The port-side bar squatted at the edge of the docks, all low beams and salt-scarred wood, its ceiling darkened by years of smoke and lantern soot. The air tasted of brine and cheap liquor, damp wool and old rope, the floor tacky beneath boots worn smooth by sailors who came in off the tide and stayed longer than planned. Chairs scraped, glasses thudded, voices overlapped in a steady, restless murmur that blended with the slap of water against pilings outside and the slow creak of the building settling around itself. Beyond the open doorway, the Sunny rode easy at her moorings for the night, lines secured while the log pose reset – an enforced layover, long enough for her crew to spill ashore and drink it down.
Nami and Zoro had claimed a table near the back, littered with empty glasses and damp rings. Nami sat loose and satisfied, hair pulled up into a messy ponytail, counting stacks of beli with quick, practiced fingers – winnings from a drinking contest that had started with two locals and ended with a rotating cast of challengers tapping out one by one. Zoro leaned back in his chair, satisfied. Nami could always give him a run for his money when it came to drinking, and tonight she’d proven it, smiling every time another glass was set in front of them and another local gave up.
Nami folded the money and tucked it down her shirt between her breasts, secure and out of sight. She picked up the dregs of her beer and drank it down, the bitterness sharp on her tongue, then set the empty glass aside and leaned an elbow on the table with a content sigh. Nights like this were rare – easy wins, extra beli, no storms on the horizon. “Only thing that would make tonight better is that.”
Zoro followed her line of sight without comment. Two people sat close together at a table tucked into a dark corner, heads bent, hands joined, mouths finding each other between low murmurs. His nose wrinkled slightly. “You want to get with them?”
Nami leveled him a glare. “No, idiot.” She looked back, seeing them kiss again, being happy. She felt a tug of longing in her chest. “I just… miss it. Being in a relationship.”
Zoro swirled the remains of his drink, watching the liquid climb the glass. “Must suck.”
“It does,” she shot back, then the edge softened. Vivi’s face surfaced unbidden, all warmth and closeness. “I miss Vivi.”
Zoparo hummed, noncommittal, the sound lost beneath a burst of laughter from the bar.
She snorted. “Figures, you wouldn’t care.”
Zoro gave her the look this time, flat, unimpressed, and aimed straight at the lie. “Nothing I can do about it.”
“Yeah, okay, fine.” Nami sighed again and rested her chin on her fist, eyes drifting back to the corner. She could feel the absence now, heavier after talking about it. “Still… I miss romance. Holding hands. Kissing. All that soft stuff.”
Zoro scoffed. “Overrated.”
She turned fully toward him. “That is not true and you know it.”
He snorted softly and lifted his glass. “You don’t need all that romance crap.”
“Says the man with the emotional range of a brick.”
“Brick’s doing fine,” he said, taking a sip.
Nami watched him for a beat longer than before. He didn’t look like someone arguing a point. He looked matter-of-fact. “Wait.” Her eyes narrowed. “You’re way too confident about that.”
Zoro took another sip, unbothered.
“You sound,” Nami said slowly, carefully – she knew Zoro didn’t like to talk about emotional things, “like someone who already has someone.”
He set his glass down. “I do.”
Her jaw hit the table. “You what?”
“I’m in a relationship.”
“With who?!” Nami said incredulously.
“The cook.”
The bar rolled on around them. Laughter broke from a nearby table. A server cleared empty mugs. The bartender wiped down the counter and turned to the next order, the world continuing as if nothing earthshattering had happened at all.
“Sanji?” Nami said at last, the name sounding foreign in her mouth.
“Yeah.”
“Sanji-kun? Our Sanji-kun?”
“Yeah.”
She stared some more, mind racing, searching her memories to see what she’d missed. “Since when?”
“A while now.” Zoro knocked back the rest of his drink. The glass clinked softly as he set it down. “Told him how I felt at Water 7.”
Nami stared, then flagged the server with a sharp lift of her hand. “I’m going to need more alcohol for this.”
“Good,” Zoro said, leaning back again. “I’m out of beer anyway.”
Nami stared at him, still seated there, still infuriatingly unbothered, like he hadn’t just dropped a bomb on her head. The cook. Sanji, with his hearts and theatrics and dramatic flourishes, paired with Zoro, soft under the blunt, gruff exterior she knew so well, though she’d never seen him be romantic. It didn’t make sense, and that irritation stuck, sharper than the surprise. She’d been missing the closeness of a relationship. Somehow, without any announcement, Zoro had it already.
The server set down another drink. Nami took it without looking. “Unbelievable,” she muttered, then drank.
Zoro shrugged again, picking up his new drink. “Nothing unbelievable about it.” He took a long swig, then thumped the glass on the table, pushing his chair back with a scrape. “Gotta piss.”
Nami watched him go in the wrong direction and snorted into her glass. Of course he would head for the storeroom instead of the clearly labeled restroom door. Of course he wouldn’t notice. Or care. Or think it strange that he’d just upended her understanding of his entire emotional life and then wandered off like he’d announced the weather.
She took another drink, slower this time, eyes tracking Zoro as he changed direction again. Zoro didn’t posture. He didn’t exaggerate. He didn’t make things bigger than they were. If he said he was in a relationship, it meant – annoyingly – he probably was. And Nami knew nothing about it.
Nami exhaled through her nose, equal parts irritated and intrigued. “Oh, this is going to be fun,” she muttered, already planning the questions.
She took another sip and waited for his eventual return.
Zoro hated that things moved on him constantly. First the restroom, then the table he’d been at with Nami. He knew she hadn’t left. He shut the door leading outside and turned around to face the tavern again. He thought they’d been by the bar, near the weird mounted fish with the human teeth on the wall. He found the fish after scanning nearly the entire room, then looked at the tables below.
He spotted Nami standing up, giving him the exasperated eye. He headed that way, reclaiming his seat and his beer.
Nami muttered something about his directional idiocy – nothing he hadn’t heard before – and then fixed him with a look that invited no escape. “Talk. You and Sanji-kun. I want details.”
Zoro glowered into his beer. “Not drunk enough for that.”
“You don’t get drunk.” Nami tapped her fingernail against her glass. “But I’ll buy you two more rounds at a generous discount. Only a ten percent repayment fee.”
Zoro hated talking about feelings and shit, but he knew Nami wouldn’t drop this unless he did. Still, two more drinks wasn’t enough to make him do it. “Five beers. No fee.”
“Three beers, seven percent.”
“Four, no fee, or I’m leaving.”
Nami’s eyes narrowed. “Three, no fee, but you have to answer all my questions.”
Zoro clenched his jaw, then sighed, resigned. “Fine. But I want the beers now.” Nami was crafty. If she could get away with it, they’d leave before he got all the beers.
Nami rolled her eyes, then signaled the server. “So trusting.”
“I know you, witch.”
A shark-like smile flashed in his direction, as she ordered four more beers for the table – three for him, an additional one for her. The server, who had witnessed the drinking contest, hesitated for half a beat, then complied. Zoro made a soft sound of derision at the hesitation. He’d have to drink the bar dry to even feel a buzz.
Nami pinned him with a look, expecting him to start talking. Zoro met her gaze flatly, refusing to budge until the drinks were on the table.
Around them, the bar continued humming. A chair scraped back. Someone laughed too loud near the door. Glass clinked against wood as a tray was set down and lifted again. The lantern light flickered against the walls, the low murmur of voices never quite dropping.
Nami paid the server when the drinks were delivered then jabbed a finger in Zoro’s direction. “Talk.”
Zoro knocked back the rest of the drink in his hand before giving in to his fate. “What do you want to know?”
“Start from the beginning.” Nami leaned back in her chair, holding her own drink in her hand.
Zoro took a breath through his nose and stared at the table. Beginning was a broad category. He’d never been good at narrowing things down for other people. There were a lot of starts that mattered, and none of them felt like the obvious one.
He lifted his gaze back to her. “I guess I noticed him in… you know, that way, back when we fought Arlong. On your island.”
Sanji’s foot slammed down on a giant piece of stone, splitting it in half like it was nothing.
Sanji glanced at him with assured trust before diving into the water a second time, to free Luffy.
Sanji sat across from him in the shelter of a porch, grinning while they ate.
Nami’s eyes widened slightly. “You only just met him.”
Zoro shrugged. “I don’t notice people. Not like that. So I knew he was different right away.”
“When’d you start dating?” Nami asked.
Zoro pulled a face. “Wasn’t dating.” He didn’t do dating. Dating meant doing things he had no desire for, rules he didn’t need.
She raised a brow. “Fine. When did you get together?”
He exhaled through his nose. “Little Garden.”
“I challenge you to a hunt!”
“He showed he was interested back,” Zoro said, remembering how he’d felt when Sanji returned it, an excited tingle he’d never experienced before that made him want to show off.
Nami narrowed her eyes, as if she were searching her memory for things that happened back then. “What about Water 7? You said you told him how you felt?”
“I did.”
“Luffy, don’t be reckless. Make him wait til we catch up!... Cook! You hear me? There’s some real nasty bastards on that train!”
Zoro shifted, coloring slightly at how out-of-control he’d felt, emotions overwhelming him.
Nami sat forward in her chair. “And Sanji-kun told you then, too?”
Zoro fiddled with his drink. “No. Not ‘til later. On Thriller Bark.”
“Not so fast, idiot. You’re right about Luffy, but what about your dream? What’s good dying going to do, you stubborn fool?… Hey, you lummox. Instead of this scruffy-headed swordsman, take me…”
Zoro’s heart beat a little harder. Sanji had offered to die for him, demonstrating his love so plainly. Sometimes he thought that was the reason he’d survived.
He took a slow drink, the glass cool in his hand, and focused on the surface of the table under his arms. The tavern door opened, letting in a gust of sea air. A game of cards was getting heated nearby.
Nami took a drink, appearing thoughtful. “Makes total sense now why you were so pissed off when Sanji got forced to almost get married.”
Zoro didn’t like remembering his angry outburst. How exposed it made him feel, afterward. “Yeah. But we patched things up after he got back.”
“I didn’t say it felt bad, just weird.”
“What, your eyebrow?”
“My body, you idiot!”
Nami flicked a glance at the pair in the corner. “But I haven’t seen you guys kiss, or hold hands, or do anything like that.”
Zoro frowned. “Why the hell would we do that?”
“That’s what couples do in a relationship,” Nami said, incredulous.
Zoro rolled his shoulders, trying to get the image of him doing that stuff with Sanji off him. “We’re good without that shit.” Love didn’t need all that crap. Love was being there, being comfortable. Trust in each other. They were blatant enough in their affection when they verbally fought.
Nami stared at him for a long moment, mouth opening and closing once like she was about to argue, and then stopping. She leaned back in her chair again instead, studying him with a new kind of focus. “So you really don’t think it has to look like… all that,” she said, gesturing toward the couple.
Zoro shook his head. “Why would it?”
She watched him again, slower this time. “That’s just… not what it is to you.”
“No.”
That seemed to settle something. Nami lifted her drink and took another thoughtful sip. “You know most people would’ve assumed something was wrong.”
Zoro frowned. “Nothing’s wrong.”
Nami didn’t argue. She appeared to turn that over instead, eyes drifting back to the pair in the corner, then returning to him. “…Huh,” she said at last. She set her glass down and tapped one finger against the table. “So you’re really not missing anything? Feel shortchanged?”
Zoro shook his head. No. Nothing felt unfinished. “No.”
She watched him another beat, then nodded to herself, the last of the resistance draining out of her shoulders. “Okay,” she said. “Okay. I get it.”
Zoro took another drink. As far as he could tell, he’d answered what she asked. “We done now?”
Nami snorted, the sound half-laugh, half-surrender. “For now,” she said. “But don’t think you’re getting out of the follow-up questions.”
He accepted that with a grunt and went back to his beer.
Sanji was already halfway through prep when Nami showed up.
It was the following day, after the bombshell Zoro had dropped on her. Nami had managed – barely – to contain herself long enough not to grill Sanji the moment they stepped back onto the Sunny. Now they were hours out from port, the log pose set and the island already receding into memory, the ship cutting cleanly through open water.
The galley smelled like onion and pepper. Sanji moved through prep with easy efficiency, sleeves rolled, cigarette tucked between his lips as he worked, knife tapping the board in a steady cadence.
“Nami-swaaan!” he crooned, spinning on his heel when she entered. “An angel graces my galley? I must be dreaming.” He clasped his hands to his chest. “If you’re here to steal my heart, you already have it. If you’re here to steal my wallet, I’ll happily hand it over.”
She smiled sweetly. Too sweet. “Oh, Sanji-kun,” she said, taking a seat and leaning an elbow on the bar between them. “Relax. I just wanted to chat.”
His eyebrow shot up. “Chat?” Hearts appeared in his eyes. “Are you here because you finally reciprocate my undying love for you?”
Nami snorted. “Not a chance.” Her smile became sly. “Besides, I heard you’re already in a relationship.”
The hearts sank to the floor, as Sanji’s brow creased with confusion. “I’m what?”
Nami tipped her head. The confusion looked real. “In a relationship.”
He laughed once, sharp and reflexive. “Usopp’s been lying again, hasn’t he? No worries, my dearheart, I am free and available for you.”
She didn’t laugh back, didn’t say anything. She’d seen Sanji bluff before, but this didn’t look like it. She searched for a tell, some indication that he was hiding the truth. She knew she wasn’t mistaken.
She waited. The silence stretched. Sunlight shifted across the counter through the open porthole. Somewhere on deck, Luffy’s voice rose and fell, cheerful and oblivious. Sanji stopped cutting, smile faltering. “You’re kidding.”
“I’m not.”
He took the cigarette from between his lips, ashing it in the tray with a small crease to his brow. “With who?” he said.
She blinked. “You don’t know?”
“Know what?”
“Zoro says you’re in a relationship.”
Sanji blinked. Stared. “I’m sorry?” he said as if he hadn’t heard her clearly.
Nami watched his face closely this time. No teasing edge. No calculation. No hiding or deflection. Something tightened in her chest. This wasn’t the reaction of someone caught in a secret.
Sanji frowned, brows knitting together as he tried to make it make sense. “Zoro?” he scoffed. “The marimo? That idiot’s idea of romance is not stabbing someone.”
“Careful,” she said, suddenly feeling protective of Zoro. “He’s very serious about this.”
Sanji’s scoff died halfway through. “Serious.”
“That you’re together.”
He opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. “We’re crewmates.”
“Yes.”
“We fight.”
“Frequently.”
“He never calls me by name.”
“You’re the same.”
“That’s not–” He broke off, hand lifting in frustration. “We’re not in a relationship.”
Nami didn’t like the way this was going. She had been up for teasing, maybe getting additional servitude for not telling the rest of the crew. But this was creating a bad taste in her mouth. Something was very wrong. “He says he told you how he felt.”
Sanji froze. “When?” he asked, slower now.
“Water 7.”
“He never said anything like that to me. He barely said anything to me, just the usual…”
Nami saw it hit. A memory landing whether he wanted it to or not. “He was worried,” Sanji murmured, more to himself than her.
Nami didn’t rush him. She watched his hands instead – how they’d gone still on the counter, how the cigarette burned down between his fingers without him noticing. The galley felt tighter now, serious, prep forgotten about. “About what?” she asked quietly.
Sanji swallowed. “About me. On that train. Trying to help Robin.” His brow furrowed as the memory slid into place. “He wanted me to wait for you guys.” He paused. “That it was too dangerous.”
Nami nodded. She remembered it now. The fear. The need to save their friend. Sanji and Usopp in one place, while the rest of them were trying to catch up.
“He didn’t say anything else,” Sanji went on slowly. “Not after. He just–” He searched for the word, then shook his head. “Acted like normal.”
Nami could see that. Zoro never repeated things. He stated them and moved on. “That was him…,” she began, realization coming over her. “That was him telling you how he felt about you.”
Sanji let out a quiet breath, something strained in it. “How was I supposed to know?”
Nami hesitated. This felt delicate, what she hadn’t understood completely before, and was just now figuring out. “I don’t think he sees romance like most people,” she said carefully. “Not like you or I do.”
Sanji shook his head slowly. “So he said he was worried once. And I didn’t shut him down. And he took that as… we’re in a relationship?”
Nami listened for mockery and didn’t find it. He sounded caught off-balance, not offended, turning it over as he spoke. His eyes flicked away, like he was seeing Zoro differently. He wasn’t pushing it away.
“It sounded like it,” she replied. She felt bad for them both. Because there was more. “He also said you told him you returned his feelings. On Thriller Bark.”
Sanji brought the cigarette to his mouth, inhaled deeply as he tilted his head back, closing his eyes. He exhaled the smoke with a tight murmur, “Of course he did.”
“You know what he was talking about.”
Sanji touched his side, briefly. “Not that difficult to figure out.”
The galley was quiet now. The refrigerator hummed softly. The knife sat untouched on the board. Outside, Luffy cackled at something while Usopp and Chopper screamed.
Sanji’s fingers curled against the edge of the counter. “Damn it,” he muttered. Not angry. Just weighed down by the realization.
Nami watched him, feeling that same tightness in her chest return. This wasn’t about blame. It was about two people standing in the same moments and hearing entirely different things.
“He really believes it,” Sanji said finally.
“Yes,” she said. “He does.”
Sanji didn’t look up. “Nami-swan, as wonderful as your presence is, would you mind…?”
Nami slid off the bench, with understanding. “Of course.” She headed for the door, then paused, looking back. “Just… be careful with him,” she said. “We both know he’s softer than he lets on.”
Sanji acknowledged her with a faint nod and went still, thinking.
She left the galley, footsteps much heavier than when she’d gone in.
The crow’s nest swayed gently with the Sunny’s forward motion, high enough that the wind stayed clean and constant. Zoro stood at its center with a pair of heavy iron dumbbells. He lifted one in each hand, slow and controlled, breath steady as he worked through the set. Up. Hold. Down. Counted in his head, not bothering to rush it.
The rope ladder creaked.
Zoro finished the rep before looking over. Sanji climbed into view with a small tray balanced in one hand and a bottle tucked under his arm. Snacks – rice crackers, dried fish. Sake. Zoro arched his brow. “Sake?”
“Saves me from you bothering me in the galley later.”
Zoro set the weights aside and rolled his shoulders, muscles burning pleasantly. He grabbed the bottle once Sanji set it on the bench, uncorking it and taking several long swallows. Sanji scoffed at him, pushed open one of the windows farther, and lit a cigarette.
Wind tugged at Sanji’s suit coat, at the loose ends of his tie. Below them, the deck creaked, voices of the crew rising up to them. Zoro sat down on the bench, watched him out of the corner of his eye. Sanji wasn’t relaxed. “You didn’t come up here for the view,” Zoro said.
Sanji paused. Just long enough to confirm it. “No,” he said. “Didn’t.”
Zoro waited. Sanji usually filled the air with nonsense, talking shit or overthinking about something or another. When he didn’t, it meant he was choosing his words. Something serious was on his mind.
“Nami talked to me,” Sanji said finally.
“About what?” Zoro took another swig of sake.
Sanji looked at him now. Really looked. “About us.”
Zoro frowned. “What about us?”
Sanji hesitated. “About what we are.”
The question seemed straightforward to Zoro. “Crew. Nakama.”
Sanji flinched. It was small, but it was there. Zoro noticed because Sanji didn’t flinch often.
“Yeah,” Sanji said. “And–” He stopped, exhaled through his nose. “Okay. Let me try this a different way.”
Zoro waited, reaching for a cracker. He crunched it down. Sanji took a seat on the bench, the tray between them. He took another drag, blew it out slowly, then looked at Zoro. “I didn’t know you thought we were together.”
Zoro frowned again. “This about our relationship?”
“Yes. No.” Sanji pursed his lips for a moment. “We don’t have a relationship.”
“Tch. Yeah, we do.” Zoro narrowed his eyes. “Don’t tell me Nami’s filled your head that we should be doing that crap we saw at the bar the other night. Holding hands and shit. Knew she didn’t get it.”
Sanji shook his head. “No.”
Zoro paused, the sake bottle halfway to his mouth. “Then what are you saying?”
Sanji met his gaze. “I’m saying I didn’t know you thought we were together. At all. Not until Nami told me.”
Zoro frowned harder. That didn’t line up. “But we’ve been together a long time now.”
“Zoro, we’re nakama. That’s all we’ve ever been.”
“That’s not true. I told you how I felt. And you felt the same. Later.”
“Water 7. Thriller Bark.”
Zoro nodded, wondering what the hell was going on.
Sanji dragged a hand through his hair. “I didn’t think you were–” He stopped, jaw tightening. “I didn’t think it meant more than what was said. That you were worried. That I would take your place, so you could live.”
Zoro stared at him. The wind pushed in through the open window behind them, carrying salt and canvas and the steady rush of the Sunny cutting through water. The tray between them rattled softly with the motion of the ship. Sanji’s cigarette burned down, ash trembling at the tip.
“That wasn’t it,” Zoro said. His grip tightened on the sake bottle without him noticing. He wasn’t angry. He wasn’t hurt. He was trying to understand it, and it wasn’t making sense. “I thought we understood each other. That you and I– that we were on the same page. That you finally saw me like I saw you.”
“I didn’t know that’s how you saw it,” Sanji said.
“Okay. And?”
“And most people tell the person they’re interested in that they’re interested in them, using those exact words.”
Zoro frowned. “I’m not most people.”
“No,” Sanji agreed, a little breath of a laugh slipping out. Not mocking. Almost fond. “You’re not.”
They sat there for a moment, the space between them filled by the creak of wood Franky calling out somewhere below, Jinbe answering back. Brook’s violin.
“If that didn’t mean we were together, then what did it mean?” Zoro said.
Sanji closed his eyes briefly, then opened them again. “It meant I cared,” he said. “It meant you mattered. I just didn’t realize you meant it as us being together.”
Something pulled tight in Zoro’s chest. “That’s what it’s always meant,” he said. “I don’t need the rest of it. I need you.”
“And you never thought I might need something else?” Sanji said.
Zoro paused. The ship creaked. The window frame pressed cool against his shoulder. “I didn’t know you needed more,” he said. “I mean, I’ve seen it, but that’s not us. You get all your hearts and nosebleeds out with the women, and I get the real stuff. The stuff that matters.”
Sanji listened without interrupting, cigarette forgotten between his fingers. The ash dropped onto the tray, unnoticed.
He held Sanji’s gaze. “We push each other. We fight. We care. We’ve got each other’s backs. We compete because it’s fun. We shit talk ‘cuz that’s how you do affection and I’m okay with that. That’s a relationship.”
Silence descended in the crow’s nest once he stopped talking. He felt like he was defending something that had been his all along, and now it might be ripped away. He tried to center his breath, fighting the emotions now threatening to overwhelm him.
“That’s… not nothing,” Sanji said finally. “And I’m not saying it doesn’t matter.” He looked down at his hands, then back up. “It’s just not everything for me.”
Zoro swallowed. The tightness in his chest tried to crush him. “So say it,” he said. “What else?”
Sanji hesitated, then shrugged one shoulder. “Being wanted in a way that’s obvious. Chosen on purpose. Sometimes I need to hear it. Sometimes I need to see it.”
Zoro nodded slowly. He just hadn’t thought that kind of wanting applied here, applied to him. “I didn’t think you needed that from me.”
Sanji gave a small, tired smile. “That’s the problem, isn’t it?”
They sat with that. The ship rolled. Zoro could feel the vibration of the mast through the bench. The cold sake bottle sweated in his hands. It felt like he couldn’t breathe. “I wasn’t trying to take advantage,” he said, low. “If I thought you didn’t want it–”
“I know,” Sanji said immediately. “I never thought that.”
Zoro’s fingers tightened around the bottle, causing the glass to creak. “So what now?”
“So,” Sanji said, quieter, “if we’re going to figure this out, it can’t just be you assuming and me missing it.”
Zoro considered that. Adjustments were part of training. You learned where you were off-balance and compensated. “Fine,” he said. “Then I’ll say it clearer.”
Sanji looked up.
“I want you,” Zoro said, plain and unembellished. “Not as crew. Not just as nakama. You. If you don’t want that, tell me. If you do, then we figure out how it works for both of us.”
The words settled between them, heavy and undeniable – whether or not they were enough.
Sanji exhaled slowly. “You really don’t do halfway.”
“No,” Zoro said. “Never saw the point.”
Sanji studied him for a long beat, then stubbed out the cigarette and leaned back against the bench. “Okay,” he said. “Then let’s actually figure it out.”
For a second, Zoro just stared at him, stunned by the relief crashing through his ribs. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
Zoro felt the knot in his chest ease, the breath he didn’t know he was holding release. A smile broke out on his face. “Okay, then.”
The ship rolled beneath them. Zoro took a swig of sake, then held out the bottle to Sanji. Sanji took it.
Below them, the crew carried on like nothing had changed.
The bar was loud tonight.
New island, new paint over old wood, lanterns hung a little too evenly, cocktail napkins on the table, like someone had tried to civilize the place without knowing what usually passed through it. The Sunny was only docked long enough for the log pose to set. An hour, maybe two. Just enough time for a drink.
Nami sat at a small table near the side, one leg hooked around the chair rung, a glass sweating in her hand. No contests tonight, no winnings. Sad, but she’d pick a few pockets on the way out the door to make up for it.
Zoro sat across from her, beer already half gone, posture loose. Same as ever. What had changed was subtle enough that most people would miss it. Nami didn’t. His attention kept drifting toward the bar. Not with anxiousness. Expectant.
She hid a smile behind her glass. “So,” she said lightly. “Everything… settled?” Her fingers brushed the small tin she’d tucked beside her glass. Fudge. Dense, dark, cut into precise squares. Sanji’s handwriting was scrawled on the lid in grease pencil, smudged like he’d rewritten it twice. Courtesy of a full day and a half of “thought-baking” after she and him had chatted in the galley.
Zoro glanced up. “Yeah.”
“Good,” she said. “Would’ve been annoying if you’d messed it up after all that." She flicked her gaze between him and the empty chair beside him.
He scowled. “You’re annoying anyway.”
Before Nami could reply, three drinks appeared on the table. Beer. Wine. Something citrus-heavy she hadn’t ordered, but would gladly take. She looked up this time. “Took you long enough, Sanji-kun.”
“My apologies, my sweet Nami-swan. There was a hold up at the bar,” Sanji said, passing out the drinks.
Zoro snorted. “The hold up was you bleeding over the tits on the bartender.”
Sanji scoffed and pulled out the chair beside him, sitting without hesitation. Close enough their knees brushed. Neither moved.
Nami watched as Zoro absently salted a small napkin, stuck it under the wine glass. Watched Sanji notice – and not comment. She leaned back, satisfaction settling in her chest. “Huh,” she said.
Both of them looked at her.
She lifted her glass. “Guess I was wrong.”
Sanji raised a brow. “About?”
“About what romance is supposed to look like,” she said, smiling.
Zoro frowned. “You usually are.”
Sanji snorted. “Coming from you, that’s rich.”
Nami laughed and drank.
Across the room, a couple leaned into each other, hands tangled, murmurs low. Nami glanced once – and felt nothing tug at her chest this time.
End