You Still Saw Me

The first time Zoro saw Sanji on Wano, Zoro almost didn’t recognize him. 

They were in the crowded prison square at the Flower Capital where Toko’s father had just been executed by Oroshi, the current Shogun of Wano Country. Toko had crawled under the fence to reach her father’s body, crying that she had medicine to make him feel better. Oroshi raised a rifle, intent on killing Toko and Zoro was through the fence in an instant, katana drawn, to defend the little girl. Zoro had scooped her up and blocked the shot with the quick twist of his sword. 

But he wasn’t the only one who’d leapt to defend Toko. At his side, with a flaming foot, stood a man in a yellow and white yukata with long, loose sleeves and a multitude of bandages wrapped around his neck and head. A cigarette was clamped between bandaged lips. A gap revealed twin, narrowed blue eyes. 

Zoro’s brow furrowed in confusion, as he only knew one person who could light his foot on fire. “Browgoro?” he asked, as Toko laughingly-sobbed in his ear.

“Mossjuro.” Sanji’s voice was a rasp, but it was definitely him. 

Zoro’s gaze flicked over the bandages again. Luffy hadn’t mentioned that Sanji had been hurt when they’d met up. Then again, Luffy hadn’t said much of anything about the others, besides the fact that they’d gotten split up. Maybe this was a more recent injury, since they’d been on Wano? He pushed the thought away, as had more important things to focus on right now. Still, a small, stubborn worry nagged at him. 

He couldn’t ask about it right now, though. Zoro heard Orochi’s voice shouting orders nearby. “Sorry, but I don’t have time to stand around with you,” he said, feeling the urgency spike as the command to shoot rang out. Without hesitation, he shoved Toko toward Sanji. “Here, you take her.”

Sanji fumbled to catch her with his overly long sleeves. “Huh? What are you doing, you idiot? Tonoyaso sacrificed himself…”

Ignoring Sanji, Zoro drew a second katana, intending to end Orochi here and now. “Two sword style: seven-hundred twenty pound cannon!” With the whirl of his swords, he slashed the air, creating an energy blast that tore across the square toward Orochi. But before it could hit, Kyoshiro jumped in front of it, slicing the energy apart with his own swords. Zoro ground his teeth. “Fuck.”

“What do you think you’re doing?” Sanji snapped at him, holding the laugh-sobbing Toko against his chest awkwardly. “Think clearly!”

A roar of a tyrannosaur split the square, the beast pirate Drake rising up behind Sanji and Toko. Sanji glanced behind him, then shot into the air as Drake tried to eat him. Orochi’s samurai opened fire on Zoro at the same time, but Franky slid to a stop between him and the samurai, deflecting the bullets with his massive cyborg body. 

“They’re all yours,” Zoro told Franky, and took off running after Orochi and Kyoshiro, who were both fleeing the square. 

Zoro didn’t see Sanji again until the entire crew regrouped on the Thousand Sunny, the day before the Raid on Onigashima. Even then, he’d only caught a glimpse of the cook’s back as he headed into the galley when Zoro had boarded. The cook hadn’t been at Amigasa Village, instead apparently hiding on the ship. Zoro chalked it up to Sanji being too ashamed to show his face after getting roughed up like a weakling. Zoro was still kind of pissed at Sanji, anyway, for taking off on them when they had an entire alliance sailing to invade Wano Country. 

He didn’t get the chance to give Sanji a piece of his mind that day, though, as Jinbe came aboard. He spent the time getting to know the Fish-Man better and training with his new katana, Enma. Dinner was a ship-to-ship affair with the Minks and Zoro was too busy enjoying himself to care what that cook was or wasn’t doing.

Sanji wasn’t in his bunk when Zoro went to bed around midnight. Nor was he there when Zoro woke around three. The rest of the male crew members snored in their beds. Even Jinbe was sawing logs in the double-wide hanging bunk Franky had hastily set up earlier that day.

A troublesome urge pulled Zoro from the men’s quarters, across the lawn, and up the stairs to the galley. But when he arrived, the galley was dark. Flicking on the light revealed an empty room.

The galley was divided into two halves by a standing bar with a long bench seating in front of it. The kitchen side had a huge refrigerator, four-burner stovetop, a double oven, plenty of cupboards and counter space, and a wash sink nestled into the prep counter beneath the bar. The dining side had a huge table with eight chairs bolted around it, a sofa that ran the length of the room between the main deck and Chopper’s infirmary, plus a small side table where the den den mushi was kept. A service elevator ran down to the Aquarium Bar below. A storage room was hidden behind the kitchen. Sconce lights hung above the sofa and from the ceiling in the kitchen. 

Frowning, Zoro crossed the dining area to Chopper’s infirmary. He peered through the porthole set into the door. The light behind him cast enough glow for him to see into the room. Chopper’s infirmary held a desk, a swivel chair, medical cabinets, and a single patient bed. Another door led out to the aft deck, which was wide open. 

Zoro spotted Sanji’s familiar blond head asleep on the bed, turned away from the door, a sheet pulled up to his neck. A flicker of annoyance mixed with an unspoken worry settled over Zoro. He thought about banging on the door, waking Sanji, demanding to know why he was here instead of in his bunk. But instead, he let the cook sleep and headed off to train in the crow’s nest.

Breakfast, like dinner, was a shared affair with the Kid Pirates onboard the Victoria Punk as the captains traded bets and insults on who would defeat Kaidou first. Sanji was nowhere in sight. This time, Zoro noticed, as it wasn’t the cook’s food they were eating. Food had always been fuel to Zoro, but after years of eating Sanji’s cooking, there was a clear difference when someone else prepared the meal. After nearly a month of eating whatever he could get in Wano, he’d been looking forward to Sanji’s cooking again. Not that he’d ever admit that to the cook.

“Where’s the dart-browed idiot?” Zoro leaned closer to Usopp to ask.

“Probably back on the Sunny,” Usopp said between bites of udon with egg. “Chopper has him on restrictions.”

Zoro’s brow furrowed. “What kind of restrictions?”

Usopp shrugged. “Dunno. He’s been bandaged up since they got back, so whatever happened at Whole Cake Island must’ve been really bad. No one will say anything, though, so don’t ask. I only know about the restrictions because I overheard Chopper scolding Sanji on the aft deck, when I was at my branch office.”

Zoro’s gaze shifted in the direction of the Thousand Sunny’s galley. An uneasy churn twisted in his stomach. “Maybe the cook’s pining for his wife. I didn’t see anyone new on the ship, aside from Jinbe.”

“He didn’t get married,” Usopp said. “That I know the answer to, since it was the first thing Franky asked when we met up with him in the Flower Capital. Sanji was wearing this cool new suit that Law said made him look like a comic strip character. It had a cape, communication headphones, narrow sunglasses, and a mask that went over his lower face. Between it and the bandages, we didn’t recognize him until he came up to us.”

“Tch. Sounds stupid.” Zoro purposely turned his attention away from the Sunny, though a part of him wanted to go over there and check on Sanji. He ignored his worry, for now.

Zoro got his first good look at Sanji’s new suit as the Thousand Sunny and its alliance sailed toward Onigashima. The gates blocking the passage were crowded with guardians celebrating the Flower Festival. The Straw Hats led the attack to take them all down. Zoro spotted Sanji flying above the chaos, cape snapping, black-covered arms flapping behind him like windsocks. The suit matched Usopp’s description – black with red, gold, and white details, headphones, sunglasses, and a mask. Blond hair poked out around the headphones. The number three was boldly stitched onto the cape. The boots seemed to have some kind of propulsion, though Zoro knew Sanji could also Sky Walk.

Zoro lost sight of him once the battle got underway. The fight against the guardians wasn’t too difficult, just overwhelming in numbers. Zoro returned to the ship unscathed and loaded down with kegs of booze – a double win in his book. He dumped the kegs on the Sunny’s deck and headed to the galley for a tap and mug.

This time, the galley wasn’t empty. Sanji stood leaning heavily against the service elevator outside Chopper’s infirmary door. He still wore that ridiculous outfit, mask pulled up over half his face. Sanji straightened the moment he saw Zoro, the cross-buttoned cape closing in front of him, proudly displaying the large white number three stitched into the fabric. The top half of his face was only partially bandaged, and Zoro could clearly see the swirl of his eyebrow above the narrow sunglasses. Blond hair framed that one visible eye.

“What do you want, marimo?” Sanji said irritably, his voice no longer rasping like it had previously. 

“Tap. Mug,” Zoro said, eyeing him with disdain. “Where’d you get the ugly suit?”

“It’s a Germa Raid Suit,” Sanji replied in a clipped tone. “My sister gave it to me.”

Zoro sneered. “The little lost Prince making nice-nice with his family?”

“Don’t call me that,” Sanji snapped. “Get your shit and get out.”

“Tch. Whatever, cook.” Zoro went into the kitchen to grab the tap and a mug. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten that you ran off to play house like an asshole. You could’ve ruined this entire raid with your selfish stunt. You’re lucky Luffy got back in time.”

“Thank you for your deep concern.” Sarcasm dripped from Sanji’s voice. “Now, leave me the fuck alone.”

Zoro snorted and left the galley. Apparently, Sanji was fine. And still a jackass. The flicker of concern Zoro had been carrying was quickly doused. He headed topside to enjoy his beer as the Sunny sailed toward the skull-shaped entrance of Onigashima.

Zoro swam back to consciousness with an aching body and a strong desire for booze. He pried open his eye to find himself lying on his back, wrapped in bandages, looking up at a wood-beamed ceiling. He could hear someone stirring beside him. A glance over showed him it was Luffy, similarly bandaged, lying on another pallet. 

It appeared they were in a bedroom of some sort, with shoji walls, tatami floors, and sliding windows overlooking a courtyard garden. A privacy screen stood in the corner near a dresser and clothes closet. IV’s hooked onto both of their arms. Zoro’s katanas rested on the floor beside his pallet.

Slowly, Zoro sat up, wincing at the pain in his stomach. His body was wrecked, first from the brutal fight against Kaidou and Big Mom, which had broken too many of his bones that Law had to bandage up, and then from his battle with King, compounded by the aftereffects of the temporary quick-heal that had pushed his body past its limits. He worried about how the others had fared. Luffy was fine – Zoro could see that for himself – but the crew had split up during the raid to face different enemies, and he’d lost track of them all. Still, he was certain the raid had been a success. If it hadn’t, he doubted he’d be awake now. And Luffy wouldn’t be sitting beside him.

Zoro gently touched his face and the bandages across his forehead and on his cheek. He didn’t hurt as badly as he normally did after a brutal fight. He’d probably been unconscious for a bit, which helped him heal faster. 

Luffy sat up with a groan, clutching his gurgling stomach. “I’m starving!” He opened his eyes and glanced around. He grinned widely when he saw Zoro. “Zoro! We won! I kicked Kaidou’s ass.”

“Figured as much,” Zoro said, pushing carefully to his feet. He moved with deliberate slowness – he had no intention of drawing Chopper’s wrath by tearing any of the stitches he could feel tugging beneath the bandages. “I don’t know about you, but I need a drink.”

“I want meat!” Luffy sprang up as if he hadn’t been hurt at all. He charged for the sliding door, arms raised above his head with a battlecry. “MEAT!”

Zoro followed more sedately. The bedroom opened up into a great room of similar style. Cushions, blankets, tables and low chairs sprinkled the room. Lanterns hung from the ceiling. Murals were painted on the shoji walls. Windows peeked outside. He spotted Yamato, Kin’emon and Hiyori immediately, chatting with an unknown guy with long, black hair. Franky and Usopp were seated at a table, playing igo. Brook was playing his violin for Pekoms. Nami was reading a book to Toko. Other minks and samurais bustled about. Chopper jumped up from his spot beside Usopp and Jinbe to run over to them both. “You’re awake! Hooray! We were all worried!”

Pekoms laughed. “This is something to celebrate!”

“Let’s get this party started!” Brook exclaimed, and launched into a rousing tune. 

Chopper came over to Zoro, as Luffy continued bellowing for meat. “How are you feeling?” he asked, hopping up onto a table in order to examine Zoro’s bandaged chest. 

“I’m fine,” Zoro said. “Doesn’t hurt too much. You did a good job patching me up.”

“Don’t say nice things, asshole!” Chopper decried with a huge smile. 

“How long was I out?” he asked.

“You and Luffy have been unconscious for a week,” Chopper replied. “We were worried!”

Zoro rubbed his jaw. “A week, huh? I seem awfully clean for being out that long.”

Hiyori suddenly popped up beside Zoro with a giggle. “That’s because I washed your body daily!”

Zoro groaned. “When will you understand that I’m not interested?”

“Yo-ho-ho!” Brook swanned over, switching to a romantic love song. “Trouble in paradise?”

Zoro glared at him. “I told you there’s nothing between us!”

“Yet I found you two sleeping together,” Brook sang. 

Zoro was going to punch Brook in his skull face. “Toko was there, too!”

Brook danced off laughing, Hiyori continued giggling, and Zoro needed booze, now. He took a page out of Luffy’s book and yelled, “I want booze!”

“Food and drink are on their way,” Kin’emon informed him.

“You shouldn’t be drinking yet!” Chopper exclaimed scoldingly. 

“Too bad.” Zoro stalked over to one of the low tables and took a seat. Luffy plopped himself down across from him. Zoro glanced around again, as something started nagging him. “Oi, Luffy. You see everyone?”

“From the crew?” Luffy shook his head. “Sanji’s not here, but everyone else is. Maybe he’s helping with the cooking.”

Zoro frowned. “Maybe.” That unsettled feeling returned, the one he’d thought he’d shaken off before the raid. “Unless cooking’s beneath Prince Vinsmoke now.”

“Don’t call him that,” Luffy said sharply, startling Zoro. His voice was firm and tight with restrained anger. “The Vinsmokes were monsters. Sanji is nothing like them.”

Zoro studied Luffy. It was rare for him to take that tone and rarer still for it to be aimed at someone on the crew. Which meant whatever happened during Sanji’s rescue couldn’t be good. “What happened on Whole Cake Island?”

Luffy’s hands clenched into fists on the table. His eyes flashed with fury. “Bad stuff. But Sanji’s back with us, and he’ll be okay.”

It wasn’t a satisfying answer, but it told Zoro a lot. Especially paired with Sanji’s bandages and Chopper’s restrictions. Something twisted beneath his skin, hot and dark. “You took care of those who hurt him, right?”

Luffy nodded once, a hard light in his eyes. “They can’t ever hurt him again.”

The food and drink arrived, distracting Luffy immediately, turning his mood from angry to ecstatic in an instant. “Give me meat!” he shouted, rubber arms stretching toward platters being carried in.

Zoro’s frown remained, even as giant bottles of alcohol were placed around him. His mind was still on Sanji. What, exactly, had happened to him? Sanji was strong. More than capable of taking on a handful of royals, even if they were warmongers. Zoro didn’t like being in the dark. He disliked the uneasy flutter in his stomach even more.

Zoro’s relationship with Sanji was complicated. They were friends and not friends at the same time. Sanji drove him up the wall with his idiocy over women and his constant insults. Arguing was their sport. But their challenges were fun, their fights kept Zoro sharp, and he trusted Sanji, without question.

At one point, Zoro had thought there might be something brewing between them. But then Kuma scattered them to the wind and they were separated for two years. Sanji came back more obsessed with women than ever, and Zoro had shelved his attraction. Between Punk Hazard, Dressrosa, Zou, and then Sanji’s sudden disappearance, there hadn’t been much time to dwell on missed chances.

Zoro grabbed one of the bottles and started drinking, the burn in his throat a welcome distraction. He’d track Sanji down later. Corner him, get the truth, and make sure the damn idiot was really okay. He needed to hear it from Sanji himself, needed to see it in his eyes. Right now, though, all he could do was drink and try not to think about the tight knot in his chest.

The Thousand Sunny was docked at Tokage Port. Night had settled over the horizon, studding the inky sky with stars. Colorful lanterns drifted upward, set aloft by festival-goers below. The festival had morphed into a celebration of freedom, with Kaidou’s defeat. The streets had been crowded with people, eating, drinking, laughing, dancing. Kids ran with sparklers. Joy hung thick in the air, bright and contagious.

Zoro thanked the old man who’d given him a ride to the port and made his way down the docks until he reached the Sunny. Through careful questioning, he’d learned that Sanji was holed up on the ship instead of being at the castle with the others. Zoro pretended not to be worried, though the knot in his chest told a different story. Chopper had mentioned briefly that Sanji’s fight with Queen had been brutal, so brutal it triggered some kind of genetic changes. Chopper wouldn’t explain how, only that Sanji should have been dead.

That knowledge pushed Zoro to find the cook. He needed to know if Sanji was really okay. While the rest of their nakama celebrated together, Sanji had isolated himself.

Boarding the Sunny, Zoro scanned for lights. A single glow came from the galley, giving him some relief – at least the cook was sticking to form, even if he was being antisocial. Adjusting the borrowed green yukata with pale circular patterns over his shoulders, Zoro felt the itch beneath the bandages on his chest. It had been a week. Maybe he could take them off now, while Chopper wasn’t around to stop him.

Taking the stairs two at a time, Zoro pushed open the galley door without hesitation. “Oi, cook. Why are you hiding your—” His words cut off abruptly when he saw Sanji perched atop the dining table, a fork held deftly between his toes, mid-stab with a piece of salad halfway to his mouth.

Sanji stared back with wide, horrified eyes. His face looked like someone had scraped off the skin on either side and patched it back on. Neat, healing stitch scars – Chopper’s handiwork – traced the edges. Similar stitching marked his neck, one on his trachea, the other on the back of his neck. A line of stitches was visible on the ankle of his raised foot, revealed by the lift of his loose black trousers. He wore a soft blue hoodie with sleeves hanging long over his hands. In front of him sat an oversized bowl of salad, bits scattered messily across the table.

Zoro stood stunned – not by the healing injuries; they all got hurt, all the time – but by the fact that Sanji was sitting on the table, eating with his foot. And making a mess of it.

Sanji recovered first. His eyes narrowed, spitting fire. He dropped his foot and let the fork clatter into the bowl. “Get out.”

Zoro’s hackles rose instantly, though the shock still hadn’t worn off. “Not a chance. What the hell are you doing?”

“Nothing.” Sanji swung his legs down and hopped off the table.

“Bullshit.” Zoro stepped fully into the galley, letting the door shut behind him. “You were eating with your fucking foot. And your face – what happened? Did Queen do that?” 

“No,” Sanji snapped. “Piss off. I’m not interested in conversation.” He turned and stalked through the open door into the infirmary.

Undeterred, Zoro went after him. “I’m not leaving, not until you explain why you’re hiding out on the ship instead of being up at the castle with the rest of us. Your face has always been ugly. No one will notice.”

Head bent, Sanji was already walking out the open rear door of the infirmary. “Like you can talk, assface.”

Zoro stalked after him onto the aft deck. The moon was bright, casting a glow that lit the ship in pale blue light. Sanji stopped at the back rail, opposite the door, his back still to Zoro. Sanji kicked his bare toe against the deck, which lit his foot aflame. He lifted his leg with effortless balance and impossible flexibility, using the fire to light the cigarette in his mouth.

The motion was so smooth that it momentarily sidetracked Zoro from his purpose, figuring out what the hell was going on with him. “Did you lose your lighter or something?” Zoro asked, stepping up beside him. A pack of smokes sat on the rail.

“Hn.” Sanji’s non-answer was as dismissive as ever. He took a long drag, smoke curling from his lips, and leaned forward on the railing. The too long sleeves fluttered slightly in the breeze. “I told you to go away.”

“And I told you not a chance.” Zoro studied his damaged face again. Thanks to Chopper’s work, the scarring would be minimal, almost invisible in a month or so. “I want to know why the hell you’re hiding on the ship. I got my ass handed back to me – even though I won –  but you don’t see me acting like a wuss.”

“It’s none of your business,” Sanji said flatly. The ocean breeze caught the smoke from his cigarette, sending it drifting away.

“Like fuck it’s not. You’re an asshole, but you’re still nakama. Unless you’ve decided you’re too good for us, Your Royal Highness,” Zoro added, voice dripping with sarcasm.

Sanji’s entire body tensed. “Don’t call me that,” he growled.

“Pft. It’s what you are, aren’t you?” Zoro’s irritation boiled over. The anger he’d buried about Sanji’s disappearance surged to the surface. “Prince Vinsmoke Sanji, third son of King Vinsmoke Judge of Germa Kingdom. You hid that from us real well. Bet you were laughing your ass off this whole time, sailing with us lowlife commoners. Maybe you wish Luffy hadn’t brought you back, so you could keep living your life of luxury.”

Sanji’s kick landed so fast Zoro didn’t see it coming. He flew backward, slamming into the rail. Pain exploded in his back and through his already-bandaged stomach. He dropped to one knee, coughing blood, an arm clutching his ribs. Shit. That kick knocked the sense back into him. Chopper was going to be furious. Luffy would be even worse for using that name after being told explicitly not to do so. 

Sanji stood trembling, face flushed with fury. The stitched sides remained pale in stark contrast. “Don’t you fucking ever – ever – call me by that name,” he said, voice trembling with rage.

Zoro grunted and pushed himself to his feet. “It’s just a name.”

“It’s not mine. I don’t want it to be mine. I don’t want anything to do with that bastard.” A sheen suddenly appeared in Sanji’s visible eye. He blinked hard and turned away, rubbing his eye against his shoulder. “Damn it. Go the fuck away, Zoro.”

Zoro didn’t listen, because when had he ever when it came to Sanji? He moved to stand at the rail beside him again, leaving a respectful distance. “I still prefer ‘curly-browed love cook,’ anyway,” he said, by way of apology.

Sanji took a long drag from the cigarette clenched in the corner of his mouth, the tip glowing red.

“Fucking asshole,” he muttered.

“Yeah,” Zoro agreed simply.

They stood in silence, staring out over the dark water of the harbor. Moonlight rippled across the surface. Another ship, one that looked like the Victoria Punk, was docked nearby. The tide lapped gently against the Sunny’s hull. Distant sounds of revelry drifted through the air. The silence between them was thick, strained, and uncomfortable. Zoro didn’t like it.

What he liked even less was how close Sanji had come to crying over a name. That wasn’t like him, not the Sanji Zoro knew. He stayed, even though Sanji had clearly wanted him to leave. He couldn’t. He was still worried about the idiot cook. 

“Uh, so Chopper told me something,” Zoro said, trying to change the subject. “Something about genetic changes that popped up during your fight with Queen?”

Sanji sighed bitterly. “You just don’t quit, do you?”

“Have you met me?” Zoro tried to joke, but the worry bled through. 

Sanji inhaled again, the ash on his cigarette long and crumbling. He exhaled in a tense puff. “Vinsmoke Judge modified our genes so my brothers and I would be born with superior strength, speed, healing factor, certain immunities, and a protective exoskeleton. The perfect supersoldiers. My brothers got the changes at birth. Mine didn’t kick in until last week.”

Zoro took that in. “So what does that mean?”

“It means Queen tried to crush me to death, and I didn’t die,” Sanji said flatly. “He broke a sword blade trying to decapitate me. Bullets didn’t pierce my skin. The Raid Suit popped me back into shape, my organs healed almost instantly. I’ve basically become one of them now. Seems like I still have my emotions, though, so no one has to put me down like a rabid dog.”

A frown creased Zoro’s brow. “So… does this mean you can’t get hurt anymore?”

Sanji gave a small shrug. “Maybe. Haven’t tested it yet.”

Zoro’s gaze dropped to the stitched scars still visible on Sanji’s face and neck. “Would’ve been a handy thing to have before Whole Cake Island.”

Sanji laughed, bitter, ugly, raw. “Yeah. Handy.”

The sound scraped against Zoro’s insides. Something had happened. Bad stuff, Luffy had said. But Zoro knew it was worse than that. Much worse. “What happened?” he asked quietly, needing to know. 

Sanji didn’t answer. Not for a very long time. The cigarette burned down to the butt, ash falling to the rail, caught by the breeze and whisked away. Zoro didn’t press, but he didn’t leave, either. He stayed, standing beside him, giving space but not distance, worry churning in his gut as his mind filled in blanks with terrible things.

Finally, Sanji spat the butt into the sea and straightened, a thread of resolve stiffening his spine. “Not like everyone won’t find out soon anyway.” 

He turned to Zoro, and shifted his arms out of his sleeves. He bent forward at the waist, letting his hoodie fall off and crumple onto the deck. When he stood back up, he was shirtless.

Zoro sucked in a sharp breath.

Red burn scars with uneven edges crisscrossed Sanji’s torso, brutal and raw. A thick stitch scar ran from his sternum to his navel. His pants hung low on his hips, revealing that the burns continued beneath the waistband. But worse – so much worse – were the heavy white bandages, ending bluntly and prematurely, partway up his forearms.

Sanji’s hands were gone.

Sanji’s hands were gone.

Zoro made a choked sound and didn’t hold back. He reached out and pulled Sanji into a fierce embrace, an arm around the back of his neck, the other wrapped tight around his battered back.

“Fuck,” Zoro whispered hoarsely, his throat burning, his eye stinging. Sanji’s hands – his hands, the ones he fought with, cooked with, so precious to him – gone. 

“How?” he managed, hardly able to speak. “There’s no way you wouldn’t have protected them. Not your hands.”

Sanji trembled faintly in his arms. His voice, when it came, was flat, detached. Recited. As if from someone else’s life.

“Got the iron helmet off my head. Got out of my cell. Fought my brothers. Got thrown off Germa. The bracelets on my wrists were rigged with explosives to stop me from escaping. They went off. Scientists operated. Wedding was canceled. Judge was pissed. Got tossed back into my cell with the helmet again. Brothers tortured me. Luffy and Reiju freed me. Zeff’s safe. Came home.”

Zoro shut his eye against the heat behind it. “Fuck.” The word came out raw, barely audible. Every part of him ached, for the pain, for the loss, for Sanji.

“Hn.” Sanji didn’t move. His voice remained hollow. “Reiju saved me from the same cell twice. Still had my name scratched into the wall from when I was a kid.” He gave a bitter laugh. “Helmet got bigger, though.”

Zoro felt his stomach twist. “You were locked in a cell? As a kid?”

“Yeah. Failure. Disappointment. No modifications, remember? Worthless.” Another dry, humorless laugh. “Guess they work now. Little late.”

Rage, helplessness, and grief twisted together inside Zoro until it felt like breathing was a struggle. Luffy had said he’d handled it, but if he hadn’t, the King of Hell would make sure the Vinsmokes paid.

Sanji shifted, pulling away. Zoro let him go, knowing he needed the space to gather himself, to pull his pain back into whatever corner he used to survive.

Zoro braced both hands on the rail, steadying his breathing, grounding himself. From the corner of his eye, he saw Sanji pick up his hoodie with his bandaged stumps and place it over the rail. With slow, practiced effort, he worked his arms into the bottom of the hoodie, shrugged it up, and pulled it over his head. The sleeves were long – because there was nothing there to fill them. Zoro realized, with a bitter twist in his gut, that Sanji had been hiding it in plain sight all along.

Sanji reached for the pack of cigarettes using the crook of one arm, fished one out with his mouth, then set the pack back down. He tapped the deck with his bare toe, igniting it, and leaned down to light the cigarette the same way he had before.

“Chopper’s going to talk to Franky about making me some hands,” Sanji said, his tone somewhere between casual and defeated. “Once my arms finish healing. Could be another week, maybe sooner, now that the modifications kicked in. Might even clear up the flash burn scars and fix my face.”

Zoro didn’t respond immediately. He didn’t trust his voice. He just stood there, the weight of it all crushing him from the inside out, like a depth too far beneath the ocean surface.

“What happened to your face?” he finally asked – the same question that he had at the start, before his world shifted painfully beneath his feet. 

“Skin got scraped off completely when I forced the helmet off my head, exposing all the muscle underneath,” Sanji said with unsettling casualness. “Bled a lot. They didn’t bother to fix it. Just slapped on some bandages and stuck the helmet back on. Chopper took skin from my inner thighs to patch me up, so I look less like a hideous freak.”

“You are not a freak,” Zoro said sharply, his voice tight. His hands curled into fists, the urge to beat Judge and the other Vinsmokes into paste rising again, even knowing it was already done.

Sanji let out a mirthless chuckle. “Uh-huh. My handsomeness has really leveled up. Burn scars, no hands… people will be lining up at the Sunny to get a piece of me.”

Zoro’s lips thinned. “If someone’s only trying to bed you for your looks, you shouldn’t be sleeping with them anyway.”

“Prude.” Sanji took a drag from his cigarette, exhaling smoke that the wind quickly stole. “Next you’ll be telling me I should save myself for my wedding night. Oh wait, I already had one of those. Ended in disaster. Didn’t even get to fuck the bride.”

“You shouldn’t have run off to get married in the first place,” Zoro said. It came out bitter, when he’d meant it to be angry. Apparently, Sanji leaving had carried more weight than just annoyance.

Sanji flicked a glance his way. “I didn’t run off to get married. I went to save Zeff’s life.”

“Oh.” Zoro knew that – remembered Pekoms saying something about threats to Sanji’s loved ones – but hearing it again hit differently.

Sanji smirked. “Wait… were you jealous? That I was going to marry some woman?”

“No. Of course not.” Zoro folded his arms, defensive. It wasn’t jealousy. It had been frustration over the alliance, the crew. Nothing else. “Why would I care who you got married to?” 

“Hn. Why indeed?” Sanji’s smirk widened. It looked much better on him than that hollow, haunted expression from before.

“Shut up,” Zoro muttered. “I wasn’t jealous.”

“Okay. If you say so.” There was a teasing light in Sanji’s eye, the kind Zoro always pretended that annoyed him. “But you’re wearing the wedding gown. I’ve done my time in a dress. It’s your turn.”

Zoro ignored the way Sanji’s words twisted in his gut, memories surfacing of the way they used to flirt back before the two-year gap. “You haven’t even taken me out on a date, and you’re already planning the honeymoon.”

“Might have to fix that,” Sanji said, his smirk dancing with deviltry. “After all, bread should be buttered before it’s eaten.”

Heat crept up Zoro’s neck. He scowled, more at himself than at Sanji. He didn’t know what had gotten into the cook, whether he was hiding behind flirtation to deflect from his trauma, or actually flirting. “M’not bread, love cook.”

Sanji chuckled softly. “Too much mold at the top, anyway. I’d have to toss you to the gulls.”

Zoro huffed and braced his forearms on the rail, eyes drifting back to the water. He let the conversation lapse into silence. But this time, it wasn’t heavy. No tension clung to it. Sanji smoked his cigarette down, leaning forward as he flicked it with his tongue, the ash carried off in the wind.

It was nice, standing quietly on deck with Sanji again. Just sharing space without barbs or bickering. They hadn’t done that since before Dressrosa, back when they’d given up their beds for Kin’emon and Momonosuke, quietly debating which of the Sunny’s sofas was the most comfortable.

“I’m going to finish my dinner,” Sanji said, once the cigarette was gone. “Don’t really want you watching me eat with my feet.”

Zoro nodded. He understood. He hated being seen as vulnerable, even by nakama. “I’m heading up to take a bath.”

“Chopper told you you could take the bandages off?” Sanji’s smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth.

“Nope. But when’s that ever stopped me?” Zoro grinned back.

Sanji’s chuckle floated after him through the open door into the infirmary. Zoro went up the ladder that led to the observation tower, cutting through the library to the bathroom at the top.

The Sunny’s bath was split into two sections. The outer room held the sink and mirror, a water closet, gear cubbies, and storage. The inner room was mostly taken up by a large, onsen-style tub. A bench lined one wall beneath a shower with a detachable head. A small window was set into the curved wall above the tub, and the floors were tiled with a bubble pattern. The dividing door could lock, though privacy rarely mattered unless it was Nami or Robin bathing.

Zoro stripped down and peeled away the bandages. He examined his wounds in the mirror. Chopper’s stitching was tidy, the cuts already healing, bruises fading to yellow and green. The back of his head still throbbed faintly, but otherwise, he felt fine. He could start training again tomorrow.

Zoro thought of Sanji’s scarring, the stitches and the burns. The forearms that ended too soon. Though Chopper’s work almost always disappeared, blending back into their skin, the Germa doctors had left a nasty scar on Sanji’s chest that would likely be permanent. The explosion’s burns might never fade. And even if Franky built him perfect cybernetic hands, it wouldn’t be the same. Sanji would always know that it wasn’t his flesh, it wasn't his touch. 

Zoro’s chest ached, a heavy, quiet kind of grief pressing down behind his sternum.

Sanji was strong, a fighter to the core. But still, Zoro hoped this wouldn’t take something vital from him. Something that couldn’t be rebuilt or stitched together again. The heart that made Sanji, Sanji.

The Thousand Sunny set sail a few days later, loaded with supplies, a new crewmate, and a quiet sense of accomplishment. Kaidou had been defeated. Big Mom was gone. Luffy had been named one of the new Emperors of the Sea. The crew’s bounties had skyrocketed.

Sanji’s wanted poster had reverted to a drawing, but this time, it bore the name Vinsmoke. Luffy broke out of the cage Nami had stuffed him into after they went over the waterfall, just to destroy it.

“Robin, make the Marines fix Sanji’s poster,” Luffy demanded, eyes blazing. “That’s not his name!”

Sanji only shrugged, the expression on his face distant. “Doesn’t matter. Still can’t believe I’m fourth now.”

“Maybe they didn’t realize it was you fighting Queen because of the Raid Suit,” Chopper offered, trying to sound hopeful as he nibbled his cotton candy. “At least they didn’t think you were the ship’s pet!”

“Hn. Maybe.” Sanji turned and headed for the aft deck behind the galley, the sleeves of his golden hoodie flapping in the wind.

Zoro watched him go from his seat against the mast. Aside from him and the four crewmates who had known from the start, Sanji hadn’t told anyone about his injuries until they were already at sea. He’d hidden in the infirmary until they’d left Wano. Now the whole crew knew the truth about the extent of the damage he’d taken at Whole Cake Island. It left an ugly taste in everyone’s mouth.

“How soon can I start making his hands?” Franky asked, arms crossed, eyes narrowed with focus.

“Probably next week,” Chopper answered. “I thought his left arm was developing an infection, but it cleared up. I just wanted to give it a little more time to be sure the new stitches hold.”

“You had to sew him up again?” Zoro asked, frowning.

Chopper nodded. “The Germa doctors didn’t do a great job. Too much scar tissue would've made the cybernetic attachments painful. Three weeks ago, I amputated another two inches on both sides to make sure the healing was clean. Capped the bones to create a solid knuckle for anchoring the prosthetics.”

“You’re an excellent doctor, Chopper-san,” Brook said gently. “Sanji-san is lucky to have your care.”

Chopper blushed and wiggled. “I don’t like compliments at all, you jerk!”

The crew slowly dispersed from the main deck, returning to their routines. Nami had created a rotating meal schedule to cover for Sanji in the meantime. Zoro could tell that stung more than Sanji ever admitted. Cooking for others had always been Sanji’s greatest joy, and Judge had stolen that from him, too. Sanji would get new hands. He would cook again. But the damage beneath the surface would take longer to heal.

Zoro pushed to his feet. It was Zoro’s day to do the laundry, a monotonous task broken up by training and naps. He was lucky Franky had built machines to do most of the work. Back on the Merry, they’d had to do it by hand.

He headed toward the back of the ship first, intending to grab the laundry basket from the bathroom. Sanji stood at the aft rail, smoking as usual. At this rate, he was going to run out of cigarettes.

Zoro hesitated. He wanted to say something but didn’t want it to sound like pity. Because he didn’t pity Sanji. He cared about him. Worried, even. Wanted to offer support. But never pity.

“Oi, number four,” Zoro called. “Doing laundry. Want me to press any of your suits?”

Sanji glanced over and shook his head. “Can’t exactly button things right now.”

Zoro shrugged. “So wear it open. Take a page from Franky. Maybe he’ll lend you his speedos, too.”

An amused smile tugged at one corner of Sanji’s mouth. “Pass. Wouldn’t want to make you faint from my unbelievable hotness.”

Zoro snorted, pleased by the reaction – and a little tickled that the flirtation was back. “Think I’d survive. Just don’t wear that wine-colored suit of yours. That one might actually kill me.”

Sanji’s visible eye crinkled at the corner as his smile grew. “Duly noted.”

Feeling satisfied with himself, Zoro climbed to the bathroom to get the laundry basket.

They reached the next island just two days after leaving Wano. Killer had passed along a vague clue that the man who knew the location of the final Road Poneglyph had a scar and traveled in a black boat. There wasn't much to go on, so the crew followed Luffy’s plan to explore every island they came across and ask questions.

Nerina Isle turned out to be a small island dominated by a tall mountain capped in perpetual snow, creating a constant stream of freshwater. The base of the mountain stayed mild year-round, making it ideal for settlement. Wooden storefronts, taverns, and warehouses clustered along the shore, while residents lived farther inland, closer to the mountain. The island’s main trade was its freshwater, essential to ships navigating the Grand Line. An intricate network of interlocking docks stretched far into the sea, built to accommodate the high traffic.

The Sunny docked at an empty berth and everyone got ready to disembark. Sanji had stopped sleeping in the infirmary after everyone learned about his injuries, but he still waited for the others to be asleep or gone before changing clothes. Today was no different. Zoro walked in on him by accident, mid-struggle, trying to get into a pair of loose blue drawstring pants, the ones Sanji usually wore to bed on cooler nights. He was seated on the low table in the men’s quarters, legs kicked up in the air, using gravity to slide the pants down. Zoro had thought he’d already left.

Sanji’s eyes shot to Zoro with a flash of vulnerability, quickly buried beneath a glare. “Came to enjoy the show?” he snapped.

Zoro caught a full view of Sanji’s scarred backside and masked his sympathetic wince with a smirk. “I’ll need to borrow beli from Nami for a tip.”

“Ha-ha.” Sanji grumbled, tugging the pants higher with a series of practiced scoots along the edge of the table.

The light glinted off his reddened, scarred skin. Chunks were missing from the sides of his thighs. Scar tissue stretched down over his groin. A few tufts of dark, golden pubic hair remained. There was heavy damage: scarring across his genitals, a stitched line down his scrotum, and the absence of one testicle.

Zoro didn’t offer help. He knew it wouldn’t be accepted. Instead, he turned to the sink and began brushing his teeth, watching from the corner of his eye. Sanji wiggled the pants up inch by inch, then used his teeth to yank the drawstring tight. It looked exhausting.

Sanji’s chest was still bare, his damp hair curling slightly at the ends. Water droplets trailed down to where the explosive burn damage stopped, just beneath his pecs. Zoro guessed his arms must’ve been at his sides when the bracelets detonated. It was a miracle he’d survived.

Zoro spat into the sink, rinsed his mouth, and tucked his toothbrush away. Behind him, Sanji had closed his eyes, clearly believing Zoro wasn’t watching. He wouldn’t let himself show weakness, not to Zoro.

Zoro wondered if it still hurt. His own injuries from Wano still ached now and then, but they’d mostly healed. Chopper often remarked on Zoro’s ridiculous healing speed, and Zoro figured it had something to do with his haki. Some of the damage he’d taken over the years should have killed him.

He turned back to the mirror, pretending to fuss with his hair, giving Sanji time to compose himself. From behind, he heard a quiet, pained sigh. Then the rustle of movement.

Sanji stood and went to his open locker – Luffy opened the door for Sanji any time it was accidentally closed. He sorted through the clothes inside, finally pulling a blue T-shirt off the hanger with his teeth. He placed the shirt on the edge of the nearest bunk for easier dressing.

Then he grabbed a long-sleeved button-down, black with thin blue stripes, and wrestled into it, maneuvering the fabric using his teeth and the edge of the locker for leverage. It was an awkward, practiced choreography of necessity. Zoro watched from the mirror’s reflection, silent. There were a lot of kinds of strength. He wasn’t sure he could’ve managed this one.

Sanji stepped into a pair of sandals left near the sunken couch and eyed the pack of cigarettes on the table. He raised a bandaged arm and rubbed it across his eyes, like he was trying to wipe away exhaustion. Then he bent down, scooped up the pack, and awkwardly tucked it into the breast pocket of his shirt.

“You coming into town?” Zoro asked, now that Sanji seemed finished. He turned to lean against the sink.

“No.”

Zoro frowned. “You can’t hide away forever.”

“I’m not hiding,” Sanji snapped. “I’m just...”

“Hiding.”

“Fuck you.”

Zoro’s lips curved into a mocking smirk. “You’ve got clothes on, your face is as ugly as it’s always been, and the only thing stopping you is your cowardice.”

Sanji’s glare could’ve melted steel. “I am not a coward.”

“Prove it,” Zoro challenged. “Come into town.”

A storm of emotions flickered across Sanji’s face – pain, panic, sadness, anger – before settling into a hardened determination. “Fine. But if you do some shitty ‘nice’ thing that’s actually pity, I’ll kick your head into next week.”

“Deal.” Zoro pushed off the sink. “Need a minute, or are you good to go?” He’d already noticed that Sanji had shaved as faint nicks dotted the corners of his mouth. The replacement skin on the sides of his face was unable to grow hair. Managing a razor without hands took a level of precision and willpower Zoro couldn't help but respect.

“I need to brush my teeth,” Sanji said. “And no, you’re not going to stand there and watch that arduous process. Go away. I’ll meet you on deck.”

“Okay.” Zoro left the men’s quarters, giving him the space.

Outside, the gangplank had already been lowered. The Sunny was moored securely to the dock. Nami, Robin, and Brook strolled off the ship, chatting about their plans. Luffy had bolted earlier, dragging Jinbe and Chopper along. The weather was perfect, a warm spring day with hardly a cloud in the sky. A soft breeze rolled in from the sea. Franky emerged from below deck with his hair slicked back, and Usopp stepped out of the galley. They both waved a casual “See ya” as they headed off.

A few minutes later, Sanji emerged from the men’s quarters. His eyes gave Zoro a once-over, sharp and judgmental. Zoro shifted under the scrutiny.

“What?” he said, annoyed – and maybe a little self-conscious.

“You really need to start wearing more than one outfit,” Sanji said dryly.

“I like these clothes,” Zoro muttered. “The coat ties around my waist and doesn’t get in the way when I fight.”

“You’re the only person I’ve ever met who takes off half their clothes down before battle,” Sanji replied, rolling his eyes. “Come on, stripper. Let’s go.”

Zoro fell into step beside Sanji at the bottom of the gangplank. Overhead, seagulls circled and cried, searching for scraps. The dock swayed gently beneath their feet as they made their way to shore. A breeze off the water fluttered Sanji’s empty sleeves.

“I was thinking of heading to the tavern—”

“Figures.”

“—but did you want to go anywhere first?” Zoro finished, unfazed by the interruption.

Sanji gave him a sideways glance. “Since when do you care about doing anything on shore besides drinking?”

Zoro shrugged. “Don’t usually go ashore with someone when we’ve got downtime.”

Sanji eyed him suspiciously. “You better not be doing something nice.”

“I can toss you in the water, if that helps,” Zoro smirked.

Sanji narrowed his eyes, but muttered, “Could use another pullover or two. ‘Til I get new hands.”

“Sure. Nami give you any money?”

“Yeah. It’s tucked into my cigarette pack.”

So Nami had hoped Sanji might venture ashore, as well. Good. Sanji’s self-imposed isolation could only lead to wallowing, and wallowing wasn’t healthy. 

Zoro stepped off the dock, and immediately went the wrong way. Sanji kicked him in the calf. “This way, idiot moss.”

They strolled along the seafront boardwalk, nails creaking beneath their weight as the weathered planks settled. Wooden storefronts lined the path, signs swinging gently in the breeze. Display windows showcased a wide array of goods, everything from carpentry tools to clothing to cosmetics. Given the island’s status as a popular water stop, the variety made sense. A few more niche shops peeked out from narrow alleys tucked between buildings, promising more obscure wares.

They passed a number of clothing stores before Sanji stopped. They all looked the same to Zoro. Probably why he only had a few sets of clothing, and most of those had been given to him. 

Zoro lingered by the entrance while Sanji drifted between racks, his gaze keen and discerning. Now that he was paying more attention, Zoro noticed the shop had a slightly more upscale air. He wandered in a little further and rubbed his fingers across a folded sweater. The fabric was ridiculously soft. Just touching it made him want to curl up and take a nap in it. 

For all the teasing he gave Sanji, Sanji did dress really well. Sharp suits, crisp shirts, even his casual clothing had a different edge to it. It was one of the things that had first drawn Zoro in. Then he learned that the good clothes came with a foul mouth, fierce fighting, and just the right amount of flirting to make it known that girls weren’t the only thing that turned Sanji’s eye. It had intrigued Zoro, tempted him into trying a little more. Too bad it never became anything.

But maybe it still could. Sanji seemed receptive to flirtation again. Zoro hoped it meant something. That it wasn’t just Sanji giving up on women out of self-doubt or shame. The idea of that, of Sanji seeing himself as less than, made Zoro bristle.

Without thinking, Zoro stomped over and jabbed a finger into Sanji’s chest. The cook blinked at him in surprise. “You’d better not think you’re not worth dating because of how you look now, cook. I’ll throttle you if you do.”

Sanji’s eyebrows shot up, amusement flickering in his eye. “You have been spending an awful lot of time thinking about my sex life lately, marimo. Is there something you want to confess?”

Zoro flushed, heat crawling up his neck. “No,” he quickly denied. Too quickly.

Sanji’s mouth curved into a smirk. “Liar.”

“Shut up,” Zoro muttered, retreating back to the doorway like it was a tactical withdrawal instead of fleeing. He refused to turn around, even as he felt Sanji’s eyes burning a hole between his shoulder blades. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest. He’d forgotten that Sanji could do that to him, make him flustered and feel exposed. It had been a long time since those sparks had first caught flame.

But maybe they hadn’t gone out after all.

Sanji found three pullovers he liked – one in black, one in hunter green, and one in a hot pink that had no business looking good, but Zoro had no doubt it did. He had the sudden urge to rub his fingers over them, to see if they were as soft as that first sweater. 

Sanji approached with the pullovers draped in the crook of his arm. “Here. Grab the money Nami-san gave me and pay for these. I don’t feel like putting on a show. One’s my limit for the day,” he said with a referential smirk. 

Zoro took the clothes without complaint, plucking the cigarette pack from Sanji’s breast pocket. “Got it.” 

While Sanji stepped outside, Zoro headed to the counter. It wasn’t unusual for him to do this kind of thing. He’d done it for Chopper often enough, purchasing his items for him because of his short stature or because he was a tonakai. He gave a nod to the clerk as he paid, then slung the bag over his wrist and joined Sanji outside.

He slipped the cigarette pack back into Sanji’s pocket, noticeably lighter after most of the rolled beli had been used. “I added your tip from earlier in there,” he said with a teasing grin. 

Sanji chuckled. “Better have been a big one, marimo. Private showings are double.”

“Eh. Needed more wiggle for that,” Zoro smirked, glancing up and down the street. “Where to next?”

“Tavern’s fine. It’s still early enough that I can order a Bloody Mary and it won’t look weird.”

Zoro personally believed any time of day was a good time for a drink, but he’d found he was in the minority about that. They wandered back the way they came, weaving through the small crowds of shoppers. Zoro spotted a tavern tucked between a general store and a bakery, cleaner-looking than his usual haunts, but close to the shops. He nodded toward it with his chin.  “This good?”

“Yeah,” Sanji agreed, stepping through the open doorway. 

The tavern had a pleasant, slightly cultured atmosphere. Art adorned the walls instead of the usual wanted posters. Dark metal tables and chairs were arranged in loose circles around the room. There were no stools at the bar, a clear sign this was a classier place. Gas lamps flickered softly from the ceiling despite the handful of windows letting in natural light. A few patrons sat scattered at tables, comfortably spaced, as it was still before noon. Zoro noticed the menu offered food that required utensils rather than greasy finger snacks.

Sanji led them to a table near a window overlooking the street. Zoro plopped down across from him, shifting his katanas between his thighs since the chairs had armrests. He set Sanji’s clothing bag on the empty seat to his right.

A waitstaff member in black trousers and a button-down shirt approached to take their order. Sanji requested a Bloody Mary. Zoro opted for whatever beer was on tap, asking for the largest mug they had. He glanced at Sanji. “Mind if I order food?”

“Be my guest,” Sanji replied with a small shrug, his gaze drifting back out the window.

Zoro chose the special, despite having no clue what it was. It was usually the easiest option – no thinking required. Most times it was good. Only once had it been some bizarre seafood dish that tried to escape as he ate it. He hadn’t touched anything other than Sanji’s cooking for a month after that.

The waiter left, and Zoro’s attention shifted to Sanji. The daylight streaming through the window caught the dark circles under Sanji’s eyes, making his face look pale and worn. Zoro recalled how exhausted Sanji had seemed while dressing. A niggling worry dug at him. “Hey, you sleeping alright?”

Sanji flicked a glance at him before turning his gaze back to the street outside. “Are you turning into Chopper now?”

Zoro’s lips twitched in a brief smile. “He can be persistent. But really, you look… tired.”

Sanji hesitated, then murmured, “Fatigue is common with severe burn injuries. Also, it’s hard to get comfortable at night. The nightmares don’t help.”

Zoro should’ve known. How could Sanji not have nightmares? Zoro only had a glimpse of what Sanji had been through, and even that had been enough to give him a couple of rough dreams. “Has Chopper been shoving that nasty relaxation tea on you?”

Sanji chuckled softly. “Valerian tea. Yeah. Helps a little. Doesn’t do anything for the phantom pain, though.”

“Phantom pain?” Zoro said, curious.

“Feels like my hands are burning. Except I don’t have any hands anymore.” 

Zoro’s chest hurt at the admission. “That sucks.”

“Understatement of the century, marimo.” Sanji slumped slightly in his chair, rubbing his cheek against his shoulder briefly. “I’m hoping it’ll go away once Franky’s done his thing. Not sure how exactly it works. Somehow I should be able to control the hands, like Kid did with his arm, but without going fully cyborg.”

“You’ll probably have to practice.” Zoro made a crude jerking motion with his hand, trying to lighten the mood. 

It worked. Sanji laughed. “Still thinking about my sex life, eh, mosshead?”

This time, Zoro didn’t blush. “You wish.” 

Sanji’s eyes sparkled, a flush rising to the fronts of his cheeks. “Who says I’m not?”

Zoro grinned. “Careful, cook. Keep talking like that and I might start thinking you’re serious.”

The waiter returned with their drinks, cutting off any answer Sanji might have offered. Sanji shifted his smile to the server. “Thanks.”

“The meal will be out soon,” the waiter told Zoro before moving on.

Once the waiter was gone, Sanji pulled his drink closer. The bright red Bloody Mary was garnished with celery and rimmed with salt. A straw jutted out, and Zoro understood why Sanji had ordered it.

“Not bad,” Sanji said after a sip. “A little heavy on the lemon juice, but it will work.”

Zoro took a long pull from his beer. It tasted like beer. “It must be a pain in the ass, tasting every ingredient all the time. Don’t you ever just enjoy something?”

“I like tasting all the ingredients, dumbass,” Sanji replied. “Figuring out the balance, what I’d tweak, whether it’s worth getting the recipe or complimenting the chef. Or bartender, in this case.” 

Zoro leaned back, watching Sanji sip through the straw again. “Too much lemon for a complement, though.”

Sanji grinned, white teeth sharp against the black straw. “Yeah.”

The meal arrived a few minutes later, an orange heap of noodles with shrimp, onions, nuts, and green leaves. Zoro had no idea what it was, but it wasn’t moving, so he dug in. Sweet and sour. Not bad.

He caught Sanji eyeing Zoro’s dish critically. “Want to try a bite?”

Sanji jerked his gaze away. “No. I’m good.”

Zoro twirled some pasta, speared a shrimp, and held it across the table. “Here. Tastes like food. Maybe your fancy tastebuds can tell me what it actually is.”

“No.” Sanji’s face tightened. “Don’t feed me like a baby.”

Zoro gave him a flat look. “I’m not. You’re just being a wuss. People share food all the time. Nobody cares. Taste the damned food.”

Sanji glared, glanced around, then finally leaned forward and took the bite. He chewed irritably. “Shrimp pad Thai. Needs more tamarind.”

“See? Was that so hard?” Zoro smirked.

“Fuck off,” Sanji muttered, turning his attention out the window.

Zoro exhaled, slightly annoyed. “I’m not gonna embarrass you, idiot.”

Sanji grunted and patted his breast pocket, irritated, but he didn’t take out his smokes. 

Zoro kept eating. If Sanji wanted to sulk, fine. He wouldn’t pity him. Sanji wouldn’t want that, and Zoro wouldn’t either if their roles were reversed. 

Sanji shifted in the metal chair. “Does no one believe in cushioned seating?” he muttered.

Zoro studied the tension in his face. “Do you want to go?”

“No.” Pain and stubbornness warred across Sanji’s features.

It had been a month since Whole Cake Island. For him to still be in pain spoke volumes. Zoro had been electrocuted, cut up, and even taken on Luffy’s pain at Thriller Bark, but he’d never been burned. The scars Zoro had seen on Sanji ran from chest to knees.

“How long before I can kick your ass again?” Zoro asked as he finished his food, masking concern with challenge, like always.

“You could never kick my ass to begin with.” Sanji shifted again, wincing. “I could wipe the deck with you with no hands tied behind my back.”

“Heh.” Zoro grinned, glad Sanji was still fighting back with humor. “Bet you need that silly Raid Suit.”

“I got rid of it,” Sanji said, nudging his drink closer to him. “I needed it to be able to fight with the crew in Wano, but I don’t want a crutch. I think it’s what activated the genetic modifications, anyway.”

Zoro nodded, impressed. He wouldn’t want a crutch either. “Notice anything new since you told me about them?”

“The flash burns don’t itch anymore, which is a thousand percent improvement. Still hurts like hell, though, since the wounds were so deep. That hasn’t changed. Chopper said it’ll likely get worse if my nerve endings repair themselves, but maybe that won’t happen now.” Sanji sipped his drink before continuing. “Chopper’s stitches seem to be fading faster, but that could be wishful thinking.”

Zoro glanced at the stitch lines around the skin graft on Sanji’s face and the one on the front of his neck. He guessed they did look a bit lighter. “What happened to your neck, anyway?”

“Brothers. Broke my neck. I’m lucky they didn’t sever my spine. Chopper fixed it and pretty much everything else.” Sanji’s lip curled. “Germa only patched my organs and arms after the explosion, to keep me from dying. Don’t know why they bothered. I think Judge was going to kill me, after my brothers got bored.” There was a pause. Then Sanji gave a short, humorless laugh. “Family, huh?”

Zoro’s lips thinned, anger flaring again. “If those fucks weren’t already gone, I’d carve them up slow. Make it real painful.”

Sanji chuckled properly this time. “Aw, you say the sweetest things.”

The anger lessened at Sanji’s response. Zoro smirked. “I’m a romantic at heart.”

Sanji laughed, full and loud, turning heads with the bright sound. Zoro hadn’t heard it since before Dressrosa and especially not because of him. That it had been caused by him this time sparked something warm and unexpected in his chest.

“You’re as romantic as a mossy rock,” Sanji said. “I don’t think you even know what the word means.”

“I know it doesn’t mean chasing every woman with hearts in your eyes and a hard-on,” Zoro shot back.

“Pft. You don’t even like women.” 

“And?” 

“And romance is lost on a blockhead like you.” Sanji drained his drink.

“Don’t need romance to get someone,” Zoro said. “If you’re into them and they’re into you, you have sex.”

Sanji shook his head like Zoro was hopeless. “It’s a wonder you’ve ever gotten laid.”

“Tch. Don’t confuse me with yourself, love cook.” 

“Love cooks do not kiss and tell,” Sanji said, eyes gleaming. “But I bet it’s more than you.”

Zoro’s lips twitched. “Right. Bloody noses are such a turn on.”

“I don’t get them all the time,” Sanji said with a wicked grin. “Especially not with men.”

There it was. Not a hint – a declaration. Sanji was into men. Zoro felt something clench in his gut. He hadn’t let himself hope before, nothing had come of it last time. But now it felt like maybe he could.

“Ladies not enough for you?” Zoro teased, fishing for confirmation.

“I don’t like limiting my options.” Sanji leaned back and spread his arms. His sleeves dangled limply at the ends. “I mean, look at me. Who wouldn’t want this?”

Zoro heard the sarcasm beneath the humor. He let it go. “Careful, you’re going to float off with that swelled head.”

“Speaking of floating off, I need to piss, but not here.” Sanji nodded at Zoro’s mug. “You done?”

Zoro downed the rest of his beer and thunked the mug on the table. “Now I am.” He belched loudly.

“Yep. Very romantic.” Sanji shook his head. “I pity the men who date you.”

“Haven’t had any complaints.” Zoro grinned and flagged down the waiter.

They left the tavern and stepped into the midday sun. Zoro noticed that Sanji’s shoulders had a weary slump as they headed in the direction of the docks. Sanji lit a cigarette with his flaming foot, drawing startled glances from passersby. The smoke curled around them before drifting away on the sea breeze.

The Sunny was quiet as they boarded. Zoro considered what to do with the rest of the day. It was doubtful Sanji would want to go out again. His exhaustion was palpable. Zoro would probably get in a workout and nap under the deck tree, with no one around to bother him.

“Want me to throw together some lunch for you?” Zoro offered. Sanji still came to meals but usually ate later, avoiding the stares that came with using his feet. Zoro never called him out on it. It was a pride thing, and Zoro got that. 

Sanji shook his head. “Jinbe boxed leftovers. I’ll eat that.”

“Okay. If you don’t see me, I’m up in the crow’s nest,” Zoro told him, handing him the shopping bag.

Sanji tucked it under his arm. He shot Zoro a cocky grin. “Thanks for the date,” he said, before heading into the men’s quarters.

Zoro blinked, surprised. He hadn’t expected Sanji to call it a date, despite the banter and light flirting. Did that mean Sanji really was interested in him? It seemed like it.

It didn’t make sense to Zoro, not at first. Why now? Was it because Zoro had kept things normal between them, never pitied him? Or had Sanji taken a hard look at his life after Whole Cake Island and decided to stop holding back?

The questions buzzed in Zoro’s mind. He wouldn’t get answers unless he asked, but then again, did it matter? As long as Sanji wasn’t using him as a last resort, Zoro didn’t care. What did matter now was the next step.

Sanji was still keeping his distance from the crew. Zoro had noticed him slipping off to empty rooms and quiet corners. 

It was a few days after they’d left Nerina Isle. The Sunny coasted on smooth seas under soft winds. Luffy, Chopper, Usopp, and Franky were fishing off the port side. Nami and Robin were sunning themselves on the main deck. Jinbe stood at the helm with Brook keeping him company. Sanji was the only one not outside when Zoro climbed down from the crow’s nest after training.

“Where’s the cook?” Zoro asked the girls, adjusting his katanas back in place. Bare-chested and sweaty, he’d planned on showering but had noticed Sanji’s absence from his vantage point up top.

“Not sure,” Nami said, shielding her eyes as she propped up on an elbow. “Haven’t seen him since lunch.”

“Perhaps he’s napping,” Robin suggested. “He does seem tired, often.”

“Side effect of the burns,” Zoro muttered, frowning. “Don’t like that he keeps disappearing.”

“You behave similarly when you’re injured,” Robin pointed out. “You spend most of your time in the crow’s nest.”

“That’s because I’m training to get better, not hiding,” Zoro grunted. “Pretty sure the cook isn’t doing that.”

“Maybe you should find him and ask,” Nami said, lying back down and closing her eyes. “Or just pick a fight with him. That’s your guys’ love language.”

Heat rushed up Zoro’s neck. “I’m not in love with him!”

Nami cracked an eye open as Robin covered a smile with her hand. “It was a joke, but someone’s awfully sensitive.”

“I’m not sensitive!” Zoro barked, then cleared his throat. “Whatever. I’m going to shower.”

He turned quickly and headed across the deck toward the steps.

“Rotten sea witch,” Zoro muttered, circling around to the back of the galley to the access hatch up to the observation tower and bathroom. Did Zoro like Sanji? Sure. Was he interested in him? Definitely. But there were a lot more steps to go through before Zoro he’d even consider anything more.

The first ladder led to the observation room and library, which also housed Nami’s office. The circular room was ringed with windows, bookshelves between them. A cushioned bench curved around the space, and Nami’s desk sat tucked into one side. A round library table filled the center, chairs bolted around it. A globe light hung above. 

Sanji was beneath one of the windows, sitting sideways on the bench, knees to chest, his back propped by a pile of pillows. The window beside him was cracked open; a full ashtray rested on the ledge. He wore a hunter green pullover and black pajama pants. His sandals had been discarded by the table. 

His gaze snapped to Zoro as he climbed in, a flicker of panic flashing before he masked it. “Oh, it’s you,” he said flatly, turning back to the window.

Zoro didn’t like this. He wanted to drag Sanji downstairs if only to remind him that he still belonged with the crew. “Would it matter if it was someone else?” 

“I don’t care about your opinion,” Sanji murmured. 

Zoro didn’t take it personally. “So you’re hiding up here because…”

“I’m not hiding.”

“Bullshit.” Zoro crossed to him, arms folded. “Everyone else is out enjoying the sun. You’re holed up in the library.”

“Maybe I wanted to read.”

“There aren’t any books open.” Zoro nudged his arm with a hip. “Go downstairs. Nami and Robin are in bathing suits. You’re missing out.”

Sanji looked briefly pained. “Is Nami-san wearing the blue one?”

“Yeah. Robin’s in black.” Zoro gave him another nudge. “Stop wallowing and go drool.”

“I’m not wallowing,” Sanji snapped, glaring.

“Then what do you call this?”

Sanji’s lips pinched. Then he muttered, tone low and flat, “My hands hurt.”

Zoro’s stomach dropped. “Shit. Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, asshole. Just go away.”

Zoro hesitated. He didn’t want Sanji to think he was pitying him, but he also didn’t want to leave. “Is there anything that makes it better?”

“No.”

Zoro lowered himself onto the bench beside Sanji’s bare feet, setting his katanas nearby. “Is that why you’ve been disappearing?”

Sanji sighed, long and low. “Sometimes. Or I’m trying to nap. Or recovering from one. Or–” He hesitated, glanced at Zoro as if weighing something, then pushed forward. “Or fighting through all the bullshit that Judge put in my head. That asshole made me think I wasn’t worth anything for most of my life. Now he’s wrecked my body, too. Had to have the last word. ‘Hey, Sanji, feeling pretty good about yourself, aren’t you? Pretty strong? How about I take that away from you, remind you that you're a pathetic failure? And now you’re really a disgrace to look at.’”

The pain in Sanji’s voice was raw, bitter. Zoro’s chest ached. “You’re not going to let him win, are you? Thinking that crap about yourself.”

“No.” Sanji’s lip curled in defiance. “That fucker can eat shit and die again.”

Zoro huffed a quiet laugh. “There’s my cook.” 

Sanji raised an eyebrow brow. “Your cook? Getting possessive?”

“Tch. You know what I mean.”

“Yeah, whatever.” Sanji exhaled heavily. “It would be nice if everything just didn’t fucking hurt all the time.”

“Think a bath would help?” Zoro asked. “Or a massage?”

Sanji snorted. “What, are you offering to be my masseuse?”

Zoro shrugged. “I’ve massaged Nami. It’s not that hard.”

Sanji’s foot kicked Zoro’s side. “How dare you touch my sweet Nami-san!”

Zoro caught his foot before it could retreat. “Jealous?”

“Tch. You wouldn’t appreciate what you had your hands on,” Sanji muttered. “Brute like you…”

“Works off some of my debt.” Zoro placed Sanji’s foot across his lap and pressed a thumb gently into his heel. “Your feet weren’t injured, right?”

“No. My brothers only shattered my ankles so I couldn’t fight back. Tried anyway. Got one good kick in before I blacked out.”

Zoro growled. “Bastards.”

“Hn.” Sanji nudged him lightly “Don’t finish what they started and crush my foot.”

Zoro eased up immediately, wincing. “Fuck. Sorry.”

Sanji shook his head, a flicker of amusement breaking through. “Idiot marimo.”

Zoro started massaging Sanji’s foot. He pressed his thumb into the heel – firm, but careful – rubbing slow circles into the muscle. His other hand cupped the top of Sanji’s foot to steady it. Sanji didn’t have the prettiest feet: they were calloused, scarred, nails chipped and yellowed. Every mark spoke of his resilience in combat, and Zoro’s thumbs worked patiently through the tight muscle overlying bone, hoping to offer some kind of relief, if only for a short while.

Sanji exhaled, low and controlled, sinking a little deeper against the pillows. His gaze drifted back to the window, one arm resting on a bent knee, the empty sleeve trailing limply over it. He’d said his hands hurt. Phantom pain. Zoro imagined that was the worst part – not the pain itself, but the reminder of what he’d lost.

Shifting his grip, Zoro used both thumbs now, working slowly along the sole. His fingers curled over the top of Sanji’s foot for leverage. The sideways angle made it awkward, but he didn’t want to reposition, didn’t want to risk Sanji pulling away. The cook could be defensive when it came to vulnerability. So could Zoro. That made this fragile moment between them all the more important. 

Zoro glanced at him. The tension in Sanji’s jaw had eased slightly, the visible eye softer. He moved up to the ball of the foot, thumbs strong from years of swordsmanship. The silence between them was warm and still, comfortable even. It was nice. It reminded Zoro that, underneath everything, there was respect and trust between them. 

Zoro remembered it had been like this between them after Kuma, on Thriller Bark. He’d been the one grievously injured, and Sanji had sat with him while he ate, helping if he started to slip from weakness, silent, steadfast, never mocking, just present. Zoro had thought maybe that had been a turning point for them, the friction that peppered their relationship changing into something more intimate. Friendship, maybe more. They’d been circling each other since Cocoyasi and Zoro had hoped it would lead somewhere. 

But they hadn’t been given the time. Within a week, Sabaody had split them apart, and two years of silence erased whatever they’d been building. It had left a dull ache in Zoro’s chest, because, for all their fights, he liked Sanji, admired him, and saw him as an equal.

Lately, though, Sanji had started flirting again. And this quiet between them felt natural, comfortable. Zoro’s old hope stirred. Whatever anger he’d once carried over Sanji leaving now seemed petty. Sanji had returned, battered but not broken, and still fought like hell at their side even while in terrible pain. That took guts. Strength. Conviction. Zoro admired him even more for it now.

He nudged Sanji’s other leg. Sanji blinked, then wordlessly extended the second foot across Zoro’s lap and slumped down farther, resting his head on the pillow pile. He dragged his arm over his eyes, as if trying to blot out pain or emotion. Zoro began again, starting at the heel and working upward, methodical and firm.

Sounds of the ocean drifted through the open window – waves lapping, the occasional burst of unfettered laughter from Luffy. The soft breeze tinkled Zoro’s earrings. The glow of the afternoon sun wrapped the library in a peaceful, golden stillness. The repetitive motion of the massage lulled Zoro into a meditative calm. When he glanced over, Sanji was asleep. His mouth hung slightly open, his breathing deep and steady, all the tension gone from his face.

A softness settled in Zoro’s chest. He finished the massage with light strokes, letting his hands still on Sanji’s foot. He didn’t want to move, not when Sanji finally looked at peace. What he’d done seemed to bring some relief, if only for a moment. Zoro leaned back against the bench, shut his eye, and let himself drift off to sleep.

The massages became a regular thing. Whenever Sanji disappeared between training or chores, Zoro sought him out and offered another session. Sanji’s initial reticence lasted only the first time; after that, he willingly gave in. Zoro massaged his feet, shoulders, and scalp, doing his best to give Sanji some measure of peace. Sanji sought him out, once, the day Franky measured him for his new hands, his shoulders in visible knots. Zoro teased him about the attachments Franky was going to add while he soothed the tension away.

Sometimes they talked, sometimes they didn’t. When they did, it was about past battles or silly things the crew had gotten up to. They shared stories from Wano – Sanji was quietly impressed that Zoro had blocked strikes from both Kaidou and Big Mom, and even managed to damage Kaidou. Zoro, in turn, was more impressed that Sanji had fought at all, still fresh from massive skin grafts and surgeries. Sanji filled him in on everything Chopper had done while still in Germa, using their advanced surgery suite to repair the damage, and touched on just how destructive the explosion had truly been. 

The day Franky presented Sanji with his completed cybernetic hands was bittersweet, despite the crew’s excitement. The crew had gathered around, encouraging and eagerly anticipating the moment. But Zoro could see through Sanji’s facade, the way he held himself stiffly, the tightness at the corners of his mouth, the dull light in his eyes. Though Sanji wore a smile, faking joy at this step toward normalcy and grateful for Franky’s hard work, Zoro’s heart ached for him. He knew this moment truly marked the loss of something Sanji would never get back.

The new hands were matte black – simple, functional, shaped like real hands despite the color. Franky offered to lay synthetic skin over them if Sanji wanted, though it would mean Chopper removing another layer of dermis from the unburned portions of his legs. Sanji declined. He’d had enough surgery to last a lifetime. He said it like a joke, but Zoro could hear the pain beneath the words.

He wasn’t the only one. Robin’s composed expression flickered with concern, and Usopp – ever observant – sensed the shift in atmosphere. He immediately launched into a tale, claiming the hands had a hidden “romance mode” that let Sanji summon a bouquet of roses with a snap and play violin music from his fingertips. Luffy and Chopper were astounded and immediately wanted to see. Brook whipped out his violin, pretending to compete with the fingers. Jinbe clapped Franky on the back, indicating his amazement at Franky’s technical prowess. Nami told Sanji she preferred sunflowers over roses.

Zoro went up to the crow’s nest when Chopper and Franky led Sanji away, to attach the hands and explained how they worked. Robin scattered the others. They both understood that Sanji would need space. 

The enclosed crow’s nest that doubled as Zoro’s training room had windows on all sides, allowing in light and fresh air. A bench ran along the perimeter, and by one of the windows stood a telescope and a pair of binoculars. A metal plate carpeted the floor, sturdy underfoot. Zoro had a locker for his training gear and a rack for towels. The room’s only other furnishings were a dumbbell rack, a barbell stand, and a floor cushion set aside for meditation.

Zoro opted to run through single-sword katas, shedding his long coat and slipping into the familiar, meditative rhythm of balance, strength, and control. His feet moved with practiced surety, each stroke fluid and precise. Years of repetition had made the motions second nature, an essential foundation in his pursuit of becoming the World’s Greatest Swordsman. But more than that, he trained to stay strong for his crew.

The ladder hatch creaked open, a puff of cigarette smoke drifting in before Sanji climbed into the room. He wore the soft blue hoodie again, sleeves pushed to his elbows, the matte black of his new hands giving the illusion of gloves running up to his forearms. His expression was tight – grief and strain layered behind a practiced calm. He made his way to an open window, perched a knee on the bench, and exhaled smoke into the breeze.

Zoro finished his kata and slid the katana back into its sheath. Grabbing a towel, he wiped the sweat from his brow, then joined Sanji by the window. “Want to fight?” he asked.

A swift smile flickered across Sanji’s face, equal parts pleasure and relief. “Yes.”

The crow’s nest wasn’t ideal for sparring, but that had never stopped them before. Zoro drew Wado once more, and Sanji flicked his spent cigarette out the window. They circled each other, testing boundaries, anticipation crackling in the charged air.

Zoro struck first, a clean move fresh from his kata practice, the blade slicing through the air with a satisfying shink. Sanji blocked it with his heel, and the fight was on.

Zoro swung, pivoted, and parried. Pressed forward with relentless force, matching Sanji’s powerful, darting kicks. When Sanji flipped onto his hands, he wobbled at first, unsteady, but Zoro didn’t let up. He knew better than to hold back. Sanji would hate that. He was trying to reclaim his fighting rhythm, and Zoro gave him no slack.

The room rang with the clash of blade against reinforced soles. Armament Haki flared between them, heightening the challenge. Once Sanji found his balance, he became a whirlwind, rebounding off the walls, launching from the ceiling, even using the barbell stand as leverage. He filled the space with movement, turning its constraints into advantage.

Their fight ended without a word, both panting, chests heaving. Sanji clutched his abdomen, face tight with pain – but smiling, radiant despite the strain. “Next time, I’ll win.”

“Pft. You never win,” Zoro shot back, grinning.

Sanji chuckled, then vaulted out the window, Sky Walking to the deck below.

Sanji had resumed his cooking duties. The first meal wasn’t pretty, missing his usual finesse and meticulous touch, but it still tasted great. Zoro noticed the struggle behind Sanji’s eyes as he accepted the crew’s grateful compliments. Afterward, Zoro lingered, quietly asking Brook to trade dish duty. Brook, ever perceptive, gave him a knowing, friendly pat on the shoulder and agreed without hesitation.

As silence settled over the galley, Sanji lit a cigarette, the acrid scent quickly filling the space. Zoro began clearing the table, bringing the dishes over to the sink. Sanji boxed up the leftovers.

Zoro filled the sink. “Want me to beat you up again?” he asked, breaking the quiet.

A soft chuckle escaped Sanji, some of the tension melting from his posture. “No thanks. Chopper scolded me for needing pain meds after our last fight. Don’t want to endure his wrath again.”

Zoro glanced sideways at him as he started scrubbing.  “That bad, huh?”

Sanji shrugged one shoulder. “To be expected. I haven’t fought unaided since Zou. Eventually the pain has got to fade. Or at least settle into background noise that I can ignore.”

“Well, let me know when you want a rematch,” Zoro said. He didn’t add for Sanji not to push himself, because he knew Sanji would anyway. They were too much alike.

Sanji slid the leftovers into the fridge, wincing when his new fingers scraped loudly against the metal. “They’re harder to control than I expected.”

“You’ll get there,” Zoro reassured. “Practice wanking. That should do it.”

Sanji startled a laugh. “My dick’s taken enough damage. I don’t want to accidentally crush it.”

The thought that followed slipped out of Zoro’s mouth before he could catch it. “Can you even get it up?”

“There you go, talking about my sex life again.” Sanji closed the fridge and ashed his cigarette in the tray on the counter. “Worried I won’t be able to satisfy you?”

Heat rushed up Zoro’s neck and down to his groin. “No,” he said quickly, voice a little strained.

Sanji chuckled, the sound low and playful. “We’ve only been on one date. I thought you were more of a prude.”

Zoro wanted the floor to swallow him down. “I’m not a prude. And shut up.”

Sanji stepped beside him, their arms brushing as he reached for a towel. Zoro could feel his own blush deepening. Sanji adjusted the cigarette between his lips, a smile tugging at the corners. “Might have to get creative, instead. Find out what these hands can really do.”

Zoro’s pulse jumped. He focused on the dish in his hand. He was definitely hard now, his long-coat his only saving grace. “Sounds like an offer,” he tried for casual, a bit sarcastic. It came out breathier than he liked.

“What if it is?” Sanji’s voice was light, teasing. “You gonna insist we wait for the wedding night?”

Zoro fumbled the next plate, splashing soapy water. “You’re messing with me.”

“A little,”Sanji admitted with a quiet laugh. “Maybe not entirely.”

Fuck. Zoro swallowed, shooting Sanji a quick look. The tension from dinner still lingered in the line of Sanji’s shoulders. Zoro suddenly understood that Sanji's flirting was a way to pull himself out of his own head. Zoro was relieved by that, but he also didn’t want to let the moment pass.

“I’m interested in you,” Zoro said, simple and direct. “Not sure if you’re interested back.”

Sanji went still. Zoro continued washing the dishes, putting the plates into the rinse sink. The air wasn’t tense, more anticipatory. 

Finally, Sanji turned to Zoro and answered, neither hesitant nor evasive. “I am… but I don’t know what that means for me right now.”

He didn’t need to elaborate. Zoro understood – the new hands, the scarring, the pain that still lingered in his body and his mind. Zoro nodded once, not needing further explanation. “As long as you’re not settling just because you think you don’t have any other options… I’m not going anywhere.”

Sanji hummed under his breath, blowing out an exhalation of smoke. But Zoro saw the way his shoulders eased, just slightly. “Guess I’ll try not to crush anything important,” he said.

Zoro chuckled. “Try explaining that one to Chopper.”

“Hell, no. I’d just go dickless.” Sanji shuddered at the thought. “Bad enough that he actually reconstructed it and took one of my balls. I’d rather not have him touching my junk again.”

Zoro winced in sympathy. “Yeah. He had to sew the crease of my thigh near there once. Couldn’t look at him after that for a week.”

Sanji went back to drying the dishes. He bumped Zoro’s elbow lightly, the moment shifting back to something familiar. “He does weekly checkups on me. Completely naked. Cute, furry face a few inches from my body as he talks about things like proper blood flow and using lotion. Eurgh.”

Zoro laughed. “That sounds like a nightmare.”

“It’s torture.” Sanji stretched for the ashtray to stub out his spent cigarette. “On the bright side, he said the skin on my face should start blending over the next few weeks. I’ll look less like a patchwork-man. It’s been killing my love life.”

Zoro shot him a crooked grin. “Oh, I don’t know about that.”

A faint blush crept across Sanji’s nose. “I’m not trusting the opinion of the meathead with one eye.”

The conversation slipped into easy bickering about Zoro’s lack of skill, depth perception, and general idiocy, as they finished the dishes. Same old rhythm. Just with more scars.

Zoro was nervous. He didn’t do nervous. He preferred to charge in, get things done, get bandaged up afterward. “This is dumb,” he muttered to his reflection in the mirror. 

The Sunny set anchor at Mystic Quay a week after Zoro’s quiet conversation with Sanji in the galley. Sanji was growing more adept with his hands, his meals slowly improving in presentation. During a foot massage, he’d muttered about his prep speed, how often he dropped knives or knocked over spice tins. It irritated him, but Zoro had no doubt he’d find his rhythm again.

Mystic Quay was a floating town of junks, sampans, and basket boats lashed together in organized chaos. A desalination ship anchored the center of Mystic Quay. Locals and visitors moved between vessels via rowboats or single-propeller trawlers. Bright banners fluttered above shaded canopies, many advertising food stalls or pop-up shops. Lanterns swayed in the breeze, casting a colorful glow across the water. 

A few lesser known pirate ships and Grand Line merchant vessels moored around the Quay. The sea was calm, the breeze mild. Clouds drifted overhead, tinted in rose and gold as the sun settled over the horizon. Lively conversation, laughter, and music drifted in the air. 

Luffy had already bounded off, leaping rooftop to rooftop across the boats, Jinbe swimming close behind in case the captain annoyed someone enough to get kicked into the ocean. Franky was piloting the Mini Merry II with Robin, Nami, and Chopper onboard, all heading toward the market. Nami had generously rented out two rowboats, one for Usopp and Brook, and another set aside for Zoro and Sanji, waiting in the Mini Merry’s soldier dock. When Zoro asked to reserve one for the two of them, Nami had shot him a toothy, shark-like grin. 

“Not in love, at all,” she teased.

“Shut up,” Zoro growled self-consciously.

She only laughed and added the boat rental to his debt.

Zoro poked at his hair one more time, as if that would do anything but leave it sticking out like a patch of green weeds. He wore his white shirt, untucked and loose at the collar – the one he’d picked up in Dressrosa – along with black dress pants. His boots were polished, and he’d forgone his comfortable but ratty haramaki in favor of the red sash to secure his katanas. He only owned a handful of clothes, something Sanji had teased him about back on Nerina Isle. This was as good as it got. He should stop dithering like a schoolgirl with a crush and get on with it already.

He stepped out of the water closet tucked under the stairs and crossed to the men’s quarters, where he’d last seen Sanji pawing through the multitude of clothing in his locker. Sanji was dressed now, in a black suit, black shirt, white tie. Simple, elegant, and matching Zoro, unintentionally or not. Knowing Sanji, probably not.

“You ready?” Zoro asked. It was their second date. He’d taken the bull by the horns and invited Sanji out to dinner when Mystic Quay had come into view. The surprised look Sanji gave him still lingered in his memory, like he hadn’t expected to be asked.

“Yes.” Sanji tucked his cigarettes into the inside pocket of his single-breasted jacket. He gave Zoro another once-over, then paused. “Wait.” He turned back to his locker, sifted through a tidy stack of handkerchiefs, and pulled out a red one. He folded it neatly into the breast pocket of his jacket, a crisp peak poking out. Zoro had been right about the matching thing. It amused him.

“Okay, let’s go,” Sanji said, swinging his locker shut.

The SeaGlass was a sampan with a curved, thatched canopy and the warm glow of golden lantern light. They’d stopped at the first junk outside the soldier dock, where Sanji had asked around for the type of floating restaurant he had in mind. Zoro rowed while Sanji directed, the boat gliding smoothly through the maze of vessels until they arrived at the SeaGlass. The sampan had tie-ups for four boats, promising an intimate dining experience.

Zoro followed Sanji to their table for two, outfitted with white wicker chairs and a small table between them. A red candle flickered under hurricane glass at the center. Filmy white curtains fluttered in the breeze, framing the open windows cut into the canopy. At the back of the sampan, a small, open kitchen offered diners a clear view of their meals being prepared. Two other couples sat at nearby tables, their quiet conversations creating a soft, pleasant hum in the air.

Zoro slid his swords from his sash and nestled them at an angle between his knees. The server who’d sat them asked after drinks after filling them in on the special. “Don’t look at me,” Zoro said, gesturing to Sanji. “He’s making all the decisions. I’m here for the view.”

Sanji colored faintly at the compliment. “If you have any local beer, he will take that. Otherwise, please bring two glasses of your house red.”

“Are we both getting the special?” Zoro asked after the server left.

“I am. You’ll get something else I'm interested in tasting.” Sanji looked at the single page menu the server left.

“What about dessert?”

“Perhaps.” Sanji flicked a coy glance at Zoro. “Depends on how good the date goes.”

Zoro grinned. “Better order now then.”

“Confidence is only attractive if you can back it up, mosshead,” Sanji said. 

“I must be really hot, then.” 

Sanji snorted. “And full of yourself. If you don’t spill food on your shirt, I’ll consider it a win.”

Zoro chuckled and glanced around. The other two sets of diners seemed enraptured with each other. Apparently, the SeaGlass was a romantic place. He wasn’t sure if that was a point in his favor or if Sanji was simply indulging his overly romantic nature.

Still, he was glad his nerves had settled. He wanted the night to go well. After everything Sanji had been through, he deserved a little wining and dining. That Zoro got to be the one to indulge him – doing something he knew Sanji enjoyed, but likely wouldn’t do for himself – was a bonus.

Sanji placed their order while Zoro took a sip of his drink. The local beer had a slight, tart cherry aftertaste. Interesting. Better than the crap wine Sanji liked to drink. 

Candlelight cast a soft glow over Sanji’s features. Zoro had always liked Sanji’s face, the way it twisted in anger or lit up with a bright grin. The silly wisp of mustache and goatee he’d once struggled to grow had filled out into a neatly trimmed look that suited him. His blond hair was longer now, a little messier, replacing the boyish style he used to wear. 

Sanji caught him staring once the server walked away. “Something on your mind, marimo?”

“You,” Zoro said bluntly. They were on a date; there was no reason to lie. 

A faint pink blush crept across Sanji’s features again. “Anything in particular, or are you marveling at how much better I am at everything than you?”

“As I said, admiring the view.” Zoro gestured to his suit. “You haven’t been wearing suits often since you got your hands.”

“These fingers don’t like buttons,” Sanji admitted, a touch of irritation in his voice. “Takes me almost a full minute to do up my shirts. Some mornings, I can’t be bothered because it still takes me longer to cook breakfast than it did. And there’s a whole routine with these prosthetics I have to follow, which eats up time.”

Zoro was glad Sanji didn’t shy away from the topic. It showed he was coping with the trauma, rather than letting it fester. “What’s the routine?” he asked, genuinely curious.

“I have to take them off, one at a time, wash and check over my stumps to make sure I’m not getting sores, put on lotion to keep the skin from drying or cracking, and then clean, oil, and inspect the hands before reattaching them. It’s a whole process.”

“Do you think Kid had to do all that?” 

Sanji picked up his wine, tasted it, and gave a small nod of approval. “No. Franky told me Kid had a cybernetic socket implanted in his shoulder. Most people with false limbs go that route. I talked to Chopper about it when he first fixed up my amputation sites, but it would’ve required another surgery after I healed, and I…”

“Had enough,” Zoro finished for him. “I get it.”

“Yeah.” Sanji sighed, a hint of melancholy in his voice. “My exoskeleton makes it impossible now anyway. The hands anchor well enough. They won’t accidentally come off while I’m fighting, which is the important thing. I suppose someone could hit the covered release, but they’d have to get close enough first, and I’m not about to let that happen.”

“No falling unconscious on the battlefield,” Zoro said.

“That’s your thing, not mine, shitty swordsman.” Sanji shook his head. “Someone always ends up dragging your ass off the ground.”

He wasn’t wrong. Law had done just that in Wano after the Big Mom and Kaido fight. Someone else had hauled him off the battlefield after the fight with King, too. “I go all out. Nothing left in reserve.”

“Pft. You just aren’t as good as me.” 

Zoro grinned over the rim of his beer. “We’ll have to put that to a test next time.”

Sanji’s eyes sparkled. “You’re on.”

In the small kitchen, the chef began preparing their order, drawing Sanji’s gaze. He sipped his wine and watched like a hawk. Zoro didn’t mind being ignored. He wasn’t the kind who needed constant attention. He was content to sit, drink his beer, and either watch Sanji watching the chef or glance out the curtained window at the sparkling lights of Mystic Quay dotting the sea.

When the food arrived, Sanji leaned forward eagerly. He must’ve liked what he saw in the preparation. The special was a seafood dish – not surprising for a floating restaurant in a floating town. Zoro had something meat-based, served with a side of mixed vegetables.

Without hesitation, Sanji reached across the table and dragged Zoro’s plate toward him. 

“I don’t get to taste my food first?” Zoro asked, amused.

“No,” Sanji said unapologetically, already cutting into the meat. “I want to know what was used in the sauce.”

Zoro eyed the cut. Looked like beef. Could’ve been lamb. “Where do you think they keep their livestock?”

“Imported, most likely. You saw the merchant vessels.” Sanji took a bite, then closed his eyes in pleasure. His expression morphed into something that made Zoro’s pulse jump. “That’s near perfection,” Sanji murmured. “A hint of too much rice wine for me, but it doesn’t take away from it.”

Zoro shifted in his seat. “So it’s good, huh? Compliments and recipe worthy?”

“Hell, yes. I might make you eat my dish so I can have this one.” Sanji took another bite, his tongue flicking out to lick his lips. Zoro tugged at his open collar as Sanji hummed contentedly. Then Sanji placed his fork down and pushed the plate back across the table. “Okay, that’s enough. I’ll behave.”

“You don’t have to stop on my account.” Zoro wouldn’t have minded the show continuing, though it was definitely making his trousers feel tight.

“No, I’m good,” Sanji said breezily, switching focus. “Let me try the special. I like how the chef used tamari soy sauce in the seaweed beurre blanc.”

The fish flaked easily under Sanji’s fork. It rested on a pool of pale yellow sauce speckled with herbs and topped with some green stuff Zoro couldn’t name. Sanji took a bite, and his eyes fluttered shut again, expression tipping into something positively obscene. Zoro adjusted himself discreetly under the table.

“This might be even better,” Sanji murmured.

“I’ll say,” Zoro replied, voice rougher than before.

Sanji cracked one eye open, gaze lazy and content, still lost in the taste of the dish. “Did you say something?”

Zoro cleared his throat. “No. You keep enjoying your food.” He’d never been turned on watching someone eat before. There was a first time for everything.

Sanji took another bite, his face twisting in pleasure again – and yeah, Zoro was definitely going to have to lock himself in the bathroom and take care of things after this date.

Sanji must’ve noticed Zoro wasn’t eating, just staring. “You sick or something? You haven’t touched your food.”

“Uh, no. I just figured maybe you wanted to eat it, too,” Zoro said, trying to keep his tone casual and not… weirdly hopeful.

Sanji snorted. “Don’t be ridiculous. And don’t waste food.”

Zoro moved his plate closer to himself, picked up his fork and knife, and dug in. “Are you going to make both these recipes for the crew?” Zoro asked. 

“Maybe on a special occasion,” Sanji said. “It’s impractical, otherwise.”

“What about for yourself?” If Sanji made it for himself, Zoro could sit and watch him eat it.

Sanji shook his head. “No reason.”

“Don’t you like to indulge yourself every once in a while?”

“No. It would be a waste of resources.”

Zoro’s lips pressed into a line. He didn’t like how easily Sanji dismissed himself. “You are never a waste.”

Sanji froze, then looked away. “You’re being overdramatic.”

“And you’re being stupid,” Zoro snapped, irritation rising. “You really think I’d spend my free time with someone I didn’t think was worth it? If I was just horny, I wouldn’t be doing any of this.”

Sanji’s shoulders tensed. “This is just because I don’t want to make some food?”

“No, this is because you act like you don’t deserve good things. Like you have to earn the right to feel good. That’s bullshit.” Zoro glared at him. “You’re allowed to make yourself happy for your own sake. Do things just for you. Hell, you’ve only once asked me for a massage when you know I’ll give you one anytime. You don’t even have to need it. So stop treating yourself like crap, or I’m going to knock some sense into you.”

Sanji was clearly caught off guard, a flicker of emotion crossing his face. “Like to see you try,” he muttered, voice quieter than usual.

Zoro shoved back his chair. “Let’s go, then. Right now. I won’t need more than two minutes, so don’t worry about your burns hurting.”

“Sit down,” Sanji hissed, glancing at the nearby table. “We’re not going to fight.”

“Then get your head out of your ass,” Zoro said, dropping back into his seat. 

An uncomfortable silence settled over the table. Zoro picked up his fork and knife, hacking into the beef with more force than necessary. Sanji picked at his fish, took a long sip of wine, and shifted in his seat.

“I don’t always know how,” he said at last, voice low. “To want something for me, I mean.” He didn’t look up. “I wear suits because I like them. I chase after women, but I don’t expect anything to come of it. That’s about as close as I get.”

“You make a fool of yourself in front of women, you mean.” Zoro studied him across the table. “Why don’t you do that with men?”

Sanji toyed with the stem of his wine glass, gaze still averted. “Men approach me, not the other way around.”

Zoro could see that, and Sanji not being the one to make the first move didn’t bother him. Not everyone was fully comfortable in their sexuality. “Why do you think you don’t know how?”

Sanji’s smirk twisted, bitter at the edges. “First thing I ever wanted was to be a chef. Judge did his best to kill that.”

“But it didn’t work,” Zoro pointed out. “You’re a chef now. A damned good one.”

“Thanks to my sister,” Sanji replied. “If it weren’t for her, I’d still be rotting in that dungeon. Or dead.” He let out a dry chuckle. “Twice.”

“Yet you did get out. Twice. And there’s nothing that asshole can do to you anymore,” Zoro said. “No one’s going to stop you if you want to cook a meal just for yourself, or take yourself out to a place like this. Hell, you could even have one of those big, foamy bubble baths with one of those facial mask things, the creepy kind that gave me nightmares for days after Nami opened the door wearing one.”

Sanji looked up, brow raised. “When was that?”

“Back on the Merry. Before you.” Zoro gave a visible shudder. “Absolutely terrifying.”

Sanji fell quiet. The tension had drained from the air, leaving something softer behind. “I’ll try,” he said at last.

“Do better than try,” Zoro replied. “Or I’ll kick your ass anyway.”

“Tch. Whatever, marimo,” Sanji muttered. But Zoro could see that he’d taken the words to heart.

They finished their dinner, conversation picking up when Zoro questioned what the green things were on Sanji’s plate. Sanji launched into a lengthy discourse about the uses of seaweed and then an even lengthier diatribe about cooks who didn’t know how to improvise. Zoro listened, quietly enamored by the way Sanji’s voice lit up with passion. He wondered if Sanji ever talked like this with anyone outside the Baratie. Zoro knew Sanji had spent the two years apart learning recipes, not just improving his fighting skills. Maybe he would get into lively debates with fellow chefs, allowing his love for cooking to shine free.

Sanji ordered dessert. Zoro suspected it was because he wanted to judge the SeaGlass chef’s skill rather than anything to do with the date. Zoro was fine with it, because Sanji seemed happy. And that was the whole point of their prior conversation.

When they left, their bellies were full, and a quiet, comfortable companionship had settled between them. Zoro took the oars again, Sanji sitting opposite him in the little rowboat. “Want to do something else, or head back?”

“I can’t sit on something hard much longer,” Sanji admitted. He hesitated, then added, “But I’d like to row around a bit. See the lights.”

Zoro smiled. “Just point me where you want to go.”

Sanji guided him on a slow, winding path through the lantern-lit waters. The floating town glowed in the dark with a rainbow of colors. Some boats were loud and lively with laughter and music. Others were quiet, couples sitting side-by-side enjoying the evening, families tucked inside for the night. 

Zoro noticed when Sanji began shifting more often, a tightness drawing down the corners of his mouth. “Let’s head back,” he said quietly.

Sanji didn’t argue. He nodded once and guided them onto a more direct course through the floating lights.

They reached the Sunny in silence, gliding into the open soldier dock. The Mini Merry II was still gone, and so was the other rowboat. They climbed the center ladder together, emerging onto the moonlit deck. The ship was quiet, rocking softly with the sea’s gentle sway.

Sanji paused, the glow of the moon catching in his hair. “I had a good time,” he murmured.

Zoro met his eyes, a smile tugging at his lips. “Same.”

Sanji leaned in and pressed a kiss to Zoro’s mouth – soft, brief, nothing heated. Just an acknowledgment of the night they’d shared. It undid him in the quietest way possible.

Sanji pulled back with a smirk, just a touch cocky, then turned and walked away, disappearing into the galley with an easy, unhurried stride.

Zoro stood there for a long moment. He brought his fingers to his lips, where the warmth lingered. His heart gave an unexpected flip in his chest. He hadn’t seen that coming. 

A slow smile pulled at his mouth as he shook his head and turned toward the men’s quarters. Next time, Sanji wasn’t walking away.

The Thousand Sunny sailed into a squall that turned into a winter storm and lasted for ten days. Everyone was miserable. And cold. Even Zoro, who usually refused to let himself be cowed by temperature, was done with it. 

The storm, however, became an unexpected test of Sanji’s hands and a measure of his recovery. Franky had built them well; they didn’t freeze or seize, no matter how low the temperature dropped. Not that they expected anything different from Franky. Sanji had used them constantly to help keep the decks clear and the ship sailing.

The hands survived fine. Sanji, not so much. He wore a pinched expression most of the time, and by the fourth night, Chopper had him on IV pain medication. The cold, the exertion, and his nerves reknitting themselves took a visible toll.

It made Zoro ache for him. There was nothing he could do except treat Sanji the way he always had. Sanji hated being pitied, hated when some of the crew treated him like glass. Only once did he confide in Zoro about his pain, during a visit to the infirmary. 

“It feels like there are a thousand Enels under my skin, jolting me with sharp, shooting electric shocks,” he said, voice low and thready. “Chopper says I’m lucky it’s happening at all, that I might get feeling back in some of the damaged parts of my body.”

His grimace told Zoro exactly how little he cared at the moment. 

Of course, right after the storm broke, a pirate crew decided to attack, aiming to claim Luffy’s emperor’s crown. But Sanji, even hurting, was still leagues above most pirates at their best. The fight was fierce and bloody, ending only when the enemy ship was cleaved in two. The Straw Hats were bruised, sliced, and in need of Chopper by the time they were done. Sanji’s torso had been dented in battle, which gave the crew a first-hand look at how the exoskeleton worked. Sanji only needed a hammer – something that delighted Franky, who now had someone to share his body-repair tools with. 

By the time the sun rose the next day, the sea had calmed, but the crew’s exhaustion lingered. They sailed on in relative silence, nursing wounds and catching their breath. When Anapos Reef finally came into view, a full day after the fight, it felt like a blessing. Its early spring climate thawed frozen bones and frayed tempers alike. The crew was more than ready to go ashore and rejuvenate.

Zoro approached Sanji at the rail as Jinbe sailed them into harbor. “Hey,” he said. “Want to do something with me?”

“Actually, I’d like to do something for myself.” Sanji gave him a soft grin. “Sleep.”

Zoro felt a quiet satisfaction that Sanji had, indeed, taken their conversation on the SeaGlass to heart. “I’m sure that can be arranged.”

Sanji didn’t want to leave the ship. Chopper loaded him up with pain meds and a heavy-duty sedative. Dressed in black boxers patterned with gold hearts, he collapsed into the infirmary bed for a long nap.

Zoro chose to stay behind, too. He said it was to guard the ship, but really, he just didn’t want Sanji disturbed. He trained on deck, napped in the sun, foraged in the kitchen. Robin stopped by once and promised to keep the others ashore longer. Zoro appreciated that.

Sanji slept for seventeen hours straight. 

At dawn the next day, Zoro heard movement on the aft deck behind the galley. When he went to investigate, he found Sanji at the rail, hair mussed from sleep, cigarette between his lips. He wasn’t wearing his hands.

The early morning sun bathed him in soft rose light. Zoro could see most of his burn scars – leathery now, toughened with time and healing. The skin grafts on his face had blended, almost invisible. Chopper’s stitch scars had faded to faint lines. The thick, white Germa scar on his torso stood out like an anchor line across his reconstructed skin.

Zoro leaned against the rail beside him, glancing down at the wet stain on the side of the ship. “Your aim is off,” he teased.

“You try pissing with no hands,” Sanji rasped, voice still thick with sleep. 

Zoro nudged him gently with an elbow. “How do you feel?”

“Better.” Sanji exhaled, smoke curling into the quiet morning. “Should’ve taken a page out of your book earlier and slept through the pain.”

Zoro chuckled. “It does speed things up.”

“You hungry? I’m starving.”

“Seventeen hours of sleep will do that to you,” Zoro said, leading them inside.

“Seventeen?” Sanji blinked. “Explains why I had to piss so badly.”

At Chopper’s desk, his hands sat neatly beside a medical log. Sanji nudged one toward the edge and pressed his stump against the cupped base. Using his other arm for support, he guided it into place. A low, sticky sound marked the seal as the hand locked on with suction. Sanji raised his arm and flexed his fingers. The motion was smooth, fluid, almost beautiful in its mechanical precision. It was pretty amazing, and it made Zoro curious.

“How does it stay on?” Zoro asked. “And even work?”

“Suction and sensors,” Sanji said, stabbing out his cigarette in the ashtray on the desk. He picked up the other hand and held it out. “You can see the sensors at the base.”

Zoro hesitated, then took the hand. His chest clenched. He was holding Sanji’s hand, and it wasn’t attached to him. It was metal, circuits, wires. The real ones were gone. The hands Sanji had protected so fiercely, the ones that had crafted unforgettable meals and launched him into gravity-defying fights, were lost. Zoro would never get to hold those hands, never feel that touch in an intimate moment.

“You’re making a face,” Sanji said, studying him. “Better not be pity.”

“I’m not,” Zoro said. He cleared the tightness in his throat. “I’m—” He faltered, unable to articulate the ache in his chest. “How come you’re not more upset?”

Sanji looked away, not answering immediately. When he did, his voice was low, rough. “Every day, there’s a moment that tears me apart – when I take them off to clean them. When I’m shown a stark reminder that mine are gone. But I can’t live in that moment. It would kill me. Some days it nearly does. But if I disappear, within the hour, I grow moss. And moss gives a pretty good massage.”

Zoro smiled faintly. “You’d find the strength to carry on, on your own.”

“But I don’t have to,” Sanji said, taking the hand back. “I’ve got nakama who care. I’m not alone.”

“No,” Zoro said, voice warm. “You’re not.”

Sanji pressed the other hand on. The soft suction sealed it in place. He flexed his fingers with a flourish. “I also make these look good,” he said, suggestively.

Zoro looked him over – boxers with gold hearts, scarred body, fake hands, mussed hair, sleep-creased face – and thought he’d never seen anyone more attractive. “Yes, you do,” he said quietly.

Sanji made to pass him, heading toward the galley. Zoro stopped him with a hand on his chest, then leaned in and kissed him. A silent vow that he meant every word.

Sanji gave him a crooked smile. “I think we can do better than that,” he said, then fisted Zoro’s lapels and pulled him into a deeper kiss.

Zoro’s pulse kicked into overdrive. He wrapped his arms around Sanji’s waist and pulled him close. Their mouths moved together with rising heat, hunger long held in check now breaking free. Sanji’s tongue tangled with his, teasing and bold, as the kiss turned rough, bruising, full of longing and desire.

Zoro’s breath stuttered when Sanji finally pulled away. Sanji’s lips were swollen, face flushed, eyes unfocused for a second. Then he blinked, smirked, and stepped back. “I think that was better, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” Zoro croaked, adjusting himself.

Sanji smirked wider, then peeked into his own boxers. “Valiant attempt, my friend,” he said, addressing his cock with mock solemnity. “Chopper did his best to make it functional. Might have to test it another day.” 

Sanji passed Zoro and headed into the galley. “C’mon. I’ll make us something. I’m starving. Like I slept for seventeen hours or something.”

Zoro followed him, smiling. He was looking forward to that day.

The day started innocently enough. The Sunny had anchored off an uncharted, uninhabited island. A majority of the crew ferried over to explore. Zoro had gone with Sanji without even thinking about it. He ignored the teasing smile Nami sent his way.

Dense greenery covered a majority of the island, vines twisting around broad-leaf hardwoods and palms. Bright bursts of color dotted the undergrowth: crimson blossoms, golden ferns, and spiky blue fruit hanging low on thick stems. The island baked under the afternoon sun, the air full of sounds: the chatter of tropical birds, the hum of insects, the rustle of leaves as small creatures moved unseen through the brush. A parrot let out a piercing call, answered by a distant trill.

Sanji was dressed in an orange button-down, no tie, hands tucked in the pockets of his black trousers as they strolled beneath the canopy. He looked comfortable. Relaxed. Sure of himself. After months of struggling with his injuries, he finally seemed to be reaching a point of calm. Zoro hoped it was because the pain had gone, not simply receded into something tolerable.

Sanji tilted his head, focused on something ahead of them. “Do those look like ruins to you?”

Zoro peered into the greenery and made out the faint outline of stone, mostly swallowed by jungle. “Seems like it.”

They continued forward, more stones revealing themselves with each step. Thick vines and dark green moss camouflaged the crumbling structures. Time and nature had claimed most of it. Sunlight filtered through the canopy, casting dappled shadows across weathered walls and jutting columns. Stairs led downward, the shadowed coolness beckoning with the damp smell of forgotten earth.

Sanji flicked on his lighter and led the way down the spongy, moss-coated steps. Carvings of faces and animals lined the stone interior, but there was no writing to be seen. A faltering support pillar in the center of the room held up a ceiling on the verge of collapse.

“Hn. We’ll have to tell Robin this is here,” Sanji said, nudging a pile of rubble with his toe. “She’ll probably be interested, even if there’s nothing to re— EEEEK!”

The startled shriek echoed through the stone chamber as Sanji launched himself backward at blinding speed. Zoro caught a glimpse of a sea of red and black ants swarming from the corner just before Sanji’s back slammed into the central pillar. The pillar cracked. The ceiling groaned. Zoro’s observation haki flared in warning a split second before he was tackled.

He hadn’t even seen Sanji move.

There was a sharp crack, and then Zoro hit the ground hard. Sanji was arched over him, shielding his head and torso as the ceiling came crashing down. The thunder of collapsing stone rattled Zoro’s teeth. Weight crushed down on his legs, forcing a gasp from his throat. Sanji’s upper chest pressed into his face as rubble settled over them.

The world went silent. Zoro breathed in the scent of fallen earth and Sanji’s aftershave. His legs ached, but nothing felt broken. He listened carefully for the sound of more falling rock before muttering, “I could’ve sliced through it.”

“You would’ve been too slow, idiot,” Sanji grunted from above Zoro’s head. “I saw it.”

“Why didn’t you kick it, then?”

“I did. I kicked it into smaller pieces, which still hit us,” he said dryly.

Zoro frowned against Sanji’s shirt. “I didn’t need saving.”

“You’re too ugly for a damsel, anyway,” Sanji said, shifting slightly. Rubble clattered around them.

Zoro tried to move his legs, sending more rocks skittering. He sighed with irritation. “This wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t gotten scared, wimp.”

“I was not scared!” Sanji protested. “I was—”

“Scared. Of ants.”

“Shut up,” Sanji muttered. “I have reasons.”

“Your reasons caused the ceiling to collapse.”

Sanji sighed unhappily. “Yeah. My darling Robin-chan’s not going to get to see this now.”

“Your darling Robin-chan would laugh at you,” Zoro said.

“She would not! My Robin-chan is sweet and lovely and full of bountiful grace.”

“You sound desperate when you say shit like that.”

“Your jealousy is unbecoming,” Sanji said with mock solemnity.

“I’m not jealous,” Zoro stated.

“Then why do you care how I talk?”

“Because it’s stupid, and desperate, like I said.”

“I talk with my heart,” Sanji said.

“No, you talk with your dick,” Zoro grumbled. “Act with it, too.”

“Guess my dick wanted you not to get another concussion, then.”

Zoro didn’t know whether to be annoyed or... something else. “I told you, I don’t need saving.”

“I know,” Sanji said, voice softer now. “But for some dumb reason, I really like you and prefer you not to get a dent in your head if I can stop it.”

Zoro felt butterflies take flight in his stomach. “I, uh, really like you, too,” he said, sounding far too bashful for his own liking.

“Good.” Sanji’s weight shifted slightly on Zoro’s stomach, where he was straddling him. “Think we can get out of here now?”

Zoro suddenly realized Sanji was carrying hundreds of pounds of rock on his back. “Shit. You okay?”

“Now you ask me?” Sanji said with a laugh.

“You’re the one who did the unnecessary heroics,” Zoro muttered. “And you didn’t answer my question.”

“There’s a roof on my back. Otherwise, I’m fine.”

“You’re not hurt?” Zoro pressed.

“Sort of. When it first happened, it hurt. Now I just feel... crushed, not in pain. More annoyed than anything.”

Zoro let out a quiet breath of relief. It was the same with his legs. “Okay. Good. So... how do we get out of here?”

“I was thinking you should use your brute upper-body strength, with me as a battering ram,” Sanji said, almost cheerfully.

Zoro considered it. “Won’t that hurt you more?”

“No. The roof’s already in pieces. I can handle it.”

Zoro trusted him. He shifted his arms, already somewhat braced under Sanji’s torso, and found a good place to plant his hands. “Ready?”

“Getting older waiting on you,” Sanji said sarcastically.

Zoro grunted and thrust upward, using Sanji’s body to shove through the broken ceiling. Rocks clattered down around them. He pushed Sanji over the rubble and let him go. Sanji rolled out of the way. Zoro managed to wiggle his legs free, stood, and climbed out of the hole their bodies had created.

Sanji leaned against a sturdier pillar, out of the rubble, his back to Zoro. Zoro carefully made his way over, watching the way Sanji held himself, battered but unbothered. Zoro grimaced when he got close. “The back of your head is flat.”

“Is it?” Sanji touched his skull, fingers probing. “Damn. I probably look ridiculous.”

Zoro barked a laugh. With an injury like that, Sanji should be dead. Instead, he was worried about his looks. “You’re still hot, don’t worry,” Zoro said.

“Hn. Use those great, massaging hands of yours and squeeze it back into shape, will you?” Sanji said with a sigh.

“That is probably the weirdest request I’ve ever received.” Still, Zoro gently placed his hands on either side of Sanji’s misshapen head and began to press the bulging sides with careful pressure. “Good thing you don’t use your brain much. Can’t believe you’re still walking and talking.”

“Germa science at work,” Sanji said flatly, bitterness threading through his voice. “Suppose I should be grateful not to be dead. Again.”

“I’m grateful you’re not dead, period,” Zoro said quietly, thumbs brushing along the ridge behind Sanji’s ears. “Also glad you can’t really get hurt anymore, even doing something stupid like rescuing me. You’ve had enough hurt in your life.”

“Most of it done by family,” Sanji said with a sardonic edge.

“Yeah. But you survived – and you’ve thrived, despite them.”

“Survive, yes,” Sanji said. “Thrive... still working on it.”

Zoro smoothed Sanji’s head one final time, then let his fingers drift into his hair, combing through the blond strands. He scattered flecks of stone, brushed his palms down from scalp to nape. “I have no doubt you’ll succeed,” he said. “I wouldn’t like you so much otherwise.”

Sanji laughed softly, almost shyly. “Not sure you would’ve liked me those first few weeks. I hurt horribly, constantly. Chopper’s surgeries, the bedrest, realizing the life I had was over – it did a number on me. I could barely function. But I pushed on because I felt needed by Luffy. He told me, during those first darkest days on the way from Whole Cake Island, that without me, he couldn’t become the Pirate King. I swore I wouldn’t let him down.”

Zoro listened intently, hand still absently carding through Sanji’s hair in slow, comforting strokes.

“So I ignored Chopper’s orders, put on that Raid Suit, and did what I could,” Sanji continued. “But I’d isolated myself at first, got stuck in a depression that wouldn’t let anyone near. It took Nami daring me to spy on her in the bathhouse to get me to attempt some normalcy. I used the Raid Suit to get around at first. Did spy on her – got a love punch full-body eyeful that I’ll never regret – and ended up rescuing her, Robin, and their friends.

“Ran into Franky, Usopp, and Law after that, fought Page One in the street. Had to recover in the back room of Nami’s friend’s house, and then I ran into you later that day.”

Zoro’s heart had swelled, at Luffy’s honesty and love, at Sanji’s grit. “You may have doubted yourself,” he said, “but you didn’t quit.”

“It made a difference that you treated me basically the same, but also supported me when I didn’t know I needed it,” Sanji said. “Plus, the flirting didn’t hurt, either.”

Zoro’s fingers trailed down one last time, brushing the side of Sanji’s jaw, then sliding free from his hair. “I still wonder why you reciprocated,” he murmured. “It had been a while. You seemed over men when we met up again at Sabaody.”

Sanji turned around and gave him a small, genuine smile. “Because you still saw me, not my damage. That meant something.” He dusted off his trousers. “We should head back. I need to change my shirt, check for more dents. Franky will be thrilled to help hammer me out.”

Zoro followed Sanji out of the ruined ruins, a quiet warmth settling in his chest.

“Are you going to keep staring at my ass on the way back?” Sanji threw over his shoulder.

Zoro rolled his eye, but the warmth didn’t leave his chest. “If I stop, you’ll think I got lost.”

Sanji huffed a laugh. “Point.”

They walked through the jungle’s greenery, laughter tucked between insults, a quiet closeness stitched into the space between them.

Sanji was wearing his wine-colored suit.

Zoro was trying – and failing – not to stare. The suit was paired with a black shirt, black tie, and black trousers. He looked hot. It was only breakfast, and Zoro was already having trouble concentrating. They were set to dock in a few hours at Whispering Falls, and he still had chores to get through. Swab duty. He wasn’t sure how he’d manage with Sanji looking like that.

Luckily for Zoro’s libido, Sanji stayed in the galley, busy with his own work for most of the morning. Zoro was on the upper deck of the galley, mopping around Robin’s garden and Nami’s mikan trees. He’d moved Usopp’s crate-desk aside to clean beneath it when Sanji climbed up the ladder. A cigarette hung from his lips, the breeze ruffling his blond hair. He slid his hands into his pockets as he approached, eyes on the island rising in the distance.

Zoro paused in his swabbing, drinking in the delicious sight of Sanji in that suit.

Sanji didn’t say anything at first. The late morning sun lit his face, catching the ridges of his cheekbones and the blue of his eyes. Then, in a voice low but certain, he spoke. “I would like to have sex with you.”

Zoro’s pulse kicked up. “I’d like that too.”

Sanji took a drag from his cigarette, exhaling smoke as he continued. “I’m not sure how it’s going to go. It’s a good thing I like being the bottom.”

Zoro leaned on his mop. “Is that what you want, though?”

Sanji glanced over, something vulnerable flickering in his eyes. “Might be all there is.” His smile curled sly. “You’d better not suck.”

“I’ve had no complaints,” Zoro said, grinning.

Sanji’s grin widened. “I’ll be the judge of that.”

Whispering Falls was named for the countless slender waterfalls that streamed down cliffs and hills all across the island, their soft, constant murmuring like whispers carried on the wind. The town was built to incorporate the falls, creating a tourist’s paradise. A dense emerald jungle blanketed the interior. The humid air smelled of rich loam, crushed flowers, and fresh water.

Warm sunlight bathed the Sunny as Jinbe guided her into a berth. Sanji needed to restock, so he tasked Zoro with finding them an inn room – without getting completely lost. Zoro went to Nami. He didn’t want to screw this up before it even started. Besides, he needed money.

Nami grinned at him. “Do I need to say it?”

“No.” Zoro rubbed the back of his neck, heat rising in his cheeks. “Just help me find a place he’ll like.”

“Promise me you’ll treat him right,” she said, her smile dimming for a beat. Her eyes glittered before she blinked away the tears. “You didn’t see him. Not before Chopper worked his magic. I did. I don’t ever want to see him hurt again, in any way.”

“I promise,” Zoro said quietly. “I’d never treat him as anything but the treasure he is.”

Nami found them a quiet inn tucked away from the main tourist strip, built beside a cliffside waterfall. One of its features was a natural pool fed directly from the falls. She paid for the room herself and handed Zoro the key.

“No debt this time,” she said with a small smile. She walked him back to the ship and slipped a folded paper into the pocket of his long-coat. “Directions. Don’t get lost. I’ll see you guys in the morning.”

Zoro waited on the deck, trying not to fidget like a teenager before his first time. When Sanji returned, Zoro still had to wait while he unpacked supplies. Even helping, it took a while. By the time they were finished, the sun had shifted into mid-afternoon.

Zoro handed Sanji Nami’s directions and told him to bring a swimsuit. Sanji packed a small overnight bag for the both of them, and they headed out.

The inn stood at the base of a cliff, the waterfall cascading steadily through the trees and into a pool below. The two-floor wooden structure had outdoor stairs leading to individual rooms. Theirs was on the first floor, tucked at the back near the pool. From the room’s window, they could see other guests playing in the sunshine, splashing beneath the falling water.

Inside, the room was painted a soft green, decorated with colorful prints of tropical flowers. The king-sized bed was dressed in white and gold. Lamps flanked it on either side, and a small closet with a suitcase rack stood near the door. An ensuite bathroom was tucked into the far corner.

Zoro slid the privacy curtains shut as Sanji set the bag on the rack. “Want to hit the pool first?” Zoro asked.

Sanji pulled out a bottle of lube and tossed it at Zoro’s head, grinning lasciviously. “Not on your life.”

“Oh, thank fuck.” Zoro set the bottle on the nightstand, leaned his swords against the wall, and yanked off his boots. “I’ve been hard all day with you in that suit.”

Sanji laughed, tugging loose his tie. “That was the plan.”

“Bastard.” Zoro pulled off his red sash, regretting not changing into something easier to strip. “Take it off before I tear it off you.”

“You do and I’ll kick your head in,” Sanji warned, slipping out of his jacket and hanging it neatly in the closet. “I like this suit.”

“I like it too. I’d like it better on the floor, you on the bed, and me in you.”

Sanji shot a grin over his shoulder. “Pushy marimo.”

“Yes. Undress faster.” Zoro shrugged off his long-coat, let it fall to the floor, yanked off his haramaki, and started ripping open the buttons on his trousers.

Sanji didn’t undress any faster. He took his time, hanging up each article of clothing with deliberate care. Zoro watched, transfixed, as inch by inch of Sanji was revealed, until all that remained was a pair of black silk boxers.

Zoro, already naked and achingly hard, sitting on the edge of the bed, anticipation coiled tight in his gut. The lamp cast a soft white glow across the room, highlighting every line and shadow. Sanji turned to face him, a flicker of vulnerability in his expression, though his steps were sure as he crossed the room.

He stepped between Zoro’s thighs, threaded his fingers into Zoro’s hair, and tilted his head back for a kiss.

Hunger, want, and longing surged through Zoro, years of simmering tension igniting at once. It felt like he’d been waiting for this moment forever – since Cocoyashi, maybe even earlier – since the day Sanji first showed him just how much fight he carried beneath the surface. Zoro drank from his lips like he’d been parched, his arms wrapping around Sanji’s waist, one hand settling on his ass.

Sanji chuckled against his mouth. “Eager, aren’t we?”

Zoro didn’t answer, just nodded, breathing hard, letting Sanji tug at his hair. Then he twisted, half-tossing Sanji onto the bed with a startled laugh. Zoro climbed after him, slotting a thigh between Sanji’s and grinding his erection against the crease of Sanji’s hip. The silk of Sanji’s boxers was maddeningly smooth, and Zoro moaned low in his throat.

Sanji looped his arms around Zoro’s neck, heat burning in his gaze, and pulled him down into another kiss – messy, hungry, desperate. Their mouths bruised and clashed, breaths tangled, tongues slid and fought. Zoro’s hips moved on their own, rutting gently against Sanji’s hip, swallowed groans vibrating between their lips.

But then something drew Zoro’s attention. A flicker of doubt brushed the back of his mind. On the next thrust, he noticed it: when he pressed closer, Sanji’s groin didn’t respond the way he expected. Zoro stilled, pulse still racing, and drew back slightly, eyes opening.

Sanji lay beneath him, cheeks flushed, lips kiss-bruised and parted. His eyes were heavy with heat, glazed with arousal, and he was panting softly. He looked so gloriously disheveled, so openly wanting, it made Zoro’s chest tighten.

But still… he wasn’t hard.

Zoro licked his lips, and Sanji’s eyes flicked down to watch – but Zoro forced himself to stay focused. “You’re not… hard.”

“I warned you I didn’t know how it would go,” Sanji said quietly, his voice tinged with worry and self-doubt. “Do you want to stop?”

“No,” Zoro said, firm and certain. “I just don’t want to be the only one enjoying this.”

Some of the tension eased from Sanji’s shoulders, replaced by a familiar mischievous glint in his eye. “Then you’d better figure out how to change that.”

Zoro felt his own grin pull at the corners of his mouth. A challenge. “I’ll have you moaning in no time.”

“Promises, promises,” Sanji murmured, threading his fingers through Zoro’s hair. “I’ll believe it when I feel it.”

Zoro captured his mouth in another searing kiss, then trailed his lips down Sanji’s jaw to his ear. He nipped gently at the lobe and whispered, “I’m glad you’re here with me.”

Sanji’s breath hitched. His arms tightened for a moment around Zoro’s neck with wordless acknowledgement. Zoro continued downward, kissing along Sanji’s neck, brushing over the faint scar in the hollow of his throat. He tasted salt on Sanji’s skin as he laid open-mouthed kisses down his sternum and across his chest.

When he flicked his tongue over one coral-pink nipple, Sanji gasped. Zoro smiled against it, then sucked it into his mouth. Sanji moaned quietly. 

“That’s one,” Zoro murmured smugly.

Sanji thumped him lightly on the head. “Ass,” he said, breathy and amused.

Zoro moved to the other nipple, repeating the motion. Sanji gasped again, but no moan. He was playing tough. Zoro wasn’t going to let him win that easily. He kissed his way back to the center of Sanji’s chest, pausing at the top of the scar that ran down his torso. He glanced up as he kissed the edge, just once, gauging Sanji’s reaction. This wasn’t Chopper’s mark; it was Germa’s. Zoro didn’t want to stir up bad memories. 

Sanji’s expression barely shifted, but Zoro caught a faint twitch of dislike. He moved on without comment, kissing to the left, onto the toughened skin instead. He pressed a soft kiss there before asking, “Should I avoid this area?”

“I… no?” Sanji said it like a question, uncertain.

“Tell me how it feels,” Zoro murmured, kissing the burn-scarred skin three more times, gentle and deliberate. He paused, watching Sanji.

“It doesn’t feel like much,” Sanji admitted. “Probably nerve damage. Not all of it came back.”

Zoro nodded and adjusted, using his hands instead, pressing a bit more firmly. “How about this?”

Sanji’s lips quirked. “Yeah, I feel that, marimo. Are you giving me a massage now?”

“Maybe.” Zoro’s fingers hooked into the waistband of Sanji’s boxers. He met Sanji’s gaze, warm and steady. “May I?”

That flicker of hesitation returned. “It doesn’t look great,” Sanji said.

“I’ve seen some of it already,” Zoro replied. “It doesn’t bother me. But if you’d rather I didn’t look, that’s fine too. We can move under the sheets. Whatever makes you comfortable. I’m here for you, not your body.”

Sanji let out a shaky breath. “For a dumbass, you’ve got a hell of a way with words.”

A faint, slanted smile played on Zoro’s lips, gentle, reassuring.

Sanji studied him for a moment, looking torn, vulnerable. Then finally resolved. “Let’s go under the sheets. Then, you can take them off and, uh… touch.”

Zoro nodded. “Okay.” 

He let go of Sanji’s boxers and slid off the bed. His erection hadn’t faded, desire undimmed despite the shift in tempo. He still wanted Sanji, hopelessly, fiercely. Nothing had changed. Navigating Sanji’s wants and limits was like navigating anyone else’s, only it mattered more. Because it was Sanji.

Sanji got off the bed and helped pull down the covers. He slipped beneath them first, lying back with his head on the pillow. Zoro followed, drawing the sheet over them and leaning in to find Sanji’s mouth. He kissed him slowly, deeply, part of his weight pressing into Sanji, the warmth between them building with every unhurried press of their lips.

Sanji pulled away with a teasing smirk. “Are you going to kiss me all night, or are we going to do something else?”

“I’ll be happy to do anything you’d like,” Zoro said softly. He kept the sheet drawn up as his hand slid to the hem of Sanji’s boxers. “Want me to take these off?”

Sanji gave a small nod. “Go ahead.”

Zoro shifted to his knees, watching Sanji as he carefully tugged the boxers down. Sanji lifted his hips to help, then drew his knees up while Zoro slid the fabric off completely. He tossed the boxers onto the far pillow, keeping them nearby.

Settling beside Sanji again, Zoro let their bodies align, skin to skin. Sanji’s warmth met him fully now, the texture of his altered body pressing into Zoro’s. He was still soft.

“You can touch it,” Sanji said, voice low. “Maybe it’ll work better if it’s not me and my metal hands doing the work.”

Zoro didn’t hesitate. He wanted Sanji to know he wasn’t afraid. Wasn’t disgusted or worried about hurting him. Shifting slightly, Zoro brought his hand beneath the sheet and wrapped his fingers around Sanji’s cock. It felt different – rougher skin, raised scar tissue, the absence of a defined head. Sanji had told him Chopper had reconstructed it, and Zoro remembered how close the explosion had been, how the damage left into the deep gouges on Sanji’s outer thighs.

Zoro kept his grip firm, not overly gentle, as Sanji had responded better to pressure. He tried to coax an erection, but it quickly became clear it wasn’t going to happen. Sanji seemed to realize it too, and offered a crooked half-smirk. “Guess you’re not as talented with your hands as you thought.”

Zoro snorted, glad that Sanji hadn’t lost his humor with this. “Ah, but I haven’t even gotten to the main event.”

“Tch. All this build-up. You’re setting yourself up for a major fail,” Sanji teased.

Zoro reached for the bottle of lube on the nightstand. “Nope. Now is when I rack up the moans.”

“Uh-huh.” Sanji’s hair had fallen to both sides of his face, leaving both eyes visible. They sparkled with challenge, with anticipation. “You’ll probably get lost trying to figure out where to stick your fingers.”

Zoro grinned. “Trust me, this is one place I never lose my way. You staying like this, or do you want to turn over?”

Sanji’s expression flickered briefly, but settled into quiet determination. “I’ll stay.”

“All the better to hear you,” Zoro said, voice thick with promise. He gently prompted Sanji to raise the knee closest to him beneath the sheet, then coated his fingers with the cinnamon-scented lube. Of course Sanji would pick something spiced instead of going unscented. The detail made Zoro smile.

Zoro settled on his side, propping his head up with his right hand, his gaze level with Sanji’s shoulder. He slid his left hand between the bend of Sanji’s knee, smoothing over the rough skin of Sanji’s ass before finding the soft crease between. His slick fingers ran slowly along the seam, drawing a slight hitch in Sanji’s breath as he circled gently over the furled entrance.

“Hm,” Zoro murmured, leaning in to press a kiss to Sanji’s shoulder. “Looks like someone can definitely feel this.”

“Yes,” Sanji said through gritted teeth. “So get on with it.”

Zoro chuckled. “So demanding. Don’t you want to savor the moment?”

“No.” Sanji shot him a glare, one laced with amusement. “I can’t believe you’re this annoying in bed, too.”

“Part of my charm.”

“More like you– ooh. ” Sanji’s words cut off in a shudder as Zoro slid a single finger inside him. His lashes fluttered, a moan slipping free.

“That’s two,” Zoro teased, voice soft, smug.

Sanji raised a hand and flipped him off without opening his eyes.

Zoro laughed softly, the sound low and pleased, as he began to slowly work his finger in and out of Sanji. Sanji clenched reflexively before relaxing around him, and a quiet sigh of pleasure escaped his lips. encouragement enough for Zoro. Zoro kept going, watching intently as a flush of arousal spread up Sanji’s chest, creeping along his neck, blooming in his cheeks.

When the motion became easier, Zoro added a second finger, feeling the slight resistance before Sanji’s muscles yielded. His wrist rested against the firm curve of Sanji’s ass as he began to thrust a little faster, mimicking the rhythm of a fuck, gradually stretching him open.

Satisfaction curled low in Zoro’s chest as he watched Sanji’s face – every flicker of pleasure, every stuttered breath. But he wanted more. Another moan. Something raw. He wanted to push Sanji past thought, past hesitation, into pure sensation. Wanted to make him feel so good he forgot everything else.

He didn’t fumble. He didn’t guess. He knew exactly where to go, how deep to reach, and just where to curl his fingers.

Sanji jerked slightly when Zoro rubbed against the firm gland hidden inside him. “So you do know what you’re doing,” Sanji managed, voice a little breathless.

“Hn, yeah.” Zoro’s grin was feral as he stroked short, purposeful movements over Sanji’s prostate. His cock throbbed between his thighs, but he wasn’t in a hurry. He was riveted by each twitch, every caught breath, the steady build of pleasure. He loved the way Sanji bit his lower lip, the way his brow furrowed in focus as he chased release. The flush creeping over his skin only made him more irresistible.

Zoro felt the trembling start – slight at first, then spreading as Sanji’s whole body tightened. The spasms around Zoro’s fingers intensified, and then Sanji moaned – long, deep, and desperate. He arched, spine bowing, head tipped back, and Zoro felt every quiver as Sanji came in sharp, shuddering waves.

Zoro stayed with him through it, fingers stilling only after Sanji collapsed, boneless and dazed, flushed from throat to forehead.

With a smug twist of his lips, Zoro slowly pulled his fingers free. He slid his hand up to Sanji’s cock, finding it slick with leaked cum. He drew his hand from beneath the sheets and licked the salty residue from his palm. “Still got a taste,” he said, voice edged with wicked delight.

Sanji cracked an eye open, looking utterly wrecked and gorgeous. “Shut up and fuck me now.”

“As you desire,” Zoro murmured, grabbing the lube again. He made quick work of slicking up his hard length, then shifted between Sanji’s spread thighs. One hand guided Sanji’s bent knee back, the other lining himself up – less precise, more instinctive. The head of his cock slid along Sanji’s crack, gliding too high, then too low, until—

Sanji’s lips curved into a smirk. “Knew you’d get lost.”

“Heh.” Zoro didn’t deny it. He usually looked where he was going. The sheet made it both harder and more tantalizing. When he found the right spot, he pressed the tip of his cock to Sanji’s entrance, not pushing in yet, waiting until Sanji met his eyes again – waiting, wanting, fully aware that it was Zoro with him.

Sanji exhaled, steady and deep, his body opening as Zoro eased inside. His eyelids fluttered shut, black hands resting on the pillow on either side of his head. “It’s been a while,” he murmured. “Feels good.”

Zoro’s lips curved, even as he fought the urge to move hard and fast. The heat and tightness around him were perfect. “You feel good,” he said. “Perfect.”

He rolled his hips in a slow, deliberate rhythm, watching pleasure flicker across Sanji’s face. Sanji shifted beneath him, hooking a leg around Zoro’s waist. His tongue darted out to wet his lower lip, an action that sent a bolt of heat down Zoro’s spine. He bent to capture Sanji’s mouth in a brief, hungry kiss. Sanji responded eagerly, open and lustful, body tightening around Zoro’s length. A low moan escaped Zoro, deep and guttural, as fire surged through him.

He began to move faster, hips snapping with a more urgent rhythm. His hands planted on either side of Sanji’s shoulders, anchoring him as he thrust into the tight, slicked heat. The kiss fell apart, lost to rising pleasure. Zoro cracked his eye open, watching Sanji through his lashes – his flushed face, his parted lips, his desire laid bare.

Adjusting his angle, Zoro pressed Sanji’s knee back, tilting his hips higher. Sanji moaned. “Yeah, right there.”

Zoro took the words and made them his. He drove into Sanji exactly how he wanted, deep, precise, relentless. Sweat slicked his skin, beading on his brow and spine. The sheet had slipped down, pooling at his hips. Sanji’s scarred body glowed in the lamplight, sex-flushed and radiant. His blond hair clung to his forehead and cheeks as his head rolled on the pillow, features contorted in pleasure.

Zoro clenched his jaw, holding back, trying to last. He wanted to bring Sanji over the edge again – wanted him undone, shattered in the best way. Being with Sanji like this was a kind of paradise. It meant more than just sex. It meant Sanji had chosen to be vulnerable, to share himself as he was now. That mattered. That made it sweeter.

Sanji finally came with a ragged gasp, body locking tight, hole clenching around Zoro in pulsing waves. Zoro let go of control, his thoughts blanking as pleasure surged through him. His balls drew up, the edge rushing closer – then he was there, pounding into Sanji in quick, ragged thrusts. Orgasm ripped through him, sharp and consuming. He slammed in deep, coming with a choked gasp, body seizing as he emptied himself inside.

He collapsed over Sanji, panting, arms trembling. When he opened his eye, Sanji was watching him, smirking smugly. 

Sanji tugged at Zoro’s neck, pulling him down into a kiss. “Not bad,” he said, voice low and rough.

“Not bad?!” Zoro scoffed, eyes glinting with amusement beneath the mock offense.

Sanji grinned. “We’ll need to go again. With practice, maybe you’ll improve.”

“You fucker.” Zoro snorted. “You moaned five times. You literally came on my dick.”

“I can’t believe you were keeping count.”

“Can’t resist a challenge,” Zoro said, nosing affectionately against Sanji’s cheek.

Sanji stroked his hair. “You’re pathetic.”

“Hm, maybe.” Zoro rested his forehead against Sanji’s, gaze warm, grin teasing. “What does that make you then, for sleeping with me?”

“Desperate,” Sanji said, chuckling as he spoke. “And clearly out of my mind. Who would’ve guessed you and I would end up doing naked things in bed together?”

Zoro shifted to Sanji’s side, pulling the sheet back up over them. “I’d hoped,” he admitted. “Didn’t expect it. But I’m glad.”

Sanji smiled, soft and content. “Yeah. Me too.”

Zoro leaned in and kissed him, gentle this time. Lethargy wrapped around his limbs. “Nap,” he murmured. “Then we go again.”

“You expect me to spread my legs anytime you want, huh?” Sanji teased.

“No.” Zoro kissed him again. “But I doubt you’ll protest much, love cook.”

After a nap and another lazy round in bed, Zoro coaxed Sanji into putting on his swim trunks so they could enjoy the pool. Sanji hesitated but eventually gave in, wearing a black shirt unbuttoned over his blue trunks as a compromise.

The waterfall splashed gently at the edge of the pool. The water was cool and refreshing. Families and other couples swam and splashed nearby, the air filled with laughter and sunlit ripples. Zoro swam a few laps while Sanji sat at the edge, feet dangling in the water. The late afternoon sun glinted off the surface, catching in Sanji’s eyes. He wore a faint smile, his posture easy and content. A few people glanced his way, but no one stared or gawked at his scars or cybernetic hands.

Zoro didn’t need sex to feel fulfilled in a relationship, but it still felt like something had shifted between them – something real. Intimacy had pushed them past the boundary of romantic friendship into something deeper. His heart gave a quiet flutter when Sanji looked over and smirked. Zoro didn’t need to label it to know what it meant.

Sanji slipped into the pool and swam over, treading water beside him. “Thought you were seaweed floating out here. Couldn’t tell the difference.”

Zoro splashed him lightly. “That joke never gets old.”

Sanji grinned, then launched forward and tackled him underwater. They tussled in the deep end, near the waterfall, laughing and bickering, splashing around until Sanji hooked a leg around Zoro’s waist and pulled him close. Their lips met in a slow, tender kiss.

“Let’s go back to the room,” Sanji whispered, his voice low and full of longing.

Zoro stepped back and held out his hand. Sanji paused for just a moment, then slipped his cybernetic hand into Zoro’s, their fingers twining together. His smile was soft and heartbreakingly beautiful. Zoro said nothing, just held on like it meant everything. 

Because it did.

Egghead Island had turned into a disaster, forcing the Straw Hats to flee a Marine invasion with only one Vegapunk in tow. Still, the escape wasn’t without its silver lining. They reunited with Brogy and Dorry from Little Garden and were now aboard the Great Eirik with the Giant Warrior Pirates. The Sunny was tied alongside, and the Straw Hat crew gathered for a low-key celebration: old friends, a close call survived, and winter wind stirring up the snow that danced across the decks. They still wore their Egghead clothes, winter coats long discarded in the warmth of good company.

As the others continued laughing and drinking, Zoro tugged Sanji aside, his thoughts still snagged on a moment he couldn’t shake. He’d tried to let it pass as just another meaningless spat between them, but it lingered. “You called me a burden.”

Sanji blinked, brow furrowed. “What are you talking about?”

“Earlier. During the fight with Lucci. Over the radio. You called me a burden. I heard you.”

“Oh.” Sanji’s voice was casual, dismissive. “Moved your ass, didn’t it?” He glanced back toward the party, clearly thinking about drinks or snacks or some other host duty.

Zoro crossed his arms, unmoved. “Do you really think that? That I’m a burden?”

Sanji’s gaze shifted back to him, more focused now, more serious. He tilted his head, studying Zoro’s face. “No, you idiot. I don’t think that at all. You’re stubborn, relentless, and the kind of person who’d throw yourself into any fire for someone else. You’re worth everything to the crew. To me. But sometimes, retreat is necessary. There’ll be other fights that we will win.”

Zoro felt the tension ease in his shoulders, the weight in his chest lifting. He wanted to be a shield, not deadweight. Wanted to lift his crewmates, not hold them down. Sanji’s words were enough to quiet the doubt. “I mean everything to you, huh?”

Sanji smirked. “You picked up on that.”

Zoro stepped forward, slid an arm around his waist. “I liked the sound of it.”

“Don’t let it go to your head,” Sanji muttered, before catching his mouth in a kiss.

The kiss started warm, comforting. But soon it deepened, hunger flaring between them. Desire quickly lit, burning hotter with every second. When Sanji pulled back, his eyes were dark with want, his breath uneven. His hands slid up Zoro’s black-clad chest. “Your outfit might actually be making me hard.”

Zoro’s hand dropped to squeeze Sanji’s ass. “Can’t say the shorts and floral shirt are doing it for me. Looking forward to tearing them off.”

Sanji’s voice dropped, sultry and teasing. “Everyone’s here, you know. On the Great Eirik. We could sneak over to the Aquarium Bar. Scare the fish.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Zoro said, stealing one more kiss before taking his hand. As they moved to leave, he caught Nami watching them. She flashed a knowing grin and wiggled her fingers in a mock wave. Zoro just grinned back, unabashed.

As they grabbed their coats and stepped out onto the deck, braving the sharp bite of winter wind, Zoro’s thoughts drifted to Sanji – how they fit, how they complemented each other, made each other better, even when it drove them both insane. How they fought, laughed, and pushed each other’s buttons. He was glad Sanji had chosen to want something again. It hurt that tragedy had been the catalyst, but Zoro couldn’t regret where it had led: to this. To them. Together. He could see it lasting, stretching into the future. Maybe they would’ve reached this point eventually, it just might’ve taken longer. Because in the end, what was love but friendship, trust, respect, and care, laced with desire?

“Race you to the Sunny,” Sanji said suddenly, breaking into a run.

Zoro laughed and took off after him, knowing full well he’d lose.

And knowing, without doubt, that he’d already won.

End