Chapter Text
“Stand up straight,” Sanji commanded, and Zoro grimaced as his shoulders battled the threads of his old suit jacket.
Sanji pursed his lips. “We’re going to need to get this altered or maybe even get another one.”
“I just got this one last year,” Zoro sighed.
“How much muscle have you put on since then?” Sanji asked.
“A few pounds, and I’m taller—” Zoro began proudly, but Sanji cut him off, already well aware of his boyfriend’s physique.
“I’m glad we tried it on before the day of prom,” Sanji said, looking between the dress pants on the bed and Zoro’s tree trunk thighs and thinking better of even having him attempt to pull them on.
Sanji was feeling antsy. Prom was approaching, which meant the soccer championships were almost here, which meant AP exams and finals and papers were soon after. His schedule had recently imploded. Committees, extra practice, frantic study sessions had filled his afternoons and evenings. Plus he had taken on weekend shifts at Momoiro after accepting Chef Iva’s generous offer. And as a result, he had next to no time to spend with Zoro. The number of days they had left together weighed heavy on his shoulders.
He felt a hand on his and looked at Zoro, who was cocking his head, concern in his eyes.
“What’s going on, curly?”
Sanji said, “I wanted to go on a date somewhere today, but now we probably should go get you a new suit so there’s enough time for alterations—”
“Mihawk will take me suit shopping later,” Zoro said, “That’s the one thing he’s good at, and you can’t see me in my suit anyways before prom, it’s bad luck.”
“Ridiculous,” Sanji said, even though he was the one who felt ridiculous at that moment, the stress of the semester making him want to sob into Zoro’s pillow.
“What’s going on, curly?” Zoro asked again, voice even gentler.
“I just… I feel like I never get to see you,” Sanji said, knowing he sounded lame, “It’s been a few weeks since I’ve had a free weekend, and I didn’t have time to plan anything fun, and in the summer we’ll both be really busy, and in a year, we’ll be graduating and won’t be able to be together.”
“What?” Zoro asked, mouth falling open.
“What do you mean, ‘what?’” Sanji replied, wondering if Zoro’s concussions were coming back to haunt them and Zoro had forgotten that they were high school juniors and would go to schools a state apart when they graduated.
“I’m… well, I figured— I looked it up,” Zoro began, “And maybe not the first year of college because I’m required to live in freshmen dorms, but I was thinking we could live together after that, and it really isn’t that hard for me to visit in the evenings if we’re really lonely. I could see you whenever you wanted.”
“Tuscaloosa is three hours away,” Sanji said, “You cannot drive six hours in a night.”
Zoro blinked at him again.
“I’m not going to Tuscaloosa,” he said.
Now Sanji really thought he was being pranked. He pinched himself, wondering if he was in a fever dream.
“Is Alabama in another city close to Tuscaloosa and you’re just playing dumb with me?” he asked, eyes narrowing.
Zoro was looking completely flabbergasted as he stared at Sanji. “I’m… I’m going to Georgia. To Athens. Not to Alabama.”
The world came to a standstill.
“I t-told you,” Zoro said, “I told you I would go wherever you are. That I’d follow you anywhere. Obviously, I would go to Georgia now that you’re staying in Atlanta.”
“You promised you would go the place that would put you closest to your dream,” Sanji choked out, “You can’t go to Georgia, Zoro.”
Zoro blinked. “Curly, um, Georgia is the best football school in the nation. They just won the national championships. You were there when they did. They’re probably going to win the next few years too with their freshmen and incoming classes. I didn’t want to go to Georgia because they’ve always been Alabama’s bitter rivals, but I don’t care about that if I can be close to you. When I told Luffy a few weeks ago, he decided to go to Georgia too.”
Sanji continued staring at him.
“Did I not… did I not tell you?” Zoro frowned, “I could have sworn I did. I guess I haven’t seen you that much these past few weeks, and when we do see each other, we just end up having se—”
“Don’t finish that sentence,” Sanji hissed, “You did not tell me. How am I supposed to know what the best football school is? You’ve never stopped talking about Alabama. I thought I would only get to see you a few times a semester after driving through miles of nowhere, and all we would be able to do is FaceTime and—”
“Why are you upset, curly?” Zoro asked, confused.
“I’m… I’m not,” Sanji said, his sudden anger deflating now that the reality of what Zoro had just told him was sinking in.
“You’re going to Athens,” Sanji said.
“I’m going to Athens,” Zoro nodded, “And you’re staying in Atlanta. And we’ll be together. Or close enough.”
Sanji sank down onto Zoro’s bed, tension leaking from his shoulders.
“We’ll be together.”
“I’ve been looking at apartments,” Zoro said excitedly, “We should live in Atlanta when I can live off-campus so it’ll be easier for you to get to school and then to work. I looked it up, and at the Culinary Institute, you take some quarters to work in a restaurant, hands-on stuff, so I guess you could work in Athens too if you find a good placement, but you should just work where you want to work. I’m getting my license soon, and I’m gonna get a fast car so I can go wherever you are. Nyasha will stay with Mihawk for now, but when we move in together, she’ll come with us.”
“Don’t get a fast car,” Sanji said, “Get a truck, a tank, I don’t trust you to not get in accidents.”
“I’ve gotten better,” Zoro argued, “Zeff let me drive on the highway last week.”
“No wonder he looked so frazzled on Wednesday,” Sanji giggled. He flopped back on the bed and held open his arms, letting joy seep through him like settling into a warm bath.
“We can live somewhere close to Athens,” he murmured when Zoro slotted in against his side, “You have to go to practices, and hang out with classmates, and live a normal college life.”
“Agree to disagree for now,” Zoro said.
“We’ll bring Nyasha and maybe we can get another cat so she has someone to play with. And I’ll look for restaurants in Athens, I liked it a lot when we visited. How do you feel about patterned wallpaper?”
“I’ve never thought about patterned wallpaper,” Zoro answered.
Sanji curled his leg over Zoro’s hip, letting the weight of himself melt into his boyfriend. He no longer felt like going out, instead peppering Zoro with questions about whether he preferred to have green or blue dish sponges (blue), how many mugs were appropriate to have (two? No? Err, okay maybe three? Four?), how to wash milk cartons before recycling (you have to wash milk carto—? Ow).
“We should go visit Athens again soon,” Zoro said.
“I can go check out the training camp this summer with you,” Sanji said, excited.
“No,” Zoro answered. Sanji raised an eyebrow at him.
“There will be other… players there,” Zoro said, “And they’ll want to hang out with you too. Let’s just go the two of us.”
“I want to see other players,” Sanji said, counting them out on his fingers, “Law, Kid, Katakuri, who else?”
Zoro grabbed his hand, pushing his fingers down, and proceeded to nip at his shoulder and kiss at his neck until Sanji forgot what they were talking about.
---
“He never told you he was going to Georgia?” Nami asked, clutching her side as she laughed at Sanji’s expense, “Just expected you to know?”
“Did you know?” Sanji asked. He had spoken to Usopp and Luffy and most of the football team, who all seemed to have learned Zoro’s plans before Sanji did.
“I kind of guessed that he would. In case you haven’t noticed, he’s very madly in love with you.”
Sanji rooted through the cash box for change, handing it to the student in front of him along with prom tickets.
“Everything worked out,” Nami said, nudging him with her shoulder, “You get to do what you want and what you love, and Zoro will be close, doing what he loves.”
Sanji nodded, still not quite believing how everything fell into place.
Nami stood and pointed at a group of seniors nearby. “Have you bought prom tickets yet?” she demanded. “It’s at the Egghead Museum of Science. Coolest venue you can imagine. The theme is Color and Sound.” Sanji sat back and let Nami do the marketing for prom, serving as a cashier for the crowds she managed to bring over to their table.
Zoro soon joined them, slumping into the seat next to Sanji. It was reminiscent of their stint selling Homecoming tickets, a time when Sanji could barely look at Zoro without blushing. Nervous excitement had given way to a sense of comfort as Zoro’s knee rested against Sanji’s thigh.
“Yeesh, could you manspread anymore?” Nami asked, looking pointedly at Zoro’s legs. Zoro moved his legs closer together, but replaced the point of contact of his knee with his hand on Sanji’s leg.
“What should we do for Prom dinner?” Sanji asked when Nami sat down and began tallying their ticket sales.
“You’re not going with the soccer team?”
“Most of them aren’t going,” Sanji said, “Gin just rolled his eyes and said prom was for gross couples.”
“Is Luffy going?” Nami asked, glancing around the cafeteria for their classmate.
“Luffy goes to any party,” Zoro said, “And his brothers are going.”
“Let’s go to Laughtale for dinner,” Nami said, “Vivi can get us reservations, she knows people.”
“I’ll make sure Franky and Robin are coming, and maybe some other folks on the football team,” Sanji said.
“The whole gang,” Nami said, leaping up when she spotted another group of stragglers heading toward the lunch line.
“Did you get your new suit yet?” Sanji asked.
At this, Zoro’s face darkened. “Mihawk took me to his favorite tailor, and I had to stand like a trussed turkey for half an hour. But the suit will come tomorrow. It’s… ‘charcoal grey.’” The quotation marks he drew in the air were vicious.
Sanji smiled, “You’re going to outshine me.”
“I definitely won’t,” Zoro replied, looking at him out of the corner of his eye, “What color is your suit?”
“Burgundy,” Sanji said, “I’ll get boutonnieres for us, don’t worry about figuring out what color is burgundy and what flowers to get for it.”
“Fine, curly,” Zoro said, “But I know burgundy is purple.”
“It’s not purple,” Sanji hissed, but was elbowed in the ribs by Nami to collect a student’s payment and couldn’t respond to Zoro’s smirk.
---
When a limo pulled up to Sanji’s house the night of prom, and Mihawk stepped out of it in a full tuxedo, Sanji thought he was dreaming.
“Am I dreaming?” Zeff asked, crossing his arms as he stood next to Sanji on the front porch. Mihawk stepped to the back door and opened it with great aplomb, and Zoro gingerly stepped out, glaring at his father while doing so.
Sanji let out a tiny gasp. Zoro looked…
“Hmph,” Zeff said.
Awkwardly, Zoro waited at the bottom of the steps, running his hands through his hair, which had been wrangled into submission and swept off his forehead. He had on a black shirt under his grey suit, the second button of which was fastened, cinched slightly at the waist. He looked unbearably handsome.
“Where’s your tie?” Sanji asked hoarsely.
“Tradition,” Zoro said, holding it up for Sanji, a dusting of red on his own cheeks as he looked up at him.
“Wait,” Zeff grumbled. He stomped into the house and came out with a camera that looked to have been made in the 1960s.
“Do your thing, just ignore me,” he said gruffly, as he blew dust off the camera and tried to remove the lens cap.
Slowly, Sanji descended the steps and took the tie from Zoro. He threaded the tie around Zoro’s neck and began looping it in and out, determined this time to tie it on Zoro rather than having to tie it on himself first.
“Shit, I fucked that up,” he muttered, pulling it apart to try again. Zoro waited patiently, and Sanji could feel the intensity of his gaze.
“Stop staring at me,” Sanji said.
“Where else am I supposed to look?” Zoro asked. His voice was low and full of amusement, sending shivers down Sanji’s back.
“Close your eyes,” Sanji demanded, and checked to make sure Zoro had complied. He could smell the cologne Zoro had worn to Homecoming, could see the way Zoro’s lashes practically rested on his cheekbones, and swallowed hard.
“You look handsome, curly,” Zoro rumbled, eyes still closed.
“You do too.”
“You look more handsome.”
“Stop it,” Sanji said, finally succeeding in a passable knot. He left it loose, tucking the end into Zoro’s suit jacket and turned to see Zeff and Mihawk standing on the front porch.
“Shall we go pick up the rest of your merry band?” Mihawk asked.
“Can Zeff drive us instead?” Zoro muttered.
“Do you have a Chauffeur’s License?” Mihawk asked Zeff.
“Nope, and I can think of better things I want to do with my life. Thank you for driving, Mihawk,” Zeff grinned. He waved at Sanji, who scooted into the limo after Zoro.
“I’m surprised there’s not champagne,” Sanji said, looking around at the plush interior.
“There is some in the cabinet toward the back, should you wish to partake,” Mihawk’s voice came from an intercom. Sanji blushed, looking toward the driver’s seat, partitioned behind a tinted window.
Zoro pushed a button, then turned to Sanji, “He can’t see us and now he can’t hear us.” He leaned forward, pressing his mouth to Sanji’s, licking insistently at his lips.
“Calm down, mosshead,” Sanji laughed, pushing him away, “We’ll be at Usopp’s in three minutes.”
“Three minutes is a lot of time,” Zoro said, leaning forward again.
---
As Sanji sat, squished into a booth in Laughtale, surrounded by his friends and holding Zoro’s hand under the table, he thought about happiness. He thought about fulfillment and joy and their neat intersection with the life he had somehow stumbled upon for himself. He was going to prom with someone he loved without reserve. He had friends who laughed and bickered and supported him in a myriad of ways that made his chest ache. He was going to be a chef, was going to spend his life elbows deep in dough, making food for people to not just feed them but to enlighten them to what a good meal could do…
“Zoro said you liked my fried rice sandwich,” Luffy yelled across the table.
“It was good, I made a special version of it for Momoiro,” Sanji said, pulling out his phone and showing pictures to Luffy. His phone was soon being passed around the table, each of his friends forcing him to sink further into his seat in embarrassment at the amount of praise they directed at him.
“Sit up, chef,” Zoro said quietly, pulling him upright, “You better get used to this.”
“It’s just a picture,” Sanji said, when his phone was finally returned to him, “You have no idea how it tastes. Food can’t just look good.”
“If it’s yours, it tastes good,” Luffy said, smiling the smile that bent the world around his words. “You’ll come cook for us at Georgia, right?” he asked, “I already told Traffy and Kid and Killer that you would.”
“They’re all going to Georgia too?” Sanji asked.
“Well, Traffy still says no, but I’m working on him,” Luffy grinned.
“Was Alabama upset that they lost both you and Zoro to their rivals?” Usopp asked.
Luffy shrugged, “I told them Georgia was the best place for us, and they’d better figure out a way to get stronger because beating them without a fight would be sad.”
“Brutal, bro,” Franky said in awe, but Luffy was distracted by the arrival of their food, steaming plates set around the table for them to share, a Southern-style family meal. Nami stood and glared at them all before chaos could descend and began directing how the shared plates should be passed around. Luffy reached one impossibly long arm toward a stack of biscuits and another toward a plate of fried chicken. Chopper made a beeline for cobbler. Vivi called a waiter over to take their picture before all the food disappeared.
Sitting in the middle of it all, Sanji thought he wouldn’t have to eat anything; just seeing his friends with him made him feel full. Zoro ended up filling up his plate, grabbing food when he could from plates being passed indiscriminately around the table.
“Eat, curly,” Zoro said, batting a roaming spoon away from his collard greens.
Sanji tucked a napkin into his suit, mostly to prevent collateral damage from Luffy’s aggressive eating. He reached over to tuck Zoro’s napkin into his shirt as well, his charcoal suit jacket already safely folded behind him. Then he dug in, starting with a spoonful of creamed corn and deciding immediately that he would need to get the recipe by flattery or coercion.
---
For prom, their budget had allowed them to hire a professional set-up committee, so when they arrived at Egghead, it was already decked out in the Thousand Sunny colors, neon lights from the exhibits shining red and orange.
“There’s the bathroom, Sanji,” Nami teased, “In case you need to say anything important to Zoro still.”
Sanji winced and pulled Zoro toward the drinks instead of responding to Nami’s quip. The DJ they had hired was playing 90s soft rock, gradually increasing the volume as more and more students arrived. Sanji spotted Pedro and Shishilian arriving and raised his hand to wave at them.
“Ugh,” Zoro said, when the seniors made their way over.
“Sanji,” Pedro said quietly, “You look very dashing tonight. As do you, Zoro.”
Sanji flushed at the compliment. Before he could respond, Zoro bit out, “You look… nice” as if it he was admitting to a war crime.
“Our last big hurrah,” Shishilian said, “We need to go out with some flare.”
“We’ll miss you,” Sanji said, heart sinking when he thought about the seniors graduating in a few weeks. It would feel strange next semester to lose a group of students that Sanji hadn’t experienced high school without, and to greet a new crop of fresh faces.
“You will enjoy being at the head of the Thousand Sunny pride,” Pedro smiled, “More students for Zoro to intimidate as he stalks through the hallways.”
“He intimidates plenty of seniors,” Sanji laughed, “I’ll try to keep him from ruining a poor freshman’s high school experience.”
“Only you are up to the task,” Pedro replied, bowing low before they excused themselves to join Wanda and Carrot.
“Shall we dance?” Sanji asked, pointing to the dance floor, which was beginning to fill up.
Zoro sighed. “Didn’t you get your feet stepped on enough at Homecoming?”
“You hardly did any feet-stepping. I’ll let you take a break after a few songs, and we’ll go explore some of the exhibits and have some privacy.” Zoro let himself be pulled toward Franky and Robin, perking up at the word “privacy.”
---
True to his word, after a few minutes of Sanji holding Zoro’s hands and flinging him around on the dance floor, Sanji brought him to wander through the exhibits at Egghead, an eerie experience after the museum had closed. The interactive exhibits had been turned off, and Sanji had to squint to read any of the displays. In the distance, they heard a shout of “no touching.” Principal Garp was probably having a hard time enforcing his no public displays of affection rule here compared to the botanical gardens.
“He sounded pretty far away,” Zoro said.
“Or he could be just around the corner,” Sanji replied, but still, with careful hands, he pushed Zoro into a nearby nook and kissed him long and slow.
Cheers sounded from the nearby ballroom, and Sanji broke away from Zoro to listen.
“It sounds like they’re starting the prom court stuff,” Sanji said.
“Don’t care,” Zoro growled, holding Sanji in place.
“Nami will be wondering where we are.”
“Don’t care,” Zoro repeated, fingers blazing hot at Sanji’s waist even over the layers of his shirt and jacket. Sanji breathed in his scent, somehow smelling chrysanthemums in a fall garden even though they were indoors surrounded by metal and concrete.
“Hey Zoro,” Sanji said, resting his head against Zoro’s shoulder.
“Curly?”
“You ever feel so happy that dread starts to replace it. Dread that the happiness can’t last? Dread that you’ll never be happier?” He waited for Zoro to process his question.
“We’re 17,” Zoro replied softly.
“And wouldn’t it be so sad if everything went downhill from here?”
“Hey,” Zoro said, lifting Sanji’s face up with a careful hand on his chin, “Ask me again when we’re 22, and then again when we’re 27, and when we’re 100—” Sanji scoffed at this. “Each time we’ll be happier, curly, I promise. Each time I’ll drag you to some open space to dance and step on your toes and tell you you’re handsome and clever and talented and deserve happiness. We might not always be happy, curly, but we’ll be happier with each passing year. At least I will, because I would have spent another year with you.”
“Sap,” is all Sanji managed to say. He could hear his heartbeat thrumming loud in his temples, could feel Zoro’s in the warm heat of the crook of his neck.
“Let’s go dance,” Zoro said, kissing him one more time on the cheek before exiting their little nook set somewhere outside of time and returning to their classmates and their forever friends.
---
22 years old
On a cold April day, Sanji sat with Zoro in a large ballroom in Kansas City for the NFL Draft. As they waited for the ceremony to start, Zoro’s leg was twitching, his hands balled up in fists on his lap.
In less than an hour, Zoro would know where he would spend the next four years of his life. Sanji had obsessively checked the news on ESPN and other sports websites, trying to determine the projections. Every news article told him that Zoro would be a top ten pick in the first round. Most of that list was made up of UGA players, including Luffy, Kid, and Killer. The Steelers, after an abysmal season, had the second pick. Sanji knew, for once in his life, Zoro did not want to be chosen first.
“The Panthers have first overall pick. They need a good defensive end,” Zoro muttered nervously, “They’ll want Kid. They have to want Kid.”
“I’m sure they’ll take Kid,” Sanji said, trying to keep his voice as soothing as he could. His phone buzzed, and he checked it to see Chef Iva’s text sending an early congratulations to Zoro before service started at Momoiro.
“Chef Iva wants you to be drafted by the Falcons,” Sanji said.
“They just want you to stay in Atlanta.”
“Are you already presuming that I’ll follow you wherever you end up?” Sanji asked, adding as much faux indignation into his voice as he could.
Zoro leveled an unimpressed stare at him before returning to glare at the stage, worrying at his bottom lip. Sanji grabbed his hand tightly in his own, looking around at the room full of other very large men.
The past five years had passed in a blur. Two years of learning from Chef Iva and other instructors at the Culinary Institute, including a few semesters spent in restaurants in Athens living near the UGA campus with Zoro. When he had graduated, he started work at Momoiro, making the tiring commute from near Athens to Atlanta in the fall semester, then living in an apartment walking distance from the restaurant in the spring when Zoro would make the drive to Athens for practice and class a few times a week. They had managed well, fitting their lives together with only a bit of sanding down of rough spots at the edges.
The first time they fought, really fought, had been over whether Sanji would live with Zoro in Athens during football season. Zoro had spent weeks trying to convince Sanji that he couldn’t. That they should live in Atlanta, or even live apart. “You’ll have to wake up early and you’ll be tired after work. I’ll be fine, I’ll make do with not living with you.” In response, Sanji had slammed the door in Zoro’s face. When he had calmed down enough to let Zoro back into their bedroom, he buried himself under the covers and explained haltingly that he couldn’t make do living without Zoro, that hearing Zoro say that made his heart hurt, that he was allowed to sacrifice for Zoro and for their relationship too. Zoro had bundled him up in the blanket and cried after he told Sanji that the idea of living apart from him for even a few months made him want to throw up, that he just wanted to be strong for him.
We always have to be strong, so let’s not force ourselves to be strong with each other.
And then Zoro had graduated, three national championships under his belt. The loss in his junior year to Clemson would always rankle, Sanji knew, but he had a Heisman and was a first round pick, and he had to be chosen by the Steelers. Sanji had already looked up restaurants he wanted to apply to for sous chef positions in Pittsburgh.
“Hey curly,” Zoro asked quietly. There was an electric excitement in the air as the start of the draft drew closer. The lights above them were beginning to dim.
“Are you happier than you were five years ago?” Zoro asked.
Sanji blinked, recalling an old conversation in the darkness of a museum at night.
“I am,” he said simply, “Are you?”
Zoro nodded, taking Sanji’s hand in his and squeezing lightly.
Fifteen minutes later, the Pittsburgh Steelers chose Zoro Roronoa as their first pick in Round One of the NFL Draft, and Zoro lifted Sanji into the air as a roar filled the room.
---
27 years old
“Which color works better?” Sanji frowned, holding two color swatches up to the light.
“They look the same to me,” Zoro yawned. Sanji glared at him, his partner resting his head on the wood grain of the bar. That bar would have to go. What had the previous owners been thinking, putting a mid-height bar in the middle of an already cramped space? It messed up the flow of the restaurant.
Now it was Sanji’s restaurant.
His hands shook as he thought about signing the papers for the small space in North Shore last week. It had been a tidy amount of money for the down payment, but Sanji had saved up quite a bit from working his ass off for seven years after culinary school. And Zoro’s new contract had made up the rest of the difference. The amount of money Zoro made from slamming into other men once a week was truly astounding, though Sanji insisted that he drain his own bank account first before using any of Zoro’s.
“You’re paying for the paint color, so you should tell me your opinion,” Sanji said.
Zoro sighed, squinting between the two before selecting the sandalwood.
“Good choice,” Sanji said, “Now what about accent colors for the left wall?”
Zoro sighed again. He sat up, clearly realizing he wasn’t going to get out of interior design by pretending to nap. He leaned closer to Sanji to look at the options Sanji put on the bar.
“Hey Zoro?” Sanji asked, after they went through a few more decisions.
“Hm?”
“Are you happy, Zoro?” Sanji asked tentatively.
Zoro looked up at him, grey eyes bright and piercing.
“Let’s see,” Zoro said, “I’m playing my favorite sport professionally. I’ve been officially signed by the football team of my dreams. I’m making $8 million a year. My best friend from high school just got signed with the Steelers as a wide receiver. A few other friends are moving to Pittsburgh to teach or run political campaigns. I’m in a relationship with Sanji Black, who I have loved since I was 15 years old. Sanji Black finally, after an ongoing pressure campaign from his wonderful partner, decided to start his own restaurant a fifteen-minute walk from where I practice. What do you think, Mr. Objective Observer, do you think I’m happy?
“Are you happier than you were five years ago?” Sanji asked, a small smile playing on his lips.
“Come here,” Zoro replied, grabbing him into a bear hug and squeezing him tight by way of response.
It was incandescent, the feeling in Sanji’s chest when Zoro kissed him, in full view of anybody who might walk by the restaurant, who might note that the “For Sale” sign had been removed, who might see a notice announcing the opening of All Blue in the spring. How much love can I hold for someone, Sanji mused. It felt like the well was deeper than the universe.
The arms holding him tight were bigger than the ones that grasped him at a junior prom ten years ago. Sanji’s hair was longer, Zoro’s shorter. A necklace hung around Sanji’s neck that he kept protected under his chef’s whites and his aprons, a gold teardrop to mimic his partner’s signature earrings. They lived in a different city, their fathers hundreds of miles away. They didn’t have to worry about midterm exams or homecoming parades or detention (not that Sanji had ever experienced detention). There were still away games, Zoro on the road half the time during the NFL season while Sanji fretted about concussions on Sundays. They now had to worry about mortgages and taxes and insurance.
But they were still together. Still madly in love. Still spending each day waiting for the next moment they could see each other and then spending their moments together wishing they wouldn’t have to part. Sanji wanted sometimes to step into Zoro’s body, to wrap Zoro around him like snakeskin. When he confessed this to Zoro once, his partner had laughed and held him so tight Sanji thought he maybe just could—
“Let me cook for you tonight,” Sanji whispered, “I think the gas is still connected. It’ll help me figure out how I want to rearrange the kitchen.”
“You never get tired of cooking, do you?” Zoro asked, a constant refrain he brought up.
“I’ll get tired of you before I get tired of cooking,” Sanji teased.
The evening light hit in the kitchen just right, turning everything molten and golden. Zoro sat at the silly bar, resting his head on his arms as he watched Sanji prepare dinner.
“Talk to me,” Sanji said, “A quiet kitchen feels weird to me. Tell me a story.”
Zoro looked contemplative for a moment, then asked, “Have you ever heard of the captain of the soccer team who joined the high school American football team and made them state champions?”
“Never heard that story,” Sanji replied, a smile on his lips.
“It started at a high school in Georgia after a game where the star running back absolutely crushed the opposing team,” Zoro began.
Sanji settled into his rhythm in his kitchen and listened to Zoro’s tale.