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Summary
Luffy tugged, and Zoro let himself be tugged, stepping into the space between Luffy's knees where the counter put him at almost the right height. Luffy's hands found the hem of Zoro's shirt, still worn from sleep, and Zoro let his own hand come up to rest against the side of Luffy's neck, careful of the bruise blooming under his jaw. He let his thumb stay there a beat longer than the moment strictly called for.
"You're freezing," Zoro said against his mouth. "And you're dripping on my floor."
"So warm me up."
It wasn't the wound that needed tending anymore. Zoro understood that much. Luffy came here after nights like this one not because a countertop first-aid kit was the best care he could get. Chopper ran a vet clinic two blocks from the docks as a front, and would've done a cleaner job on that eyebrow than Zoro ever could. He was who Luffy's crew went to when something needed real treatment. Luffy came here because this was the part of the night where he got to stop being the person the rest of the crew needed him to be.
[or a one night's glimpse between a feared pirate mercenary captain, his childhood friend, and a no-strings arrangement that's starting to have strings]