Sanji stood at the stern rail of Le Petite Bleu, watching as Zoro tied up his skiff, a cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth. “What are you doing here? Did you get so lost you found the All Blue?”
Zoro hopped up on deck, shaking his head. The late morning sunlight glinted against his earrings. “Usopp made me a compass out of my piece of your vivre card.”
Sanji’s brows lifted. “Nice of him to help your directionless ass. Doesn’t explain why you’re here.”
“I want to spend however long I have left in this life with you,” Zoro stated bluntly.
Sanji blew out a cloud of smoke to hide his warming cheeks as his heart did a slow flip. “I’d better not find you napping in my dining room, or I’ll kick you back out to sea without a skiff.”
The smile that spread across Zoro’s face made Sanji feel like he’d found the All Blue all over again.
There were many things Sanji expected when Zoro moved in permanently. Napping in any place imaginable. Dirty laundry piled on the floor. Green hairs in the shower drain. The sound of snoring like a sea train. They'd already lived together for years with the rest of the Straw Hat crew, so Sanji thought he knew what to expect.
A year later, Sanji could safely say he'd been completely wrong.
“Hey, babe,” Zoro said, pausing on the steps with a bundle of fresh linens in his arms. “I'm gonna change the sheets. I was thinking about washing the duvet. Since it’s so nice out, I can hang it on the line to sun dry.”
Sanji just nodded, which he'd found was the right decision when it came to anything domestic.
Zoro bussed a kiss on Sanji’s cheek before continuing upstairs.
Sanji stared after him for a moment, then continued down toward the kitchen.
Le Petite Bleu’s kitchen and dining room were similar to the Baratie, occupying the wide base of the tri-level floating restaurant. The restaurant opened at two in the afternoon and stayed open until ten at night, and was closed on Mondays and Tuesdays. Initially, Sanji served breakfast through dinner seven days a week, despite Zeff telling him not to do that. Zeff advised to stick to hours similar to the Baratie’s or to do breakfast and lunch service instead, because he would burn himself out otherwise. Of course, Sanji hadn’t listened. He was better than Zeff, after all. And young. And stupid.
Within the first week, he burned himself out, barely getting four hours of sleep because he was up until midnight every night and had to get up at four in the morning to start breakfast prep so he could open by seven. He was so tired he was dragging. By the end of the second week, he could barely function. By the end of the third, he refused to give in, because that would mean he was wrong and he refused to be wrong. By the end of the first month, Robin had shown up, had taken one look at him, and told him that she would ask Franky to install a surprise if he didn't knock it off.
He knocked it off.
Franky still installed a robotic bug catcher that walked around the restaurant. The trouble was, the bug catcher looked like a spider – a big, giant spider – and the first time he saw it, he screamed at the top of his lungs. Needless to say, the bug catcher ended up being launched into orbit with a fiery kick.
The restaurant's kitchen was laid out exactly how Sanji had wanted it, from the pass to the prep counter to the dishwashing station, storage, refrigeration, and icebox, all with access to the loading dock. It had plenty of space to work and accommodate a staff. Sanji currently employed three cooks, one dishwasher, one busser, four servers, two morning cleaners, and a permanent maintenance man. His restaurant could seat fifty – sixty if he pushed it. As he was on the All Blue, customers had to make the trip specifically. It was a destination more than somewhere people passed by, and therefore his customer base was low. It still afforded him enough to keep the restaurant running, everyone paid, and Zoro all the booze he could drink.
Not that he drank as much anymore. He filled his belly with more milk than alcohol, which was good for his liver and made Chopper extremely happy. It was just one of the many differences between the settled Zoro and the one pushing, protecting, and driving toward everyone's dreams.
Zoro still trained and kept himself sharp. The world's greatest swordsman needed to be ready to face any challengers who might show up. But he didn't spend all his time napping anymore, since he no longer stayed up all night training and standing watch while the crew slept. Instead, he spent his nights curled around Sanji, snuffling against his neck or starfished and snoring when the weather got hot.
Sanji woke up to a sleepy smile and bedroom eyes every morning, and it would turn into slow, lazy lovemaking that made his toes curl. Their passion and fire lit when the sun went down on nights Sanji had off, and there was the occasional afternoon delight during break. Zoro had upended his life in a way he hadn't thought possible, but Sanji now wouldn't trade it for anything.
It still didn’t explain how Zoro had gone from serious swordsman to domestic demon.
“Do you have a laundry room?” Zoro asked Sanji about a week after he’d moved in.
They’d had some adjustments to make – mainly moving the bed away from the wall so it would stop banging and creating a space on the balcony for Zoro’s weights – but they’d settled in together as if years hadn’t passed since they’d separated as a crew.
The third level of Le Petite Bleu served as Sanji’s residence, a suite of rooms that gave him the privacy he needed away from the live-in staff who occupied the second level. It was built with all the amenities Franky declared Sanji needed and several he didn’t. There were three bedrooms, two bathrooms, a living area, a dining space, and a smaller kitchen that would still make chefs weep. A wraparound balcony with a covered outdoor grilling area, a sundeck with an automated mini onsen-style tub, and an open area for hanging laundry that also ended up being used for Zoro’s equipment finished the level.
“It’s off the service corridor downstairs,” Sanji told Zoro. “Didn’t see the need for anything up here.”
“Does it have machines like on the Sunny or a washboard?”
“Both.”
“Can you show me?”
Sanji arched his brow. “Since when do you do laundry?”
“Tch. I used to do it on the Sunny,” Zoro said, giving him a flat look. “Usopp, Chopper, and I did ours together.”
“I thought you just kept wearing the same set of clothes until they washed themselves in protest.” Sanji turned toward the door. “Follow me.”
Sanji led the way down the two flights of stairs at the back of the floating restaurant, to the service corridor that led to the kitchen, storage, and utility rooms. Franky, along with the Galley La company, had designed the laundry room as an industrial space, with multiple sea-powered washers, dryers, and a wash sink, along with an ironing board and a vertical garment steamer. Detergents and clothespins lined a shelf above the machines. Sanji and the live-in staff used it, along with the restaurant staff for washing linens.
Zoro peered at the buttons on the machines. “Do you throw your suits and shit in here?”
Sanji gasped. “I would never! Hand wash only, then hang dry. Including my ties.”
“And then you iron it.”
“Garment steamer!” Sanji was aghast. “What kind of barbarian irons a suit?! It can crush the internal chest canvas, flatten the soft roll of the lapels, and create an unwanted shiny look on wool fibers.”
Zoro stared at him like he was speaking another language. “And you wonder why I only have a few sets of clothes.”
“Pft. Fashionless ape.” Sanji pulled a cigarette from his pack and lit it. “Why do you care about my laundry anyway?”
“Figured I could start doing it,” Zoro said. “Need to earn my keep somehow, and it’s not like you’ll let me near the kitchen.”
“Fuck no.” Sanji eyed him for a moment. “Your being here isn’t conditional, you know.”
Zoro smirked. “Thought you said I was required to use my tongue–”
“Shut up!” Sanji interrupted him with a kick to the head, which Zoro was quick to block with a laugh.
While Sanji grumbled about perverted swordsmen in shared spaces, Zoro resheathed his katana. “I mean it, though,” Zoro said. “Let me do the laundry for us. You got a restaurant to run, and it’s one less thing you’d have to do on your day off.”
Sanji took a drag on his cigarette, studying Zoro. “You’re serious?”
“Wouldn’t bring it up otherwise,” Zoro said with a shrug.
Sanji contemplated the disasters waiting to unfold if he let Zoro loose with his laundry. “If I let you do this, I’m giving you explicit instructions, both written and verbal, and we’ll be doing a test run to see if you can follow directions when it doesn’t involve going anywhere.”
Zoro nodded in agreement. “Deal. And with the extra time you’ll have, you can spend it sitting on my–”
Sanji launched another kick at Zoro’s head. “SHUT UP!”
“Where do you keep your rug beater? And floor cleaner?”
The questions coming out of Zoro’s mouth took time to understand after having turned Sanji’s mind to mush one mid-afternoon three weeks into their cohabitation. He lay on the couch in their living room, disheveled and flushed, blinking slowly at Zoro. “You want what now?”
Zoro peered up at him, head resting on Sanji’s knee. “The rug beater and floor cleaner.”
“Why?”
“Why do you think, dumbass?”
“I think you just sucked my brains out and are now asking stupid questions.”
Zoro grinned rottenly. “Sucked your brains out, huh?”
Sanji tweaked his ear hard. “You’re not that special.”
“Uh-huh.”
Sanji huffed and shoved at Zoro’s face. Zoro chuckled and settled back on his heels as Sanji fixed his trousers.
“So, rug beater? Floor cleaner?” Zoro prompted.
“In the closet in the hall,” Sanji said, pulling a cigarette from the pack in his shirt pocket. “That’s where all the cleaning supplies are kept.”
“Good to know.”
Sanji lit his smoke and peered at Zoro contemplatively. “You’re actually going to clean the floors.”
“Yeah. It’s about time, don’t you think?” Zoro said, glancing around the living room. “You keep it pretty nice in here, but it could use a good scrub.”
“If you want to scrub my floors, knock yourself out.”
Zoro was using a feather duster.
Sanji stood in the doorway, hand still on the knob, staring as Zoro ran the feather duster along the lampshade. He also had a soft cloth tossed over one broad shoulder and a can of furniture polish tucked into his haramaki.
Sanji had many sticky daydreams about this, except Zoro wore a barely-there maid’s uniform rather than a T-shirt and trousers.
“What are you doing?” Sanji managed to ask without sounding lustful, as Zoro turned his attention to the base of the lamp.
“Dusting,” Zoro said. “Was getting bad enough that I could write in it.”
Sanji knew he wasn’t the best at keeping the place dust-free. Dusting was on par with cleaning the grease trap in the restaurant kitchen – a never-ending job, with the dust accumulating again the second he’d finished cleaning.
He carried the package of books they’d gotten in the mail, set it on the small dining table, and turned back to Zoro. Zoro was now running the rag across the side table’s surface and down the legs. It was the middle of their second month together, and Sanji was beginning to wonder where this Zoro had been the entire time they’d sailed on the Sunny and the Merry before that.
“Robin-chan sent you those books you wanted,” he told Zoro.
“Great. Go ahead and put them on the bookshelf.”
Sanji watched as Zoro moved on to polishing the coffee table, then shook his head and reopened the box. He unpacked several mystery novels, a handful of gay romances that made Sanji’s brows climb, and one titled The Art of Window Washing: Keeping Your House Streak-Free.
He stared at the title, turned the book over, and read the blurb on the back. A how-to guide on cleaning clear and reflective surfaces to give them the perfect shine without streaks. Great for windows, mirrors, appliances, and much more!
“You’re planning on washing the windows?” Sanji said incredulously. On the very rare occasion he was feeling overly ambitious, he’d wash the multitude of windows in the suite. He’d hired a live-in maintenance person to maintain the rest of the ship.
“Yeah. Salt’s building up,” Zoro said, now working on dusting one of the shelves of knickknacks on the wall. He removed one object at a time, dusted it and the shelf under it, then put it back.
“It’s your time,” Sanji said with another shake of his head. He picked up the stack of books and walked over to the bookcase. Along the way, he passed the low sideboard where Sanji kept their liquor and a few houseplants. Traced in the dust on the surface was a smiley face, a series of swords, maybe a cat, what was definitely him with those swirling eyebrows, and the words Me + Cook, which made Sanji’s heart trip over itself until he read the next line: need a maid outfit.
Sanji shoved the books onto the bookshelf without rhyme or reason, then turned to Zoro with lust in his eyes and pounced.
Zoro stood in the center of the kitchen with his arms folded and a mulish tilt to his jaw. “I’m going to make breakfast for us.”
Morning sunlight pooled through the window above the kitchen sink and gave the upper and lower cabinets a golden tint to the wood. The narrow island separating the kitchen from the dining area served as a prep counter. The stovetop, oven, and side-by-side refrigerator filled the rest of the space.
Zoro had been living with Sanji for six months now, and had basically taken over all the domestic chores in their lives. Sanji lived in a very neat, very clean suite with hand-beaten rugs, streak-free windows, and perfectly fluffed throw pillows on the couch. But the kitchen was still Sanji’s domain, and he made breakfast daily for them, left a boxed lunch on workdays, and fixed all the meals on his days off.
Sanji snorted at Zoro’s declaration. “Good one. Now get out of the way.”
“No. I mean it.” Zoro refused to budge. “I’m going to make breakfast.”
“Marimo–”
“Cook,” Zoro interrupted, quieter. “Let me do this.”
Sanji paused before literally kicking Zoro out of the kitchen. “Why in the world do you want to cook? You barely know how.”
“Because you cook all the time,” Zoro said.
“It’s my job.”
“Yeah, but this isn’t.” Zoro gestured between them both. “This is us.”
Sanji frowned in confusion. “And I don’t mind cooking for us.”
“But I do.” Zoro looked away for a moment, jaw working. “You run the restaurant and take care of everyone who comes in. I want to be the one who takes care of you.”
Sanji’s heart gave such a fierce thump, it almost hurt. He swallowed around the sudden lump in his throat. “You can cook.”
A smile bloomed on Zoro’s lips. “Yeah?”
“Yes, you insufferable moss,” Sanji said, heading out of the kitchen. He pulled out a cigarette and made for the balcony to regain his composure. “I’ll leave you to it. But I reserve the right to complain about anything you make.”
Downstairs, Sanji started a fresh pot of coffee and retrieved the clipboard with the inventory. He was the first in the restaurant’s kitchen, as always, but he’d already had his breakfast upstairs. The cleaners were finishing up in the dining area, and the cooks would be down to start prep in another hour. His maintenance man was already busy at work on the starboard bow, fixing a cracked rail from the last storm they’d weathered.
An hour later, he was partway through the walk-in’s checklist when Zoro wandered in, carrying his well-used cookbook. “Hey, cook. Think I want to try making ravioli for dinner on Monday. Stick ricotta and spinach on our shopping list. Oh, and we need more lemon polish and stain remover for the laundry.”
Sanji made a note in the margin of his inventory. “Anything else?”
“That’s it for now.” Zoro used his finger to hold his page as he closed the book. “I threw the duvet insert in the wash, but we should probably replace it soon. The down is starting to clump. I’ll try to beat some shape back into it once it’s dried a bit on the line.”
Sanji just nodded once again, which was still the right decision when it came to anything domestic.
Zoro leaned in and bussed another kiss on his cheek. “See you tonight.”
Sanji watched him leave the kitchen, then shook his head with a soft laugh. It was still hard to believe that the world’s greatest swordsman had become the world’s greatest househusband.
Or he would be a husband, as soon as Sanji received the custom rings Franky was making for them.
Sanji couldn't wait to propose.
End