowly, and it seems to take him a second to figure out his surroundings as he turns his head. A big yawn falls from his lips, and he rubs his eyes as Marimo gently guides him into an upward position.

"I'm not even tired," the little guy mumbles, and Sanji can already feel the cavities forming from how sweet he is. The cook has no idea what time it is — there are no clocks in Mitrasphera — but judging by the way the sun has fully disappeared beyond the horizon, it's gotta be around ten at least.

"Hmm, that's too bad, because I sure am. What about you, Franxis? You wanna go to bed?"

Her husband simply grins, raising his beefy arms high in the air as he pretends to yawn, big and wide and almost comical. "Oh, yeah. Those cock fights really took a number on me," he agrees, quickly catching himself as he adds, "not that there were any cock fights, of course. Who'd do that?"

It earns him a round of chuckles, and Choplin's only pouting mildly when his dad rounds the table to pick him up, the mosshead's cloak slipping from his shoulders. The small, quirky family bids them all a good night, and the kid's already dozing against his father's shoulder when they finally take their leave.

Sanji's busy watching them — that odd little family, so comfortable in their roles — when something tugs at his coat.

Or rather, someone.

A very mossy someone.

Not even bothering to fake resistance, Sanji slides onto the bench beside Marimo, earning himself a pleased little smile. He knows it's mirrored on his face, and he has to duck out of that intense, steely gaze lest he says something he's gonna regret — like 'So, how many kids do you want?' or 'Can you see us coming here as a family?'

The low rumble of his stomach reminds him that he got dragged away before he could get any of the food Marimo bought for him — and the others, of course — but when his eyes scan the table, all he finds is empty dishes and chewed-off wooden skewers.

It's… fine. At least that's what he tells himself, trying not to let his disappointment show. He can just get something later, maybe when they go back to camp—

But before he can even finish his thought, a plate is dropped right in front of him. And it's all there: Three chunks of grilled meat rest on a handful of potatoes, half a bread roll nudged beside it, topped off with something that looks like sour cream.

"I couldn't save you everything," Marimo laments, "Luffin was too quick. I hope this is enough."

Honestly? Fuck that guy.

How dare he be this considerate? This… thoughtful?

There has to be a catch. Has to.

Maybe the fact that this is all play pretend, his traitorous mind reminds him, shooting an arrow straight through his love-sick fool of a heart.

Shaking his head gently, Sanji can't suppress the fond smile that slips onto his face as he picks up the bread roll, stuffed with cheese and ham and all things good.

"Thank you, Mossy."

His words are merely above a whisper, the world once again narrowing to nothing but the space between their bodies, however minuscule it may be. Marimo chuckles at the nickname, but doesn't take offense. "You're welcome, Curls."

Sanji, on the other hand, absolutely does.

"Curls?!" he gasps, incredulous, all his childhood insecurities rushing to the surface at once. He knows his eyebrows are… unusual, okay? He doesn't know why he's got them, and he's tired of people pointing them out—

But before he can throw a full-blown tantrum, Marimo's hands are on him again, his middle finger gently tracing the swirls across his lapels. "Yeah. You're covered in them."

Sanji's anger evaporates as quickly as it came, leaving nothing but shame as he sags a bit lower in his chair.

"Oh," is all he can muster, embarrassment trickling down the back of his neck, cool and unpleasant.

At least the mosshead isn't put off by his little outburst. No, he simply slides down lower himself, resting his arm on the backrest behind Sanji in a move that can't be described as anything but bold. Marimo shoots him a look, his earrings chiming softly as he quietly checks if he's going too far, but Sanji simply leans into him as he wordlessly begins to munch on his food.

It's really good, if a little cold, and he's content to simply listen to the others while he eats, Marimo's presence a warm anchor at his side. They're still gushing over Luffin's earlier performance, it seems, their voices laced with excitement.

"I can't believe you took out Iron Cock like that," Kaya raves, and Luffin's answering grin is blinding, wide enough for his gums to show, and he throws his head back in unabashed laughter when Usopp adds, "For real! That was fucking intense!"

And truly, it had been intense.

Sanji's mind flashes back to Luffin's — or rather Rooster King's — fights immediately, insane images he couldn't have made up in his wildest dreams popping up before his inner eye.

Luffin's first fight had been easier than Sanji would've expected. For some reason, he'd already started in the semi-finals — something about a coin flip and time limits — and he had to face none other than Iron Cock. The blue haired rooster was towering over Luffin's smaller frame, but what he lacked in size he more than made up for in speed.

So while Iron Cock planned to use the same technique as before — let the enemy charge, then dodge and push them out — it had absolutely no effect on Luffin. No, Rooster King was simply faster, more agile, easily able to adjust his trajectory just as Iron Cock began to turn.

He'd had his chest pecked open in under a minute.

Navi is sitting across from him, her mouth pulling into a satisfied grin as she keeps counting the endless copper spilling from her ridiculously big coin pouch.

"Oh, that was nothing." She brushes off Usopp's comment easily, the candlelight reflecting off her winnings making her eyes sparkle. "Kuro was the real test."

Kuro, right. Luffin's second opponent — a smarmy guy dressed in all black, with the moniker The Silent Talon. Raised by alley cats, this cock had been trained in the shadows of the underground — according to the announcer — and he did have quite the skill. He was quick, almost as quick as Luffin, and he'd popped one of Rooster King's balloons within the first few seconds of the fight.

A gasp had rippled through the crowd, Sanji's hand reaching for Marimo's again.

But Luffin wouldn't be the self-proclaimed King of the Roosters if he didn't have an ace up his sleeve. So he'd simply closed his eyes, focused on the sounds and smells around him as he expertly dodged the Silent Talons next attack, and the one after that, and another.

It had been a battle of endurance, but one Luffin simply excelled at.

Sanji had been holding his breath on the sidelines, his fingers fully entwined with Marimo's at this point. He just needed something to anchor him, okay? It really was fucking intense.

It all happened quickly after that. Rooster King's eyes were still closed, his movements eerily fluid, and at the next charge, a successful dodge-and-peck combo had the Silent Talon bleeding from his chest.

And just like that, the fight was over.

"I really thought he was gonna get you," Sanji sheepishly admits as the discussion goes on, and Marimo playfully tugs at the hairs at the back of his neck.

"Once again shows that you know nothing, Curls," he says with a wicked grin. "You don't just defeat the Rooster King."

Laughter erupts around them, another call of "hear ye, hear ye!" falling from Usopp's lips as they all toast to Luffin's success.

Somehow, Sanji doesn't mind the horrible nickname as much as before. Not anymore. Not with Marimo's warmth seeping into his side, his friends' laughter surrounding him, and a stomach so full it threatens to rival his heart.

As soon as the food is finished and the empty dishes are discarded, Navi whips out a leather cup filled with dice, her hazel eyes already gleaming. "Who wants to build some carriages, hm?"

Sanji, of course, has no idea what that's supposed to mean, but if a gorgeous lady like Navi wants to play with him, he's going to play.

"I'm going to need the rules," he admits with a smile, ignoring the heat of Marimo's thigh pressing into his own when he shifts closer toward the table.

Usopp has just sat down again with a new round of drinks, a chipper "hell yes" falling from his lips as everyone reaches for their mugs and bottles. Sanji has opted to return to mead — the beer is good, but the honey wine is just heavenly — while Marimo is already sipping on his bottle of ale, the long column of his throat exposed as he chugs half of it in one go.

It's not supposed to be hot, god dammit.

But it is. Everything that man does somehow is. It doesn't help that he's still shirtless, those pale swirls dancing across his pecs drawing Sanji's attention more often than he's willing to admit.

At least he doesn't seem to mind. No, whenever he catches him staring his lips simply tick up into a grin, and Sanji swears his freckled cheeks look a little darker than before. It could be the alcohol — Sanji's surely starting to feel its effects, his vision slightly hazy around the edges, his fingertips growing numb — but he likes to pretend that it's not.

"The game's easy," Navi starts as she takes out five dice. "You need two horses—" she flips one die to a two, pointing out the dots, "—and four wheels for your carriage," then does the same thing with a four. "Without both a two and a four, you cannot win."

She gestures toward the remaining dice, adding, "The rest of them are your load, and you need to get as much as possible. Three sixes make eighteen, which is the maximum capacity — but if you don't have horses to pull your carriage, the load doesn't matter, just like a carriage without wheels won't go anywhere."

It's pretty straightforward, and Sanji listens with rapt attention. You can roll as many times as you want, but you have to lock in at least one die every time — no matter if it's for your horses, wheels or load — and that's about it.

"Got it?" she asks once she's done, and Sanji eagerly nods his head. "Good. Now, everybody put a copper in the middle if you wanna play!"

Everyone reaches into their pockets at once, and Sanji removes his coin pouch from his belt to check how much he's got. A measly eight copper stare back at him once he unfastens the knot, and he swallows hard when he takes one out to place it in the pot.

The first few rolls go over in a blur. Navi starts with an impressive roll — a two, a four, and fourteen added from the rest — while Usopp fails to get a two. Kaya doesn't quite make it to fourteen with just two threes and a six, and next, it's Sanji's turn.

He drops the dice into the cup, shaking it once before flipping it onto the table. They're not even playing for real money, and still his pulse is thundering in his veins as he lifts the small leather cup.

And okay, he's got at least a four and a six in there. He takes them both out — earning an eyebrow raise from Navi, who apparently deems it risky — but it's fine. He can do this.

Sanji swoops up the other three dice and swiftly rerolls them, getting another six, a three, and a one.

Taking out the six, he rolls again. His load is looking good, but he only has two more tries for a two. He swallows against the dryness of his throat before tipping the cup over.

Two fives.

Shit. Just one more try.

He exhales slowly, letting the single die tumble around the cup a bit longer than necessary as he sends a prayer to any gambling gods willing to listen.

"Want me to blow?"

The low rumble of words startles him out of his prayer, the warm breath that came with them tickling the side of his neck.

"Huh?"

Eloquent as always — but Marimo simply chuckles as he reaches for the hand covering the cup. He gently lifts it up, then leans over to softly blow inside, his eyes never leaving Sanji's — who nearly chokes on his next swallow. If he thought his throat was dry before, it's now turned to dust.

Once his motor skills kick back into gear, he shoots the mosshead a coy smile, hoping the lantern light will hide his blush. "Thanks," he breathes, then finally flips the cup onto the table.

They're all invested — Usopp's leaning over so he can see better, while everyone's eyes are glued to the cup, waiting for Sanji to finally lift it—

—only to reveal a fucking two, the diagonal twin dots smiling back at him merrily as he throws his hands up in celebration.

Usopp and Kaya let out deafening cheers, and even Navi can't hide her smile. "Beginner's luck," she tuts around a fond shake of her head, and Sanji's reply dies on his tongue when something warm wraps around his knee.

"You're welcome," Marimo murmurs straight into his ear, his nose all but buried in his hair. His large hand is squeezing his knee, its presence more than welcome as heat floods his insides like dragon's breath. He freezes for half a second, trying not to squirm in his seat, and it's Luffin who eventually breaks the spell.

"Marimo, you have to go next!"

With one last squeeze and to Sanji's highest chagrin, the moss lifts his hand to take his turn. He's not too bad — both a two and four in the first roll — but Sanji's seventeen is hard to beat. His next roll reveals all threes, and Marimo simply puts all his dice back in one smooth motion before pushing them toward Luffin, admitting defeat without making a fuss.

Luffin whoops when it's finally his turn, but he'd have to pull off a perfect round in order to beat Sanji, and even his luck seems to fail him at some point — because while his load might be impressive, he only has a horse to carry those three sixes around.

Marimo's hand has been back on his thigh since Luffin's first roll, growing bolder as his fingers draw gentle patterns into the soft suede of his breeches.

Congratulations spill in from all sides, and Sanji cheerfully collects his loot, leaving a single copper in the middle to ring in round two.

They keep going for a while, copper switching owners faster than you can say "gambling addiction", and it's so much fun. The tables around them are bursting with people, rowdy drunkards nearly fighting over a game of cards while others simply sway to the bard's jolly piano.

Just as they're throwing in more copper for another round the song shifts, and after only a few introducing notes, everyone around him perks up. Before Sanji can ask what's going on, the whole tavern turns into a choir, perfectly mismatched but undeniably committed.

"Gather up all of ye crew, it's time to ship out Binks's brew!"

Confusion melts into silent awe as Sanji lets his gaze sweep around the table. Across from him, Navi, Usopp and Kaya have linked their arms, swaying from side to side as they belt the words without a care in the world.

The song reaches its chorus, a simple repetition of "Yo-hohoho, Yo-hoho-ho!" echoing off the tent walls and spilling onto the market square.

Marimo's hand has shifted from his leg to his arm, mirroring their friends as he links their elbows together. Sanji's eyes flick to his face, forcing his lungs to keep going when the handsome brute is all but staring right at him. He knows every word, the lyrics rumbling out of him in a surprisingly pleasant baritone, and Sanji tries to drone out everyone else so he can drown in Marimo's voice alone.

By the time the second chorus comes up, Sanji joins in, giving it his all as he sings to his heart's desire. It's silly, a little childish, but he doesn't care.

And that's just the thing, isn't it? Not caring. Not having to care.

It's so freeing, being surrounded by all these — and he means this lovingly — fucking weirdos. A woman is walking around dressed as a cat, fully committed with a full face of make up, and he hasn't heard her say anything but 'meow' once.

There's dwarves and elves, deer folk and drow, everybody just singing this simple tune like they don't have a single care in the world.

And fuck, if that doesn't make Sanji's insides sing, his shoulders relax, his brain turn off for a blissful night of games and song, good mead and even better company.

His sweeping gaze shifts back to the man beside him, unable to resist that magnetic pull, and his own joy is mirrored on that pretty, scarred face.

Please, Sanji thinks as he catches the moment Marimo's eyes flick toward his mouth for a split second, can this night go on forever?

Sadly, time slips by whether he wants it to or not. Around them, patrons come and go as their little group keeps chatting, playing, singing until late into the night. A beautiful crescent moon glows brightly against the inky black sky above, more and more stars joining it on the firmament.

The tavern's raucous clamor stays ever-present around them. At some point, Usopp and Kaya admit defeat, slain by the exhaustion of being up all day, fighting enemies and screaming their lungs out cheering. They're quite drunk, too — most of them are, to some extent — and with a barely restrained yawn, the couple ducks out, though not without a final question for Sanji:

"You coming with us? Or are you staying?"

It's purely rhetorical, because they all know there's no way in hell that Sanji is leaving Marimo's side earlier than he absolutely has to.

"I'm gonna stay," he says around a smile, subconsciously leaning into the warm wall of muscle beside him, the perfect cushion he's been laying on since Marimo's hand had slipped back around his shoulders after they'd commenced the last round of building carriages. It's not even cold, the night pleasantly cool after that hot summer day, but he wouldn't trade his personal heater for the world.

"Alright," Usopp says with a shrug, his hand finding Kaya's as he turns to leave. "See you guys tomorrow!"

And with that, they're off.

Navi and Luffin are still with them, though the latter has been snoozing for the past half hour, his head resting on his folded arms atop the table, a small trickle of drool stuck to the side of his mouth. The redhead's still pretty chipper, the alcohol not really affecting her as much as Sanji would've thought, and he finds that he absolutely delights in her company.

The three of them keep chatting about everything and nothing — oddities they'd seen these past few days, adventures they'd been on during past quests. Navi shares a story about Marimo walking straight into the enemy's camp on accident, getting caught after a formidable show of strength and bound to a cross in the middle of the square. It took her and Luffin half a day to find him, and they haven't let it go ever since.

Marimo evens the playing field by telling a tale about Navi ripping off a pair of orcs, a truly stupid idea that nearly had them cut off her hands, but Luffin simply challenged them to a duel to let her go. It all ended with them drinking in the orc's own tavern, a new alliance formed as they knocked back gallons of grog.

Sanji's sides hurt from laughing by the time they're done, indulgent little smiles stuck to all of their faces. Their conversation tapers out slowly, the three of them running out of things to say as the life of the tavern roars on around then.

After basking in the shared silence for a moment, Navi runs a hand over her face.

"Fuck, I'm tired," she admits, hiding a yawn behind her hand. Luffin's full on snoring beside them, and she shamelessly flicks his forehead to wake him up. "Come on, let's go back to camp."

The young man startles awake, eyes wild and unfocused. "Wha..?"

She tuts, pulling Luffin up with her as she raises from the bench before she turns to address Marimo.

"You sure you know the way back?"

He simply throws a rolled up napkin at her in response, ears turning a shade darker as she breaks out into full-on cackles. Sanji doesn't know where they're staying — barely remembers where his own tent is — but he's sure she's just playing.

"Just go to sleep already," Marimo grumbles, but his lips are still quirked up when she ruffles his hair. Just before she leaves, she turns toward Sanji.

"It was really nice to meet you, Sandriël," she says, her voice more sincere than he's heard all day when she adds, "I had a great time. Can't wait to hang out with you next year!"

And with that, she's gone. Sanji's breath of "good night" still hangs in the air between them, but his throat is slowly closing up at the reminder that the night is almost over.

This whole thing is almost over.

He takes a deep breath — a little more shaky than he'd like to admit — before he settles back against Marimo.

No need to dwell on what-if's. Let the stars guide you — that's what Fleur had said.

So he does, ignoring the heavy weight settling in his bones as the night goes on.

Him and Marimo don't talk a lot, after this, simply content to watch the people around them. A small group of dwarven merchants has joined them at their mostly empty table, nodding toward them once in greeting before diving into an excited discussion of how the Black Ice was slain from within — someone called 'the Dark Prince' has apparently overthrown the old rulers, intent to forge his own Dark Dynasty. Sanji's listening half-heartedly, using their chatter as white noise as his eyes slip closed, all of his weight slumped into the man next to him, soaking up as much of his calming presence as he still can.

The piano fades out, and he cracks his eyes open again when a murmur runs through the crowd. And sure enough, there's a change of scenery on the small, makeshift stage: the piano gets pushed to the side, and an honest-to-god mermaid gets carried in on a palanquin. Her shimmering pale pink tail sits in perfect contrast to her walnut skin, her voluminous curves sprawled elegantly on the padded throne. Sanji feels like he should be more surprised by the sight, but after all he's seen these past three days, he simply accepts it as fact. She turns heads wherever she passes on her way to the stage, awed whispers following her like a soft echo in the wind until she's finally laid down on stage.

Marimo's hand is absently running up and down his arm, fingertips barely brushing the silky fabric of his blouse as they simply watch the scene unfold. The skeletal bard is holding his viola again, and the second his bow glides across the strings, the first murmurs die down around them; even the dwarves at their table fall mute at once.

It's when the mermaid begins to sing that every last soul within reach stops whatever they were doing, entranced by her enchanting serenade. Her voice is dripping with melancholy, clear as the night sky and twice as beautiful.

It sends chills down Sanji's spine, a small shiver running through his body that has Marimo pull him in even closer, his warm palm rubbing softly against his arm.

The melody is haunting, and as soon as the chorus pulls around, every single hair on his body stands on end.

"My heart is pierced by Cupid, I disdain all glitter and gold."

She sings about a love found and lost again, a sailor that is never to return. A dreadful fate spun into a song that is as eerie as it is heartbreaking.

Unlike before, nobody sings along. Everyone is quiet, only a couple of patrons continuing their conversations with hushed voices, and everybody else is just as entranced as Sanji.

The viola's weeping melody perfectly matches the charged atmosphere the song creates as the singer croons her final words, giving it her all as the last notes ring through the air.

"There's nothing can console me, but my jolly sailor bold."

Sanji's insides have pulled into a tight knot, his heart and stomach twisted uncomfortably as he struggles to breathe. He hasn't realized that he's crying until a calloused thumb swipes away the wetness on his cheeks. Around them, the crowd is going wild — cheers and applause tumble over each other, copper coins flying through the air as the singer receives her just rewards, but Sanji can't give them any of his attention.

Because Marimo is right there when he turns his head to face him. The hand slips away from his cheek, but the mosshead's face stays where it is.

"Are you okay?" he asks, worry lacing his words as his eyes flicker all over Sanji's expression.

"Yeah."

His voice cracks around the single word, merely a whisper in the storm of sounds around him, but Marimo still hears him. His worry melts away, and his eyes once again flick toward his mouth. "Want me to kiss it better?"

It's bold, but it's also perfect.

Just like the man himself.

Before Sanji's fully processed the request, Marimo's other hand — the one not still slung around his shoulders, tucking him close — cups his jaw, his thumb wiping away more tears, and Sanji can't do anything but nod.

The moment he can taste Marimo's lips, he melts into the touch. All at once, the knot inside him snaps open, his heart leaping into his throat while his stomach swoops low, leaving him feeling weightless and free.

It starts slow, so fucking gentle, so unlike what he imagined it'd be like when he met the man on the battlefield what feels like eons ago. His lips taste like ale and salt as they move against each other languidly, Sanji's eyes firmly shut as he clutches the other man's cloak to pull him in even further. The fabric is coarse between his fingers, a perfect contrast to the softness of his lips as they lose themselves between their shared breath and the pleased, little sounds neither of them can contain.

A whistle sounds from the dwarves sharing their table, their cat-calls and chuckles breaking the illusion of privacy. Before the kiss has any chance to deepen, to grow, to take root, the mosshead pulls back. His silver eyes bore into Sanji's when he asks, almost hopeful,

"Wanna get out of here?"

— ✨ —

With nowhere to be and no goal but to be together, they wander around aimlessly, their hands firmly clasped between them. The minutes trickle by slowly as they pass a few camps, groups of adventurers gathered around campfires singing songs and playing games, all of them trying to make to most of this last night in Mistrasphera.

It's nice, cozy even, and Marimo hums along to the music drifting in from one of the larger groups. They have a whole band going, with flutes and lutes and a couple of drums, and Sanji's lips quirk up when the moss sings along under his breath as soon as the chorus hits.

"Do you know every song on the continent?"

He's met with a grin, and the brute simply swings around, pulling on Sanji's hand until they're chest to chest. His other hand wraps around Sanji's waist and he wastes no time swaying his hips, guiding Sanji into an impromptu dance in the middle of the dirt path as he keeps on singing, louder now, almost showing off.

Sanji's grin is blinding as they go in clumsy circles, Marimo's hand shooting out to twirl the blond a couple of times, until he can't keep it in anymore. His body doubles over as he cracks up laughing, Marimo catching him easily when he leans all his weight into the handsome brute.

"You're ridiculous," he snickers, his face smushed into that impressive biceps. He might be a bit more tipsy than he thought, the alcohol burning in his veins and prickling on his skin, but the summer night is already clearing his head quite a bit. Marimo's hand travels along his back, all the way up until his fingers bury into Sanji's golden curls, cradling his head as he holds him close.

"You love it," he counters, and fuck if that isn't a bit too close to the truth.

Sanji doesn't reply, simply keeps leaning against the other man, who's still humming along to the song. It's only once it ends that they pull apart, the mosshead's hand sliding down to reach for Sanji's again as they keep going.

They walk until the space between tents grows bigger and bigger, until eventually the camps make way for nature. And even then Marimo keeps going, gently tugging Sanji along as he steps into the small adjacent forest, thick branches covering most of the minuscule light the moon is giving off. It's a little eerie, the crikets' chirping a constant background noise, and the occasional rustle above and below has Sanji tightening his hold on the hand in his. They're walking uphill, that much he can tell, and he's eighty percent sure that Marimo knows where they're going. Neither of them have a lamp, but a tiny glowing crystal attached to Marimo's sash makes sure that no other wanderers run into them in the dark.

It doesn't give off much light, but it's enough to kind of see the path they're traveling on. Sanji's gaze is focused on the ground below when Marimo comes to a sudden stop beside him, causing him to nearly lose his balance if it weren't for that steady hand holding him firm.

"Look," the mosshead says, using their joined hands to point somewhere beyond the underbrush.

Sanji squints, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness of the forest when he spots them: Tiny sparks of light, glowing bright against the pitch black of the night. Fireflies — at least a dozen of them — flashing in odd little rhythms in search of a mate. It's beautiful, their dots not bigger than fairy lights, and the two of them quietly sneak closer.

"Did you know they were gonna be here?" Sanji whispers, eyes glued to the shiny spectacle before him.

"I was hoping for 'em," the brute rumbles back, slowly crouching down and reaching out his hand to where the glowing bugs are blinking in and out like scattered starlight. His hand is softly illuminated by his crystal, and after just a few moments, the first firefly bobs closer until it finally settles down on his outstretched palm.

Sanji usually isn't one for bugs — he knows they have their place in nature, and he can respect that, as long as they respect him and his space — but even he has to admit that their bioluminescence is fascinating. He's followed Marimo into a crouch, his face so close that he can see its little antennae, the yellow-green of its lantern flicking in and out of existence—

—until it suddenly leaps off, tiny wings flapping as it flies straight toward Sanji, who lets out a startled yelp as he nearly falls on his ass. It catches Marimo off-guard, and the surprised bark of laughter that bursts out of him is loud enough for the rest of the fireflies to buzz off, carrying their light deeper into the forest.

"You okay?" Marimo asks between laughter, then takes Sanji's hand again as they both straighten up. The blond's cheeks are burning, thanking the cover of the night when he makes some vague affirmative sound.

A few strides later — and after only one wrong turn — they're back on the beaten path, continuing their trek uphill. Sanji can already see it clearing up ahead, the branches making way for the starry night once again, and as soon as they step out, his breath catches.

They've reached the top of the hill, a flat plane in the middle of nowhere, and the beautiful view of the stars is only surpassed by the gorgeous scenery below. From here, you can see it all: the camps, the village, the small lanterns lining the paths in between. The warm glow of the fire sits in perfect contrast to the cool stars above, and without warning, Sanji's emotions threaten to overwhelm him again, tears already prickling behind his eyes.

Marimo lets go of his hand as they take in the beautiful view, but he doesn't stray far, no — his arms wrap around Sanji's middle from behind, chin hooking over the blond's shoulder as he holds him close. The mosshead's warmth seeps into his back and Sanji can't help but lean into it, his own arms covering the ones around him.

The noise of the crickets has faded into the background, and it's so quiet that Sanji swears he can hear the other man's heartbeat against his back, thumping along to his own, heavy rhythm.

"I've never seen this many stars at once," Sanji admits, the words falling from his lips as he keeps looking up. He's always lived in urban areas, the city's light pollution too bright for anything remotely close to this — this explosion of light, like someone knocked over a whole shaker of salt on a black marble counter and didn't bother to clean it up.

"Do you know any constellations?"

The words rumble against Sanji's back, and he hums softly as he scans the firmament for the three signature dots of orion's belt — but to no avail. A single star burns brighter than the others, and he lifts his hand to point toward it. "I only know the big dipper."

It's super basic, the most commonly known constellation of 'em all, and Zoro chuckles softly.

"That's Cassiopeia right there," he says, unwinding his arm from Sanji's middle to point toward the glowing zigzag-shape in the sky. Then he turns them both around, his eyes scanning the sky for a moment until his hand shoots up. "And there's Scorpius."

Sanji squints, unable to see any special shape among the endless dots above. "Where?"

Marimo lifts Sanji's arm, their cheeks pressed together as he guides it toward the constellation. "There."

And yeah, now he can see it — the three dots for the body, the actual curved tail that trails after it.

His gaze is still fixed on the constellation above when Marimo withdraws, and the rustle of fabric sparks his curiosity. Sanji shoots a look behind himself and catches Marimo in the middle of taking off his cloak. A single, curled eyebrow quirks up, along with the corner of his mouth. "Why are you undressing?"

The words are teasing, playful, and Marimo simply smirks back once the cloak is in his hands. "Purely innocent reasons."

It's only when he starts to spread out the tattered fabric that it dawns on Sanji: the mosshead wants to lay down with him.

To stargaze.

"Wouldn't want to ruin that curly coat," he adds with a grin just as he plops down onto the makeshift blanket, pulling the blond along with him.

Sanji goes willingly, his heart pounding against his throat as his pulse roars in his ears. This man cannot be for real.

Are barbarians even allowed to be this romantic?!

"You need to stop doing this," Sanji huffs when Marimo moves to lie down, earning himself a raised brow.

"Doing what?"

The blond follows, pillowing his head right on the juncture between Marimo's meaty shoulder and his unsurprisingly comfortable chest.

"Being so goddamn perfect," he mumbles, shifting his weight until he's perfectly content. "You're gonna ruin me for everyone else."

Marimo's arm tightens around his shoulders, and he presses a kiss into the blond crown of hair before he says, barely audible, "Maybe that's the plan."

The hummingbird has returned, sending Sanji's insides into fluttering disarray, but he manages to swallow it down. He doesn't reply to that — has no idea what he would even say — so he simply snuggles closer.

"This one looks like an axe," Sanji muses, steering the conversation back into safe waters as he points toward a cluster of stars vaguely resembling the weapon's shape. Marimo follows with his gaze, huffing out once in a silent laugh.

"It does. Maybe you just found a new one."

"Maybe I did," Sanji hums, pleased with himself. "Seriously though, how do you even know all these?" He lifts his head slightly to be able to look at the moss more clearly. There's barely any light, the crescent moon carving him into loose shapes and hard contrasts, but it's enough to see the softness on Marimo's features.

"Navi showed them to me," he admits. His free arm is bent beneath his own head, his posture relaxed. "She knows all of them. Perks of being a navigator."

Sanji sighs, high and breathy, as he drops his head again. "Beautiful and smart. What a catch."

Marimo huffs, playfully rubbing his chin into the crown of Sanji's hair. "You trying to make me jealous?"

It's so silly, and Sanji can't help the giggle that slips out. Still—

"I'm here with you, aren't I?"

The words earn him an immediate reward: Marimo's arm slips out from under his own head, palm finding Sanji's jaw instead, pulling him up until their lips can finally reconnect. It's just as good as last time, the mosshead's pliant mouth matching him in both rhythm and intensity, a series of warm touches that make Sanji's thighs clench and his toes curl. He scoots up until they're level, lips still locked together, fingers roaming freely across the planes of muscle beneath him, the faint traces of peppermint and sandalwood still clinging to the other man's skin when Sanji breathes him in.

Marimo's teeth snag on his bottom lip, making him groan out loud before he ducks in again, licking into the other man's mouth as he opens up willingly. A hand slips beneath his silky cloak, running up the back of his thigh until it's squeezing his ass through his breeches.

Still, it's not hurried. Not desperate.

No, it's… intimate. Gentle, yet passionate. Like they don't want to rush, don't want things to be over too soon.

The perfect push and pull that feels like its own kind of gravity.

Stars slowly shift across the sky as they keep kissing, their tongues tangling, gliding, licking, chasing every taste and shiver they can find.

Sanji can feel the spark burning between them, brighter even than the sun — the kind of heat that could melt your wings if you flew too close.

They kiss for what feels like forever, entangled in the open field while the fire in his lungs grows until it's almost too much.

He pulls back before it can consume him, breathing heavily as his forehead drops against Marimo's, those steel gray irises fully swallowed by black.

"You're so beautiful," Marimo whispers as he brushes Sanji's bangs from his face, tucking them behind his pointy ear. The blond dips down again, dragging his mouth along the side of the mosshead's neck as he peppers kisses along his pulse point, tasting that sun-warmed, smokey skin. The other man moans, tilting his head for better access.

"Sandriël."

It's the first time he's used his name, and it's said like a plea, like a prayer even. Like he wants him, needs him—

—but that word, those eight fucking letters send a chill down Sanji's spine that has him falter, his lips stilling against Marimo's throat.

Because he said Sandriël.

Not Sanji.

He's frozen as he sits in a puddle of his molten wings, the wax tacky as it pulls him back to earth.

Because they don't even know each other's names.

This night — this whole magical pocket of time, where the outside world was locked out for one glorious weekend of mead and maidens and fucking gorgeous, thoughtful, romantic barbarians — is nearing its end. And with it, their time together.

As soon as the sun rises again, it's game over. Back to the modern ages. Music played by speakers, not lutes. Cars instead of carriages. Social media instead of actual, human connection.

He tries not to let it show, but he can't hide the storm clouds that have drawn over his head. He's sure Marimo can feel it — the man's been maddeningly attentive this whole time — but right now, all Sanji wants is to hide.

So he ducks his head down again, tucking his face into the safety of Marimo's neck. The scent of firewood — burned so deep into his skin it must be permanent by now — mixes with something warmer, more human beneath it, and Sanji breathes it in like a hit from his pipe, hoping it'll calm his frayed nerves and let him enjoy this while he still can.

Marimo's hand is cradling the back of his head again, his fingers combing through the blond locks, nails gently scratching against his scalp. It's soothing, and combined with his scent, Sanji's anxiety slowly ebbs away.

"Hey," Marimo starts, his voice light and laced with question. "You wanna smoke some moonleaf?"

A laugh tumbles out of Sanji, surprising the both of them with how wet it sounds. Fuck, smoking a bit of weed actually sounds like a great idea right now.

Back in college, he and Usopp had smoked their fair share, the sweet herbal scent clinging to their dorm room like an ever-present undertone.

Now, he only indulges every now and then, mostly at parties or whenever Usopp, Kaya and him feel especially nostalgic about the simplicity of college life.

"Sure," he finally says, rolling off of the mosshead to lie on his back, head still pillowed on the brute's arm. It's no problem for the barbarian, and he fishes out a small vial and a lighter — a pocket dragon, as its called here — with only one hand, tapping out the pre-rolled joint before he slips it into his mouth.

It's a little awkward, the way he has to tilt his head down for the flame to catch, but before long, the hiss of paper and the unmistakable smell of burning weed fill the air between them.

Marimo takes a couple of hits, his chest rising and falling slowly as he lets the smoke out in steady streams, before he passes it over.

"It's not very strong," he comments, his voice rougher than before.

Sanji takes the joint, putting it between his lips before inhaling the sweet mix of tobacco and weed. It's heavenly, the way it manages to smooth down the frayed edges of his nervous system, helped along by the mead still humming faintly in his veins.

He passes it back into Marimo's waiting hand, letting the haze wrap his thoughts in soft cotton, the anxious churn in his head finally slowing to something quieter.

"This was a great idea," he sighs contentedly, closing his eyes just as his vision begins to fuzz up.

Fuck tomorrow; he's trusting the fucking stars.

His breaths come slow and easy, the grass beneath them smelling earthy fresh, and he nearly forgets where he is until Marimo nudges his hand.

Sanji cracks his eyes open, accepting the offered joint for a few more lazy hits. The moss was right — it's not very strong, nothing like the kind of blunt that'll leave you a drooling mess a minute later — and they keep passing it back and forth until there's nothing left to share.

Marimo makes sure to squish out the embers with the bottom of his sole before tucking the filter back into the vial he produced it from.

Head pleasantly fuzzy, Sanji turns back toward the warm body beside him, cuddling back into that welcoming chest.

His fingers trace the faint pattern of his tattoo, big spirals that curl into his pecs, when it hits him.

"Hey," he starts, momentarily losing his train of thought when his fingers brush against Marimo's nipple on accident, but he picks the thought back up along with his tracing.

"You're curly too," Sanji points out, an argument clear in his voice.

Marimo merely catches the hand on his chest. "Guess we're just meant to be," he says, twining their fingers together and resting them both on top of his sternum.

Sanji's throat constricts for a moment, those words zapping through him like he's touched a live wire. His mind keeps spinning, words like fate and destiny mushing together in the smoke-hazy chaos.

"Do you believe in soulmates?"

It takes a second for the words to register, but when they do, Sanji's brain screeches to a halt. It's the kind of question that always pops up when you're high, when your inhibitions are lowered and it feels perfectly fine to question the universe itself.

He thinks about it, taking longer than he usually would, before he replies.

"Hmm. I don't like the idea of the universe deciding who I should be with," he muses. "Shouldn't that be my decision?"

When he tilts his head back to find Marimo's face again, the other man is already looking at him, probably has been looking at him this whole time.

"That's one way to see it."

His gaze is intense as it flicks all over Sanji's features, a small smile tugging on his mouth. "To me, it's more like… chemistry. Or— or magnets. I guess?"

He huffs out a laugh, his voice trailing off as he momentarily loses his train of thought.

"You know, when you meet a stranger and feel like you've known them all your life."

His silver gaze drops to Sanji's mouth again, that quirk of his lips never leaving when he adds,

"Have you never met someone and immediately known they'll change your life forever?"

It's the final blow, and Sanji's mouth fills with cotton, perfectly matching his brain.

He doesn't have a reply to that — won't let himself be this vulnerable, even with the THC in his veins — so he simply leans in to steal another kiss.

It's just a press of lips, lingering and soft, telling the mosshead everything he can't say out loud.

They don't talk, once they break apart, content to let the silence settle over them. Sanji's head is resting right above the mosshead's heart, the steady badump, badump of it lulling him into a state of drowsiness.

He doesn't know how long they lay there, together, in the grass. Marimo's breaths have evened out so deeply that Sanji's sure he's fallen asleep, and he doesn't have it in him to wake him. Who knows how long a drive he's got ahead of him, when he goes home later.

He refuses to let the pain of that thought eat him alive, basking in the warmth of the arms wrapped around him instead.

One by one, the shiny dots above disappear, chased away by the dawning light of sunrise. It's still far away — the ink at the edges of the horizon slowly fading into a deep blue — but it's unmistakable: the night is officially about to end.

He sighs.

It's time.

With sluggish movements and limbs that feel heavier than they have any right to be, he pushes off his comfortable pillow, leaning over the moss to take him in one last time.

That sharp, angular jaw. The smatter of freckles dusting his narrow nose.

His earrings look dull in the absence of light, but nothing could take away from how absurdly beautiful he is.

Sanji leans in to press a kiss to his unfairly pretty lips to wake him up.

Time to go.

The trek down the hill is spent in silence — not uncomfortable, but heavy all the same, like neither of them wants to be the one to say what they're both thinking. It doesn't take long for the first tents to appear beyond the tree line, and a guy dressed in sweats and a ratty band tee passes by them, a roll of toilet paper clutched in his hand. It's the first sign of normalcy, and it drops a pit straight into Sanji's stomach.

He steers them in the direction of his camp, knowing that in a few minutes, they'll have to say goodbye. Their fingers are locked together tightly, clinging to the other like that's somehow going to change how this was always going to end.

Once their familiar campsite appears in his sight, Sanji lets out a soft sigh, melancholy tugging at his chest. Marimo walks him all the way to his tent, their steps growing slower the further they get.

"That's me," Sanji jokes half-heartedly as he points towards the A-frame tent patiently waiting to be used, his gaze turned down as anxiety wraps its nasty claws around his lungs.

He can't help the tears that threaten to blur his vision, but he's fighting to keep them in. Marimo's hand slips from his — and it aches, absurdly, like losing a limb — before it finds his chin instead, tipping his head up to meet those steel gray eyes once more.

They get closer, pulled like puppets on a string as they meet for one last kiss. It's bittersweet, a little tired, but full of an emotion Sanji doesn't dare to name.

"I had a great night," Marimo whispers once he pulls back, still close enough for his breath to tickle Sanji's cheek.

"Me too."

Marimo's fingers card through his hair again, pushing it behind his ear. He's cradling Sanji's face in both of his big, warm palms, that intense gaze scanning his features one last time, like he's committing it to memory.

"I'll see you tomorrow? Or— later?"

His voice is hopeful, like he's unsure whether Sanji wants to see him again when he's back to being… Sanji.

What an idiot.

So the blond leans in just once more, a whispered "please" falling from his lips before he connects with the mosshead for the very last time.

Marimo hums into the kiss, then pulls Sanji into a warm hug once they separate.

"Go get some sleep," he murmurs into his neck, then presses a kiss into his skin before he finally turns to leave.

If Sanji sheds a tear in the privacy of his tent, nobody has to know.

— 🚗 —

The sun is already blazing through his tent by the time Sanji returns to the land of the living. A soft moan slips out of him as he throws his hand over his eyes, the air inside the fabric walls warm, thick, and thoroughly lacking oxygen.

He's still in his blouse and breeches, too exhausted to change into anything more comfortable after he slumped onto his cot just hours prior. The pants are basically glued to his thighs by now, and he awkwardly wrestles the suede down his legs to let his skin breathe.

The blouse comes off next, and he pulls on a pair of cropped chinos and a short-sleeved button down, its dark yellow floral print popping against his unusually tanned skin.

He slips on his wristwatch — finally, after three full days without — and sees that it's barely 8:30. That means he's got a good three hours of sleep, at least.

Good thing he doesn't have to drive. With Kaya in the passenger seat, he's already planning the best possible backseat nap strategy by the time he spills out of his tent, his usual grace not fully loaded yet.

The cool, outside air hits his sweaty skin all at once, and he takes in a deep, refreshing breath. Around him, the camps are already in various states of disassembly; a faraway speaker is blasting classic rock while the first cars pull up onto the grassy field.

Usopp and Kaya are similarly hard at work taking down their camp — their stuff's already mostly packed, a stack of duffel bags sitting neatly beside the empty tent — and they're in the middle of taking down the swing grill's tripod when they spot the blond.

"Ohh, so he did end up in his tent after all," Usopp says to Kaya, twin smirks plastered on their faces as the longnose makes sure to say it loud enough for Sanji to hear.

"Are we sure nobody else is in there?" Kaya adds around a giggle, her eyes filled with mirth. She's back in normal clothes, too, her loose, flowy t-shirt tied into a knot at the front, her leggings looking soft and comfortable.

Usopp's wearing nothing but his overalls, the late summer heat unforgiving even in the early hours, and they're both a little flushed from working all morning. Sanji feels a little bad about not having helped, but he's too tired to actually care.

"Ha ha," he shoots back, dry as day-old bread, before gathering his towel and little bag of toiletries.

His head is pounding from the alcohol, his back is stiff as fuck, and worst of all, his heart aches.

It aches for that stupid moss-haired idiot that always knows just what to do to make him feel good.

So sue him for not being in the mood for jokes. Usopp and Kaya seem to notice his abysmal emotional state, the two of them exchanging a confused glance before they wordlessly continue disassembling the tripod.

Sanji sighs, guilt adding to the storm of negativity raging in his body. It's not their fault that he had to fall head over heels for some make-believe character.

"I'll help you once I brush my teeth, okay?"

Kaya shoots him a quick smile, and off he goes.

The sanitary area is pretty close, and he can spot the line in front of the showers from far away. It's hilarious to see half-painted bodies of former goblins and mismatched outfits where tunics meet pajama pants, and Sanji could appreciate it more if he wasn't so goddamn hungover.

He waits for a wash basin to be free, tired faces all around him, and after a quick wash and with minty fresh breath, he's already feeling much better. He gulps down some water straight from the dispenser, the icy cold invigorating, and he swears he hears a hiss when it hits his parched throat.

Once he returns to camp, Usopp and Kaya are pulling out the pegs of their tent, the tripod already disassembled and laid down next to their growing pile.

Usopp's voice is much more careful and decidedly void of teasing when he asks, "So, how was your night?"

Sanji plops down next to them, after carelessly tossing his things into his open tent.

"It was phenomenal," he sighs, melancholy dripping from every syllable, much to Usopp and Kaya's surprise.

"Then why do you sound so upset?"

Sanji frowns. Don't they get it? It's over.

But before he can reply, a now familiar voice booms over the campsite. "Usopp!! Kaya!!"

It's Luffin — or whatever his name is, now — along with Navi and the object of his deepest desires. Marimo's face lights up the second their eyes meet, the dark circles beneath his eyes matching Sanji's one for one.

He can't help it — he's up and walking toward the other man without any conscious thought.

"Hey," he says to the three of them, but his eyes remain on Marimo, blatantly checking him out in broad daylight. He's in a pair of black sweats, beautiful gold and white embroidery going up the side of one leg, and a thin, white shirt that's definitely seen better days. To his utmost surprise, the scar running through his eyebrow all the way down to his cheek is still there.

Oh shit, Sanji thinks. Has it been real this whole time?

He's unsure what to do or say, faltering a little once he's in front of the brute, but Marimo shamelessly takes his hands to pull him into a kiss as soon as he's within reach. It's little more than a peck, but it still earns them a chorus of cheers and snickers, and Sanji can't help but melt into it again, giving in to the sensation one last time.

"Hey," the mossy menace mutters back once they separate, then he lets his gaze travel over their camp, never releasing Sanji's hands. "You guys look almost done."

"Yeah," Sanji confirms, his voice cracking slightly. Shit, he needs a drink. "Probably gonna get the car in a bit. How 'bout you?"

"Same," Zoro shrugs. Awkwardness creeps up between them, the unfamiliar territory of being them something neither quite knows how to handle. Meanwhile, Navi and Luffin have joined Usopp and Kaya, their cheerful chatter a stark contrast to the tense silence still begging to be filled.

"So—"

"Where—"

They start at the same time, then burst into laughter at the ridiculousness. It melts some of the tension in Sanji, and he tries again.

"So, how long you gotta drive?"

Marimo simply shrugs, and Sanji can feel it where their hands are still connected. "Couple of hours. You?"

"Same. I'm really not looking forward to hitting the A40 along with, like, half the people here."

At that, the mosshead's eyebrows shoot up so fast Sanji's worried they'll detach. "You're going down the 40? What direction?"

Sanji frowns, unsure why he wants to know.

"East? Why?"

Realization dawns on Marimo's face, and he's tightening his hold on Sanji's hands when he gets right up in his face to ask, "Where exactly do you live?"

Sanji blinks, a little overwhelmed by the intensity. He can count the freckles on that handsome face, see the tint of green in his gray irises. Marimo seems one second away from shaking him by the shoulders, so Sanji sputters, "I live in All Blue."

The mosshead barks out an incredulous laugh, releasing Sanji's hands to wrap him into a full body hug instead, both their bodies shaking with Marimo's laughter.

"That's only twenty minutes from Kuraigana."

"Yes?" Sanji replies, and that's when it finally clicks. "Wait, does that mean—"

"Yes."

"You live in Kuraigana?"

"Yes."

"We're only twenty minutes apart?"

"Yes!"

Marimo's grin is blinding, and Sanji would bet all his copper that he looks equally elated, smitten, ecstatic at this new development. "Oh my God!" he exclaims, then throws caution to the wind as he pulls Marimo in for another kiss, longer this time, deeper.

Relief tips into excitement about what the future may have in store for them, endless possibilities swirling around in his head.

As soon as they break apart, Marimo asks,

"So do you wanna—"

"Yes," Sanji cuts in, pulling another bark of laughter from the moss.

"You don't even know what I was gonna say."

"The answer's still yes."

They're grinning like lunatics, and Marimo's hands on Sanji's hips pull him even closer.

"So, dinner Friday night?"

Sanji's not sure whether his heart is going to survive until Friday with how insanely hard and fast it's beating against his chest, rabbits and hummingbirds and a whole fucking swarm of butterflies battling for dominance right beneath his ribs.

"I'd love to," he whispers, and Marimo nearly drops his phone with how quickly he fishes it out.

"Here," he says as he shoves it into Sanji's hands, a new contact already open. The blond obliges, choosing "Sanji ✨" as his name before adding his number, going as far as putting his address in, too. Might as well.

Marimo looks at the screen once he's got his phone back, a dopey smile on his lips. "Sanji," he reads out loud, a little breathless, a little awed. Sanji loves the way it sounds, coming from the mosshead.

"I still don't know your name," Sanji reminds him.

"It's Zoro," he replies, then nods toward his friends. The little group had given them some semblance of privacy by... watching them from ten feet away, instead of two.

Oh well.

"Those two are Luffy and Nami."

Sanji laughs, surprised at the simplicity. "That's easy enough to remember."

"Yeah, Luffy's horrible with names."

"So how come you're Marimo, not.. Zoron, or something?"

Marimo's — no, Zoro's grin turns sharp, that ridiculous chest puffing with pride. "It means 'King of Hell'. Fucking cool, right?"

"Right," Sanji laughs, shaking his head fondly. Their chuckles slowly ebb as they simply stand in the middle of the dirt road, blending out the chaos that surrounds them.

"So, Friday night?"

Zoro hums in confirmation. "Can't wait."

He leans in for another kiss, but an approaching car unfortunately forces them to split up — though somehow, losing Zoro's touch doesn't feel as dire anymore. Less like an ending, and more like... a new beginning.

With startling clarity, Fleur's words rush into the forefront of his mind.

"It could mean the death of life as you know it."

Shit, he really needs to thank her, next year. Because there's no way he's not coming back.

Reluctantly loosening the embrace, Sanji slips his hand into Zoro's — and wow, it feels so different to know his actual name — before pulling him toward the others.

They chat a bit more, easy small talk between friends, all of them reluctant to actually say good bye for good. But the time comes, and they make sure to exchange numbers and social media handles, vowing to stay in touch.

Luffy smells like sunshine and sweat when he wraps Sanji up into a hug, squeezing him so tightly his feet lift from the ground for a moment, but he can't help but laugh at the absurd show of strength. Nami is next, a gorgeous citrusy scent enveloping him as she pulls him into a surprisingly firm embrace. It lasts longer than he would've expected, too — not that he's complaining — and her warm breath against his ear startles him slightly.

"Marimo actually means 'moss ball'," she whispers, so low nobody's able to hear. "But you cannot tell him that."

It takes a second to process, but once it does, Sanji full on snorts, hiding his face in her shoulder as his body shakes with mirth. Yeah, that seems much more likely than fucking 'King of Hell'. "I'm guessing you picked that name?" he mumbles back, and she taps her finger against her nose once she pulls back, lips pulled into a wicked grin.

"Let's all hang out soon!" Luffy yells over his shoulder once their little group leaves, and Sanji watches Marimo's retreating back — and, okay, his ass in those nice fitting sweats — until they disappear behind the tree line.

He doesn't realize that he's frozen on the spot until Usopp and Kaya come up on either side of him, Usopp's arm landing on his shoulder while Kaya snakes one around his middle.

"Sooo," Usopp drawls, the proud grin unmistakable in his voice. "Was I right or was I right when I said you'd love it here?"

He's full on gloating, just like Kaya beside him, and Sanji huffs out a small, disbelieving laugh as he wraps his arms around his friends' waists, his brain still buzzing as it tries to make sense of the emotional whiplash this whole weekend has been.

"Yeah, you were right," Sanji admits, unable to stop the dreamy sigh slipping out with the words. "I fucking love it."

— T H E   E N D —