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Sanji peered at the faded sign.  It read, “Shimotsuki Books, est. 1854” accompanied by a trio of books painted red, white, and purple.  The colors were muted.  The sign and the door underneath it could use a fresh coat of paint, but something about the unfussiness of it was comforting to Sanji.

He pushed the door open, and a tiny bell rang above the entranceway.  No one came to greet him, and he smiled appreciatively, immediately beginning his browsing.

After months of work finishing his latest book, Romance Dawn, Sanji had been forced by his editor to take a vacation.  “I don’t know where I want to go,” Sanji had whined, “I’m just gonna stay home for a few days and sleep.”  Pudding had pulled out a map from her shelf, closed her eyes, and pointed randomly at a spot.  Her finger landed on Shimotsuki, which Sanji later discovered was a small port town known for a particular kind of oyster that lived on its rocky shores.  “You’re going here for one week,” Pudding had said, leaving no room for argument, “Rent a room, do some sightseeing, don’t you dare touch your pen.”

But Pudding hadn’t said that he couldn’t touch any books. 

So, as soon as he had dropped off his luggage in a small, sparse room in the only inn in town, he wandered to the used bookstore in town.

He hadn’t expected much, but as he ambled through the aisles, he grew more and more impressed at the collection.  The organization left much to be desired, Eastern Blue Philosophy for some reason coexisting in the same shelves as Military History and Blacksmithing.  But it was far more robust than the usual selection he found at used bookstores, where he would comb for hours to find one book that wasn’t a self-published novel or outdated textbook.

“Ah,” he said softly to himself, reaching high when he spotted an Elizabeth Barrett Browning collection of poems.  He pulled it down, found it to be in pristine condition, and tucked it under his arm.  Eagerly, he continued onward, stopping every so often to grab another book that caught his eye.  He paused at the end of the aisle, looking down at his arm full of books.  There were still shelves and shelves left to peruse.  Tomorrow, he decided.  He would be back tomorrow.

He looked around for a sign pointing him to the cashier’s desk.  Finding none, he began meandering through the shelves.  The bookstore was huge, he realized with excitement.  He could truly spend days browsing the aisles.

Suddenly, Sanji heard a soft sneeze and followed the sound.

He turned a corner and saw a man sitting behind a desk.

The man did not look like someone he would have expected to see in a used bookstore, so often run by the elderly or the quirky.  This man was young, likely close to Sanji’s age.  He wore a white collared shirt, rolled up to his elbows, the top-most buttons open.  He had on a black vest, pocket watch chain hanging from the front pocket.  A pair of rimless glasses sat on the tip of his nose as he looked down at a ledger book.  He was built like a boulder, the veins and muscles on his forearms apparent as he turned the pages.

And his hair was a bright green.

Sanji, realizing he was being creepy, strode forward, pasting a bright smile on his face.  As he drew nearer, he saw a copy of his most recent book sitting next to the cash box, a bookmark stuck in it halfway through.  His smile morphed into a genuine one.

“Morning,” he said cheerfully.

The man looked up, face impassive, and nodded at him.  Sanji placed his stack of books on the counter, and the man began picking them up, recording their numbers in his ledger, and making a separate tally of the price.

“Find everything you were looking for?” he asked quietly.  His voice was deep, slightly raspy, as if not used to speaking.  Up close, Sanji saw he had very long eyelashes, which were strangely not green like his hair, and pretty, grey eyes.  It wouldn’t be that bad a vacation after all, Sanji decided.

“I only went through a few aisles today.  It’s an incredible collection,” he said, leaning forward.

“Thank you,” the man said, eyes flicking up for a moment before returning to his task.

“Where do you get your books?” Sanji asked.

“Mostly travelers,” the man replied, “We get some folks stopping here before Goa.  Want to lighten their load and make some money before going to the city.  Our local fishermen will grab me books from dumps in Syrup and Cocoyashi when they’re out selling their haul.”  His face turned dark at the idea of books being thrown away.

Sanji nodded.  He waited as the man continued his task silently.  At this point in the conversation, he would have expected the man to ask Sanji what he was doing in town.  The man unfortunately did not, finishing his task of recording the books and tallying up the price quickly.

“44.70 berri,” he said quietly.

Handing him 50 berries, Sanji shook his head when the man reached for the cash box.

“Keep the change, please,” Sanji said, gathering his books into his arms.  The man frowned at this, regarding Sanji carefully before reaching to the side and grabbing an object.  He placed it on top of Sanji’s stack.

“A bookmark,” he said gruffly, “I make them.  Shimotsuki Books’ specialty.”

Sanji chuckled, “A wonderful souvenir.”

The man followed him to the entrance, opening the door for him.

“Thank you for coming to Shimotsuki Books.  Please come back soon,” he intoned when Sanji exited into the balmy, sunny day.

“Oh I will,” Sanji laughed, “You’ll be seeing a lot of me…”

“Zoro,” the man said, realizing after a long moment what Sanji was waiting for.

“I’m Sanji.  A pleasure, Zoro.”  Sanji turned and walked away, feeling light on his feet thinking about both the treasures he had in his arms and the owner of Shimotsuki Books.

---

“New in town?” the barkeeper asked, smiling at Sanji.

“Alas, but a visitor for a week,” he replied sadly, “Though if I keep meeting more lovely locals, you might all convince me to stay.”

She laughed, “You’re a charmer, I see.  From the big city, I suppose.”

“Baratie,” he winked, “The city of scoundrels and hooligans.  I assure you I am neither.”

“Time will tell,” she said, holding out her hand, “Kuina.  Nice to meet you.”

“Sanji,” he said, shaking her hand.

She took his empty glass and began making him another drink.  “You’ve met other lovely locals then?” she asked.

“Ah yes,” Sanji smiled, “I went to Shimotsuki Books earlier today.”

Kuina laughed, “Zoro is considered a lovely local?  Baratie must really be full of scoundrels and hooligans.”

“He had a certain charm to him,” Sanji said.

“Well, we all agree with that, but usually I get tourists complaining about him.  He once refused to sell a book to a man because he didn’t like his attitude.  Said something about how the man wouldn’t treat the book right.  Zoro was absolutely correct, the man was a scumbag, but beggars really can’t be choosers.”

She handed him his whiskey sour, looking up at him nervously.  “Zoro did sell you books, right?  He wasn’t being an ass about it?  I’ll go yell at him if he did.”

“I have seven new precious books in my room that I’m looking forward to diving into tonight,” Sanji said, “I’m glad Zoro approved of me as a customer.”

“He’s a good guy,” Kuina said, “A bit grumpy at first, but don’t let that get to you, he’ll warm up.”

Sanji saw a fond look on her face.  Unable to stop himself, he began, “Are the two of you together…”

“God no,” Kuina laughed, “Don’t get distracted by the ridiculous color he died his hair, he’s my dumb little brother.”  Sanji sat back, feeling relieved, and began to see the resemblance in Kuina’s strong features, mellowed by the laugh lines around her eyes when she smiled.  He wondered if Zoro had laugh lines, or maybe frown lines.

“He actually should be wandering in here any second now,” she said, looking up at the clock on the wall, “Though he just got his hands on a book by one of his favorite authors, so he might still be holed up at the store, reading by candlelight.”

“His favorite author?” Sanji asked as casually as he could.

“The author with the pseudonym Prince,” she said, “All the rage these days.”

“I’ve heard of him,” Sanji smiled, “Your brother is a fan?”

“Rabid,” she said, “He collected all of Prince’s interviews on his writing philosophy, bound them into a book, and keeps it by his bedside.”

“Cute,” Sanji said, trying to keep the grin off his face.

Kuina looked up, grabbed a tall glass, and began filling it with an amber beer.  Sanji turned and saw Zoro striding toward them, a frown on his face.  He didn’t look at Sanji, zeroing in on the drink that Kuina placed on the counter.  Sitting down, he picked up the glass and drank it all in one go.  Sanji propped his head on his hand, watching amused as Zoro wiped his mouth and handed it back to Kuina for a refill.

“Why are you in such a terrible mood?” she asked.

“Some asshole asked to return a book,” Zoro muttered, “Said there was a stain on one of the pages, and he wanted a refund.  We are getting more and more of these shitty tourists these days.”

“Did you tell him to fuck off, nicely?” Kuina asked.

“I did tell him to fuck off.  Some might have interpreted it as nicely,” Zoro said, accepting the second glass and drinking it at a more moderate pace.

“Kuina, for the record, darling,” Sanji said, “I was not the customer who asked to return a used book to a used bookstore simply because it was not new.”

Zoro turned to look at him and choked on his drink when he saw Sanji.  Kuina giggled, handing him a napkin.

“I’m sorry for being a shitty tourist,” Sanji said, feigning sadness.

“You’re just a tourist,” Zoro offered, looking away.

“A step up in the world,” Sanji replied.

“Sanji is staying here for a week,” Kuina said, “He’ll practically be one of us by then.”

Zoro grunted.  “He’s going to take all of my best books,” he said, voice almost regretful at the idea that Sanji would buy his books.

“You know that’s the point of a bookstore, right?” Kuina asked, rolling her eyes, “Every time someone buys one of your books, you act like you’ve had to give away your firstborn.”

Sanji watched as Zoro’s expression turned sullen, the large, outwardly imposing man practically pouting.  It was adorable.  The day was just getting better and better.

“Kuina mentioned you’ve been reading a good book,” Sanji said lightly.  At this, Zoro straightened up, turning to Sanij with a boyish joyous look on this face.

“Romance Dawn.  Have you read it yet?”

“I have,” Sanji said, amused.

“I’m halfway through, so don’t tell me anything,” Zoro said, excited, “I have some theories on where it’s going to go, but Prince always does a twist you’re not expecting at the end.  Did you read The Drumbeats of a Winter Land?”  Zoro bulldozed forward when Sanji nodded.  “The reason Dr. Hiriluk died still shakes me up whenever I read it.  And the allegory of Shandia and the Four Dials, but with a Shandian victory at the end, the belief in a more hopeful future.”  Zoro finished his drink, eyes shining, and Sanji had to work hard not to lean forward and kiss him soundly on the lips.

“He’ll talk your head off if you let him,” Kuina warned.

“You’re a lot more talkative than I first thought,” Sanji teased.

“Only about books,” Kuina said, when Zoro fell into silence again.

“Dinner?” she asked him.

“I have some leftovers at home,” Zoro said, shaking his head.  He stood, handing his empty glass to Kuina.

“Heading out?” Sanji asked, not bothering to keep the disappointment out of his voice.

Zoro looked up at him and said gruffly, “Gotta finish my book.”  He pointed at Kuina, “You should order something.  You wouldn’t expect it, but she’s a good cook.”

“I plan to,” Sanji laughed when Kuina swatted at him halfheartedly with a dish towel.  Zoro nodded at them and slunk out of the bar.

“Has he warmed up to me yet?” Sanji asked, reaching to the empty seat next to his to grab a menu.

“Surprisingly yes,” Kuina said, “I’ve never seen Zoro talk so much to a stranger.”

“I am a naturally warm and likeable individual,” Sanji said, peering at the menu, “Shimotsuki is known for oysters, right?  Let me try your oyster sampler then.”  Kuina nodded, waving for another one of the bar’s workers to take over, and left to go prepare his order.

---

Sanji ambled to Shimotsuki Books the next morning but was greeted by a Closed sign.  He frowned, struggling to read the sign taped to the door.  “If selling, I’m at the pier.  If buying, come back later, you can wait. -Roronoa.”  Sanji laughed at the terse note, able somehow to imagine Zoro writing it.  Deciding he had nothing else to do, he wandered toward the piers, following the smell of salt and brine.

Shimotsuki had one long beach, more rocks than sand.  He had read that the unique ocean patterns around the cove made it a safe and particularly productive location for rock oysters.  The task of retrieving the oysters was dangerous, and only trained locals were allowed into the waters by the big rocks.

Sanji spotted green hair from a distance and walked toward it.  Zoro was squatting on the wooden pier next to two other Shimotsuki residents, dressed in a wetsuit that left nothing to the imagination.  He was smiling and laughing with the older man and woman with him.  When he got closer, Sanji saw that they were shucking oysters.

“Newcomer,” one of the men called, and Sanji saw Zoro stand up to look at him.  It was truly unfair, the way he looked, the way he was built, Sanji sighed.  Broad shoulders tapering to a thin waist, powerful thighs, built calves.  Zoro crossed his arms when Sanji approached, a scowl on his face.

Sanji bowed his head at the elders when he arrived.  The one next to Zoro beckoned for him to come closer, holding up an oyster.

“Eat,” she said cheerfully, “You’re too skinny, need to get fatter.”  Sanji obediently leaned forward, accepting the oyster from her and knocking it back, enjoying the fresh, salty flavor.

“Truly the best oysters I’ve ever had, ma’am,” he said, placing the shell in a nearby bucket.

“Only here at Shimotsuki, newcomer,” she said, handing him another oyster.

“Zoro pulled these up this morning,” a man said, “Fresh as you can get.  Zoro, be a good boy and introduce yourself.  You two look to be the same age, you can be friends.”

Sanji grinned wickedly, “I already know Zoro, sir, I came here looking for him.”

“If you’re buying, the sign said you could wait,” Zoro replied.  Sanji looked at him, letting his eyes rove over the exposed portion of Zoro’s chest, the man having unzipped his wetsuit halfway.  Zoro slowly turned red under his gaze, and Sanji nearly burst into laughter when Zoro zipped his wetsuit back up and headed back toward the water.

“Gonna get a few more for Kuina,” he muttered, then disappeared, swimming like a fish through the rough waters.

“Forgive him, he’s just shy,” the man sighed, “Come sit.  We don’t get folks like you here very often, tell us about yourself, Mr. Handsome Stranger.”

“I almost don’t want to tell you my name so you’ll keep calling me that,” Sanji laughed.

“We know you’re Sanji,” the woman said, “Word travels fast in this town.  What are you doing in this sleepy place?”

“Vacation,” Sanji said, “My job has been crazy the past few months.  Thought it would be nice to go somewhere quiet and beautiful.”  He looked out at the ocean, wild and empty, so very different from the pristine Baratie beaches filled with people.  He saw Zoro’s head pop up every now and then, then dive back down again for oysters.

“How long have Zoro and Kuina lived here?” he asked.

The man leaned back against a wooden post, “More than two decades ago, they showed up as babies on the doorstep of Shimotsuki Books.  They were raised in that store by Koushirou, who passed a few years ago.  Kuina’s done a fair bit of traveling, only moved back recently to run the tavern.  Zoro’s never left, never seemed like he’s wanted to leave the bookstore.”

Sanji watched Zoro’s figure swim back toward them, contemplating this history.

“He loves books,” he said quietly.

“He really does.  He adventures through them,” the man said.  He stood up shakily, letting Sanji support him to his feet.  Sanji did the same for the woman.

“Soon, all the old people in this town will have passed, and only Zoro and Kuina will remain,” he said sadly.

“You’ve got another hundred years in you,” Sanji said, giving his arm a squeeze before letting go.

Zoro plonked a bucket on the pier before clambering onto it, water dripping down his wetsuit.  He shook his head like a dog, taking off his goggles and tossing them in the bucket.

“Gonna bring these to Kuina, then I’ll get ready to open the store,” he said gruffly, walking past Sanji and allowing Sanji the opportunity to get a good look at his ass.

“I’ll be by in an hour then,” Sanji said cheerfully.

“Oden, Toki,” Zoro said, nodding at the elderly couple, before striding away.

“He’s just shy,” Oden repeated, as the three of them watched Zoro leave.

“I know,” Sanji chuckled.

---

The sign was flipped to “Open” when Sanji returned.  When he walked into the dusty store, he was greeted by Zoro restocking a nearby shelf.  He was dressed in a black shirt, brown vest, and brown slacks.  His hair was still slightly wet, now a darker evergreen color.  His glasses perched in his hair had a cute rim of fog from his hair drying.

“New books?” Sanji asked, walking close to Zoro and peering at the books in his arms.  Zoro took a half step away from Sanji and shrugged.  “Not new, necessarily, brought them from the backroom, just didn’t have room on the shelves.”

“Until I came,” Sanji grinned.

“Until you came,” Zoro sighed.  He placed a book of poems by Phillis Wheatley on the shelf, which Sanji immediately pulled off.  Zoro turned to glare at him.

“What?” Sanji giggled, “I’m going to buy it.”

“Why do you need so many books?” Zoro asked grumpily.

“That’s a silly question,” Sanji said, “How can anybody have enough books?”  He scooched past Zoro, letting a hand brush across Zoro’s back even though there was plenty of room in the aisle, and moved to sections of the bookstore he hadn’t yet visited.

He ran into Zoro every so often, the man checking his inventory scrupulously.

“We have to stop meeting like this,” Sanji teased, when he turned a corner and nearly ran over Zoro.

“Restocking,” Zoro said, waving his hands awkwardly in the air.

“Yes yes,” Sanji said, “Important business.”  Zoro looked down at the stack of books in Sanji’s arms.

“Do you want to leave those at the desk?” he asked, “I can take them there.”

“You sure you’re not just going to put them back?” Sanji replied, raising an eyebrow.

“I won’t,” Zoro said unconvincingly as Sanji handed him the books.  A thought as to how he could stay longer in the bookstore crossed his mind.  Sanji plucked the top-most book off before Zoro could leave.

“Do you have a comfy place I could sit to read this for a bit before I buy it?” Sanji asked.

“Not a library,” Zoro muttered.

Disappointed, Sanji nodded and put the book back.  Zoro stood for a moment, before moving all the books into one arm and handing the book to Sanji.  “There is a couch in the backroom,” he said, “You can read there, if you’re not sure you want that book.”

Grinning, Sanji snatched the book and beckoned, “After you, good sir.”

Grumbling to himself, Zoro made his way toward the desk in the least efficient way Sanji could imagine, turning in and out of aisles and sometimes doubling around the way he came.

“Do you not know your way around your own bookstore?” Sanji asked.

“Koushirou laid it out in a stupid way,” Zoro glared, “He said he wanted people to get lost here.”

“I think he meant that metaphorically, not literally,” Sanji said.  They finally found their way to the desk, and Zoro put the books down before walking toward a door behind the counter.  Sanji followed, feeling almost giddy at being able to enter a restricted place.

The backroom was larger than he expected, full of stacks and stacks of books.  Sanji peered at a large desk in one corner, covered in all sorts of equipment.

“What is this?” he asked.

“Bookbinding,” Zoro said, “Koushirou did custom jobs here.  A few of his old customers sometimes still come back, but I don’t use it much anymore.”

“That’s a pity,” Sanji said, marveling at the worn equipment on the table, “It’s a beautiful, but dying art.”

“Do you know how?” Zoro asked.

“I don’t,” Sanji said, “But I… I have an author friend who likes to have his manuscripts formally bound after he’s published a book.”

“Who?” Zoro asked eagerly, “I probably know them.”

“Secret,” Sanji winked, looking around and spotting a comfortable-looking couch along one wall.  He plopped down on it, crossing one leg over the other, and opened his new book.  Zoro continued standing in the middle of the room. 

“Do you want any tea or anything?” Zoro asked gruffly.

“As a matter of fact, I would love that,” Sanji said, putting the book to the side and beaming up at Zoro, pleased with the opportunity to spend more time with him.  The man nodded and moved to another table.

“Any particular kind?” Zoro asked.  Sanji stood and went to peer over Zoro’s shoulder at his collection.  “Tea and old books,” he murmured into Zoro’s ear, “You’re sure you’re not actually a hundred years old?”

“Do you want tea or not?” Zoro hissed, and Sanji pulled away.  “Jasmine green tea would be lovely.”  Zoro put the kettle on a nearby portable burner and began carefully measuring out the loose leaf tea into two mugs.  Sanji spotted a few cases of dried meats and hardtack nearby.

“Don’t tell me you live in this room,” Sanji sighed.

Zoro followed his gaze to his collection of Barely Food.  He shrugged, “I have a place on the other side of town tucked into the mountain.  Sometimes don’t feel like going home.  The store is closer to the ocean, and I go out swimming or fishing most mornings.”  He poured hot water into the mugs and frowned as he watched the tea leaves bloom.

“A peaceful life,” Sanji said wistfully, almost jealous of the world Zoro lived in.

“It’s fine,” Zoro said.  He placed a mug on the coffee table next to the couch and threw Sanji a sidelong look.

“What… what do you do?” he asked.

“Are you interested in little ol’ me?” Sanji laughed, sitting back on the couch and picking up the mug.

“Just felt like I should ask since you’re prying so much about me,” Zoro said, turning pink.

Sanji wondered what to say.  He didn’t want to ruin the relatively comfortable relationship he currently maintained with Zoro by revealing that he was Prince.

“Aspiring writer,” he said finally.

Zoro’s eyes lit up at this.  “That’s amazing,” he said, sitting down on the couch next to Sanji, “What genre do you write?”

“Adventure books,” Sanji said, trying to hide his smile by taking a sip of the tea.

“Are you working on anything right now?” Zoro asked eagerly.

“Mm, yes, I have a few projects.  A story about undercover government agents infiltrating a powerful labor union.  A thriller set on a huge ghost ship.”

“Have you published anything yet?” Zoro said, “I’ll read it.”

“No, not yet,” Sanji laughed, “Hopefully one day.  I don’t know what to focus on these days.  In a bit of a writer’s block.”

“Tell me more about the labor union story.  Maybe I can help,” Zoro said, leaning forward.  The excitement on his face was infectious.  Sanji took another sip of the tea and considered what to do.  He never spoke about his projects with anybody, not even Pudding, delivering her the final draft and disappearing to sleep for a few days while she gave him mostly line edits.  He hated the idea of others influencing his writing, placing their own impressions and beliefs onto his characters.  But Zoro didn’t know who he was and was sitting there with the hopefulness of a child ready for a bedtime story.

So Sanji put the tea down and began describing the world of Water 7, the political intrigue surrounding its mayor and the government agents seeking to cut down his power.  Zoro listened, enraptured, making no comments except for the slight exhales and intakes of breath when Sanji described twists and turns in the plot.

By the time Sanji finished, his tea was cold.  He drank it anyways, throat parched from all the talking he had just done.  Zoro didn’t say anything, leaning his head against the back of the couch, a faraway look in his eye.

“Boring?” Sanji asked.

“No,” Zoro said immediately, raising his head up, “Just makes me think a lot.”

“I can’t quite figure out how to transition from the burning of the government flag to the infiltration of Enies Lobby,” he sighed.

Zoro thought for a moment, then opened his mouth, and Sanji tensed, waiting for Zoro to give him a half-formed suggestion like the other students in his university writing classes that Sanji would have to consider and give a response to.

“You’ll figure it out,” Zoro said simply, “The plot you have is already so incredible, I bet something will come to you soon.”

“You have a lot of faith in a stranger,” Sanji said.

“You love it, don’t you?  Writing?” Zoro asked, “That much is obvious to me.  Koushirou, my dad, always said if you love what you do, it will provide for you and love you back.”

“A smart man,” Sanji replied. 

Zoro gifted Sanji with his first genuine smile.  Laugh lines appeared around his eyes, turning his stoic face into one that was far younger, almost innocent.  Sanji held his breath, suddenly feeling overwhelmed, a tide breaking over his head; the instant physical attraction he had felt for Zoro was morphing into something far more dangerous.

“I should go,” Sanji choked out.

The smile disappeared, and Sanji felt able to breathe again.  Zoro nodded, taking the cup from Sanji’s hand.

“If you read that book later and you don’t like it, you can return it,” Zoro said, pointing at the forgotten book sitting between them.

“I thought you didn’t let customers return books,” Sanji said.

“I don’t let shitty tourists return books,” Zoro replied, leaving the backroom to tally up Sanji’s purchases.

---

When Sanji returned to his room, he added his new stack of books to the one already sitting on his bedside table.  He collapsed backwards onto the bed, mind turning immediately to Zoro.

He couldn’t quite tell where Zoro’s romantic inclinations lay; perhaps the book-obsessed man didn’t have any.  But the way he reacted to Sanji’s teasing gave him some hope that the bookstore owner might play for the same team.  Though, to what end?  Soon, Sanji would return to Baratie.  A day ago, Sanji might have been interested in a quick fling, a short romance ending in a mutually-agreed upon farewell forever.  Now, Sanji wasn’t so sure that was what he wanted.  At the very least, he wanted to get to know Zoro better.  He needed more time.

Leaping to his feet, he made his way to the front desk of the inn.

“Madam, does this fine establishment have a public phone that I may use?” he asked.

She nodded, pointing to a shadowy corner of the lobby.  Sanji walked over, rummaging in his pocket and pulling out a few coins.  He inputted Pudding’s number, hoping that his hard-working editor was in the office.

“Whole Cake Publishing,” she said, answering the phone in her clipped business voice.

“Pudding, darling,” Sanji said, “It’s your favorite author.”

“Sanji,” she said cheerfully, “How is your peaceful vacation?”

“My forced vacation.”

“How is your forced peaceful vacation?”

“I need more money,” he said, “Can you send me some?”

He heard a long sigh.  “Have you gotten in trouble with the law?” she asked tiredly.

“No, what, no, I just found some interesting things to do,” he replied.

“In Shimotsuki?” she asked, voice skeptical.

“There’s a great bookstore, and I was thinking of extending my stay here.  The peace is good for my writing mojo.”

The line was silent, and Sanji knew Pudding was consulting his calendar.

“You have the WENP interview on the 6^th,” she said, “I can try to move it, but it was hard to schedule in the first place.”

“Can I do it by phone?” Sanji asked, “I don’t let them take photos or anything anyways.”

“I’ll ask, Sanji,” she said, “And I’ll send you some more money.  You better not be spending it on drinking and partying.”

“In Shimotsuki?” he asked, parroting her earlier question.

“Why do I have the feeling that this interest in Shimotsuki is romantically-driven?” she sighed.

“There are only lovely old people here, don’t you worry, Pudding darling, you and my craft are always my number one priorities.  Oh, and I’m working on the Water 7 draft by the way, and you can’t stop me.”  He hung up before she could lecture him about taking a true vacation.

Funds secured and feeling elated about his snap decision, Sanji returned to his room.  He opened one of the books he had just bought, but was too distracted by Zoro to really read.  Shutting it forcefully, he grabbed his coat and wandered out into the Shimotsuki evening.  The bookstore was closed, and when Sanji peeked into the window of Kuina’s tavern, he didn’t see the growth of green at the bar.  He was probably home, Sanji thought, disappointed.  His stomach growled, and he realized he had skipped lunch.

Pushing the tavern door open, he smiled widely when Kuina looked up.

“Sanji,” she grinned, “Welcome back.  What can I get for you?”

“Shochu,” he said, “And soup, if you’ve got any, it’s cold tonight.”

Kuina nodded, preparing his drink.  One of her workers wordlessly went to the back and returned with a steaming bowl of soup and crusty bread, which Sanji ate quickly.

“What did you get up to today?” she asked.

“Visited the pier,” Sanji said, “Went back to the bookstore.”

“Taking more books from my brother?”

“I’m going to clean him out by the time I leave,” he laughed, “He was busy restocking all morning.”

She looked up, “He was restocking during the day?”

Sanji nodded.

“He… usually does that when the store is closed, since he doesn’t like running into customers,” she said.  She looked at him carefully, then passed him his drink.  “Maybe he wanted to run into you though,” she said lightly.

“Maybe,” Sanji replied, trying to hide his smile, “Keeping his eye on me, make sure I don’t actually pocket any books.”

“Stealing from a used bookstore would be an all-time low, Sanji,” Kuina giggled.

“I feel like Zoro can sense on a cosmic level when a book is being mistreated, so I’d definitely get caught,” Sanji said.  He leaned back in his chair, “But enough about the green giant, tell me about yourself, Kuina.  I want to know more about the stunning barkeeper in this sleepy town.”

“I’m very boring,” she laughed, putting a tiny dish in front of Sanji.  “Honeyed sweet potatoes,” she said, “Goes well with your oyu-wari.”

“I’m very curious and very persistent,” Sanji said, “You can’t keep distracting me with goodies.”

“What would you like to know, Sanji?” she asked.

“Heard a little about you and Zoro from Oden and Toki this morning.  About Koushirou,” he said.

“You really are on a mission to get to know everybody in this town,” she said, preparing another small plate of nuts and placing them before Sanji.  She looked at him thoughtfully.  “Zoro and I showed up on Koushirou’s doorstep.  He raised us like his own children.  When I was 18, I took off to explore and Zoro stayed behind.  When I realized the world was far darker than I had imagined, I came back.”  She shrugged, “Pretty simple story.”

“Met many scoundrels and hooligans?” Sanji asked lightly.

“Not so much that as I met a lot of people who simply didn’t care,” she said, “Here, we have our squabbles and our vices, but we take care of our own.”  She chuckled, “Zoro told me I would hate the world outside Shimotsuki.  He was right, but I’ll never tell him that.  Nice to travel every now and then.  But here, we are made of Shimotsuki salt and sand.  Can’t leave for too long without longing for this patch of the ocean.”

“Has Zoro ever traveled out of Shimotsuki?” Sanji asked curiously.

“He’ll go to cities every now and then, but mostly to look for books,” she said, “He always comes back disgruntled about the city folk with their silver tongues.”

“Like me,” Sanji said quietly.

“I have a suspicion you have more Shimotsuki salt and sand in you than most city folk,” she laughed, “Otherwise, Zoro would have banned you from his bookstore already.”

“He let me stay in the backroom today,” Sanji said, a statement which felt strangely like bragging.

“He doesn’t even let me back there most days,” Kuina said, giving Sanji another look.

Sanji sipped carefully at his drink, wondering what to do.  Would Kuina approve of him pursuing her brother?  She seemed protective of him, and it was clear that she had a distaste for the scheming and gamesmanship Sanji was all too familiar with, growing up in Baratie.

After a long moment of silence, Kuina reached under the counter and pulled out a small box.  From the box, she carefully retrieved a few red objects, placing them in a beautiful blue and white ceramic dish.

“Umeboshi, pickled plum,” she said, “These are Zoro’s favorite.  He’s not much of a sweets person.”  She placed the dish in front of Sanji, and the act felt like a message to him.  Good or bad, he couldn’t quite tell.  She continued, “He’s mostly surly, but extremely kind through to his core.  He doesn’t like much, but the things he does like, he puts all his heart into.  On nights like this, he’s usually huddled in the bookstore or at home reading.  On clear evenings, you can find him at the cove, fishing or cleaning up the beaches of any trash that has floated onto our sands.”

Grateful for the information, Sanji tried one of the plums, wincing at first at the sour taste that mellowed as he chewed.

“I plan to stay a little longer in Shimotsuki,” he said, taking a sip of his drink, which paired well with the umeboshi.

“Stay as long as you can,” she said, “It’s healing here.”

Sanji thought about the dusty bookstore a few doors away and its shy owner.  “Yeah,” he grinned, “It is.”

---

“It’s you.”

“It’s me,” Sanji grinned, sauntering toward the desk of Shimotsuki Books.

“I’ve been told that the best place to find good quality writing products is in this cute little store,” Sanji said.

Zoro grunted, pointing toward a nearby rack, lined with notebooks of all sizes.

“Do you have looseleaf paper?  Or easy to tear out sheets?” Sanji asked, “When I write, it can be a bit chaotic.  Not exactly linear.”

Hopping down from his chair, Zoro retreated to the backroom.  He returned with a stack of paper.

“How much?” Sanji asked.

“Just take it.  It’s just paper,” Zoro said.  Sanji ignored him and tucked a stack of money into the tip jar.  Zoro opened his mouth to protest, but Sanji scooted past him, heading to the backroom.

“Where are you—”

“There’s no cute coffeeshop in town, and Kuina’s doesn’t open till later.  Let me use the room,” Sanji said.

“Don’t you have your own room?” Zoro spluttered.

“I never work in my own room,” Sanji said, “I like to be out and about.”  He marched to the desk and cleared himself a spot.

“You can’t just—” Zoro said, still wringing his hands by the doorway.

“Are you going to kick me out?” Sanji asked, raising an eyebrow.

Zoro threw his hands in the air and disappeared back into the shop.  Pleased with his victory, Sanji sat down at the desk.  It would have been better if he had his notes for the Water 7 manuscript with him, but talking with Zoro yesterday had given him some ideas he wanted to explore.

He took a deep breath, the smell of dust and leather calming, and began writing.

As Aqua Laguna approached, the residents of the lower city collected their valuables and marched single file to higher ground, hoping that this year’s storm would be mild and praying that their mayor’s plans for change would come to fruition…

---

A steaming cup of tea appeared next to Sanji.

He looked up blearily, finding a bemused Zoro looking down at him.

“You’ve been writing for hours,” Zoro said quietly, “You should eat something.”

Sanji stretched, wincing at the crick in his neck and the dull ache behind his eyes.

“Did you get a lot done?” Zoro asked.  He glanced at Sanji’s draft, then looked away quickly, like a child knowing he shouldn’t snoop but was unable to resist.

“A good chunk,” Sanji said, tilting his head back and staring up at the ceiling, “Should take a break though.  This is around the time Pudding would come banging on my door to make sure I’m eating.”

“Pudding?” Zoro frowned.

Sanji stopped himself from saying “agent.”  An aspiring writer with no published works wouldn’t have an agent at this point.  “My good friend,” he said instead.

“Oh,” Zoro said, “Their name is… Pudding?”

“A family thing, being named after desserts,” Sanji laughed, “She has embraced it at this point.”

“You must be close, if she makes sure you’re eating.”

“You’re making sure I’m eating,” Sanji said, taking a sip of the tea, “Does that mean we’re close?”

“It’s just tea,” Zoro grunted, “And if you died here, I would get in trouble.”

“How noble,” Sanji said.  He stood up and gathered his papers into a neat pile.  Picking up the cup, he beckoned toward to the door.  “Gonna get some fresh air.  Walk with me?”

“I have a job,” Zoro replied.

“How many customers have you had today so far?” Sanji asked.

Zoro didn’t respond.

“Honestly, how this store stays afloat is beyond me,” Sanji said.  He grabbed a piece of paper and wrote, “Out to lunch with a dear friend.  Be back soon.”  He marched out of the store, Zoro following begrudgingly, and tacked it onto the door.  He flipped the sign to “Closed.”

“To the ocean,” Sanji said happily, clutching the mug in his hands to warm them as the wind billowed around him.

They walked in silence toward the rushing sound of the sea.  Sanji hummed to himself, breathing in the fresh air of Shimotsuki.

“I’ve decided to stay longer,” he said when they reached the water.

Zoro grunted.

“I’m thinking of it as a writer’s retreat,” Sanji continued, “A way to bust myself out of writer’s block.”

“A lot of writers live in remote places,” Zoro responded, “I’ve read about it in the newspaper.”

“Do they now?” Sanji smiled, “I’ll have to think about that.”

“You seem like someone who wouldn’t like too much quiet though,” Zoro said, kneeling down and picking up a rock, wiping off the sand and grit.

Sanji laughed, “That’s an insult in your books, isn’t it?”  He knelt down next to Zoro.  “I enjoy the occasional party, but I also love this.”  He beckoned out at the ocean.  “A beautiful, peaceful day spent alone.  Or with a friend.”

He grabbed a handful of sand, feeling the jagged bits of it dig into his palm.  He loosened his grip and let the contents of his hand trickle out through his fingers.

“Shimotsuki salt and sand,” Sanji said quietly.

“Where did you hear that?” Zoro asked.

“Kuina.”

Zoro said nothing, touching the ground with both palms, leaning his weight into his hands.

“Kuina says I have some Shimotsuki salt and sand in me,” Sanji said.

Zoro scoffed, throwing Sanji a baleful look.  “You are city folk, through and through.  To have Shimotsuki salt and sand in you means being able to swim in the coldest and saltiest part of the sea.  You can’t even walk around without—”

His eyes widened when Sanji stood, kicking off his shoes and tossing his jacket to the side, before running headlong into the water.

Sanji gasped when a wave of frigid water broke across his midriff, but continued forward, determined.  He couldn’t feel his toes, which was likely for the better, since the seabed was rough and coarse. 

A huge wave approached.  Laughing, Sanji took a deep breath and dove, a stream of bubbles leaving his mouth involuntarily when his head was fully submerged.  The cold shock gave him a sudden headache.  His head broke the surface, just as another wave broke above him, sending him back underwater.  For a brief moment, he felt a panic gripping his body.  He had underestimated the waves, could feel them trying to tug him down.

Then, he felt a strong arm around his stomach and was pulled to the surface.

“You’re insane,” Zoro yelled at him, dragging Sanji bodily back to shore.

“I’m not,” Sanji giggled breathlessly, “I’m just enjoying a lovely swim.”

“Don’t mess around with Shimotsuki waters,” Zoro said, lifting Sanji up and carrying him back to the beach before dumping him unceremoniously on the sand.  Sanji, still breathless, peered up at him through eyes stinging from the salt water.

“Seriously, the currents are unpredictable, you could get pulled to deep waters and die,” Zoro glared.

“Ah, but now I am imbued with the spirit of Shimotsuki salt and sand,” Sanji said, sitting up and trying to get bits of sand out of his hair.

“You really are crazy,” Zoro said, almost a hint of marvel in his voice.

Sanji would have responded, but he suddenly realized he was very cold, his teeth chattering too much to get a good response back.

“Back to the inn,” Zoro said immediately, searching around for Sanji’s jacket and draping it over his shoulders.  He helped Sanji up to his feet and led him back toward town.

“That was pretty stupid of me,” Sanji said quietly when the sounds of the ocean faded away.

At this, Zoro started laughing.  “I was imagining the headlines of the newspaper the next morning,” he said, “Idiot Tourist Dies in Shimotsuki Because of Dare.”

“So you were daring me,” Sanji said.

“No,” Zoro said, flashing him a grin that made Sanji forget how icy his fingers were for a moment.  “I was merely stating the truth.  You can’t withstand the cold.”

“Not everybody is a brute like you,” Sanji muttered, “You’re telling me that Oden and Toki jump into that water every now and then for a swim?”

“They did when they were your age,” Zoro said smoothly.

“Oh fuck you,” Sanji said, “I’m going swimming every morning to prove to you I’m a big boy too.”

“We’ll never find your body.”

“I’ll leave a note with my clothes on the shore that you were the one who drove me to my death.”

“I’ll burn it.”

They arrived, still bickering, at the inn.  Zoro helped Sanji up to his room, and Sanji collapsed in front of the fire.  As he slowly warmed up, he turned to look at Zoro still standing awkwardly by the door.  Zoro had gone after him into the water with all his clothes on, which were now draped on his body in extremely flattering ways.

“Stop it,” Zoro said.

“Stop what?”

“Staring at me.”

“Oh you can tell?” Sanji grinned cheekily.

“That you’re looking at me?  Yes, obviously.”

“Are you going to tell me now that it’s not very Shimotsuki of me to admire a nice body?” Sanji asked.

Zoro turned a deep red at this.  “You should take a bath,” he said, stepping backwards, “The fire won’t be enough.  Goodbye.”  With that, he turned and left the room.  Sanji heard his stomps going down the steps and moved to his window to see Zoro hurrying down the street.

“Could have taken a bath with me,” Sanji sighed, before moving to get the water running.

---

Over the course of the next few days, Sanji spent his mornings writing in Shimotsuki Books, and his afternoons swimming in a more serene cove of the beach that Zoro reluctantly showed him.

“I’ll be able to dive for oysters soon, right?” Sanji asked, as he and Zoro wandered back to town.  Sanji had purchased a wetsuit, realizing that he would ruin all his nice shirts if he kept jumping into the water fully clothed.

“Never in a million years,” Zoro responded.

“Stingy,” Sanji sighed, “You just want all the oysters to yourself.”

Zoro smiled at this, and Sanji gave himself a secret pat on the back.  Slowly, ever so slowly, Zoro was beginning to let his guard down around Sanji.  Through incessant needling and teasing, Sanji was getting to see Zoro’s smile more often and hear Zoro’s banter rather than grunts.

“I’m coming back to the store after I bathe,” Sanji said, “I want to get just a little further before dinner.”

Zoro nodded, no longer putting up a fuss at Sanji turning his backroom into an office.  He bid Zoro farewell at the inn entrance and walked into the lobby.

“Sanji, someone left you a message.”

He nodded gratefully at Hiyori, accepting the note written in her neat handwriting.

“WENP said okay to do interview by phone.  Find a private place, call 44 50 7331 0302 at 1 PM sharp on the 6^th.”

Sanji grinned, glad he no longer had to return to Baratie for a stupid interview.

“You can use the office phone if you would like, Sanji,” Hiyori said quietly, “I can make sure you’re not disturbed.”

“Thank you, darling, I’d appreciate that,” Sanji said, “I’d also appreciate it if you could keep this message a secret.”

“I would never disclose information about my guests’ correspondence,” she replied.

“Your hospitality is unrivaled,” Sanji said, holding tight to the note and going upstairs to bathe.

---

When he returned to the bookstore, Zoro was tidying the backroom, moving the bookbinding equipment to the ground next to the couch.

“Figured you might need more room,” he grunted.

“Thank you, mosshead, that’s very kind,” Sanji said, sitting down at the table.  Zoro sighed, but no longer glared at the nickname, earned when Sanji very cleverly compared his hair to lichen growing on a rock.

“I… usually take a short nap around this time,” Zoro said, “If it will bother you—”

“No, please,” Sanji said, beckoning toward the couch, “How horrible would it be for me to kick you out of your own room and routine.”

“I wake up when the bell rings,” Zoro said, “So don’t worry about that.”  He plopped onto the couch, turning to face away from Sanji.

Sanji watched him, amused.  Zoro had to curl up to fit on the couch, and it was extremely endearing to see the hulking man wound into a ball.  He stood and grabbed a nearby blanket, draping it over Zoro who opened one eye to look at him.

“Nighty night,” Sanji said, patting him on the head before returning to work.  He turned and peeked at Zoro every so often, watching the slow rise and fall of his shoulders.  The soft, rhythmic inhales and exhales were soothing to Sanji.

I could get used to this, Sanji thought absentmindedly.  He had gotten an incredible amount of work done the past few days.  Something about the bookstore made him feel unstoppable as he wrote.  Or maybe it was Zoro. 

He tried to imagine Pudding’s face if he told her he was relocating to Shimotsuki.  “You’re going to waste away into nothing because you can’t take care of yourself, and I’m not going to be able to keep my eyes on you and you’ll never write again,” she would yell.  She did have a point.  The last time Sanji had gotten it in his head to live somewhere other than Baratie, he had spent all his money at the casinos and nearly died of pneumonia.

But here there’s Zoro, he thought.  He’ll take care of me.

But does he want to?

Sanji snuck another look at Zoro.  Though Sanji felt vaguely certain that Zoro considered him a friend, nothing about the way he behaved made it seem like he desired anything more than that.  Sanji had been vague about how long he planned to stay, and Zoro had never pried.  If Sanji left the next morning, he wasn’t sure Zoro would care.

He sighed heavily, turning back to his papers.  He was being uncharacteristically hesitant around the reclusive bookstore owner.  But this wasn’t a quick fling or a one-night stand.  If he did anything like that to Zoro, Sanji was fairly certain Kuina would track him down anywhere in the world and murder him in his sleep.  So he was left to flirting as lightly as he could and wondering if Zoro could only see him as a pest rather than a potential partner.

The bell rang, and Sanji turned to see Zoro sitting up, rubbing his eyes.

“Your hair looks insane right now,” Sanji said, as Zoro fumbled around looking for his glasses.  Zoro ran his hand through his green hair a few times and then stumbled back out into the shop.

When Sanji heard Kuina’s voice, he perked up and poked his head out of the backroom.

“Sanji,” she smiled, “I was going to come find you next.  How nice that the two of you come as a set.  Oden and Toki invited us to dinner tonight.  You too, Sanji.”

“Me too?” Sanji asked, feeling pleased that he was being welcomed by Shimotsuki.

“The fishermen brought in an elephant tuna, and they wanted to share it.  The whole town will be going.”

“How sweet,” Sanji said, “We’ll be there.  What can I bring?”

“I didn’t say I was going,” Zoro said, crossing his arms.

“Maybe something to drink,” Kuina said, ignoring Zoro, “I’m bringing some dessert.  Zoro, chip in for drinks with Sanji.”

“I hate these dinner party things,” Zoro glared, “Just tell Toki to save me some tuna, and I’ll pick it up tomorrow morning.”

Kuina sighed.  “I was going to wait until your birthday, but I have an autographed copy of Prince’s Zunesha and the Mink King.  If you don’t come to the party, I’m giving it to someone else.”

Sanji pretended to cough to hide the burst of laughter that threatened to escape him, ducking into the backroom to compose himself.

“You wouldn’t give it to someone else,” Zoro glared.

“Try me,” Kuina replied, “This is important, Zoro.  The town doesn’t do parties like this very often.  We have to go.”

“Fine,” Zoro said, “But I’m not going to stay all night.”

“I’ll stay all night,” Sanji said cheerfully.

“I knew I could count on you, Sanji,” Kuina said, “It’s at 6 PM.”  She glared at Zoro, “Don’t be late.”

“I’ll make sure he’s not,” Sanji said, waving as Kuina left the shop.

“Zunesha and the Mink King is a good one,” Sanji said to a sullen Zoro.  His face immediately brightened.  “It’s one of my favorites,” Zoro said, “I tear up every time at the minks’ sacrifice.  Though Prince rarely signs books.  I almost feel like Kuina is tricking me.”

Sanji didn’t recall signing a copy of Zunesha and the Mink King, but if it would help Kuina control Zoro, he’d deliver a copy to her under her door in a heartbeat.

“Let’s go find some alcohol,” Sanji said, grabbing his coat.

“It’s 2:30,” Zoro grunted.

“We can’t just bring any old alcohol,” Sanji said.  He felt in his pocket for the stack of money that had just arrived from Pudding.  She said he shouldn’t spend it all at once on drinking and partying, but surely this was an exception.

“We’re going on an adventure,” Sanji said, checking his watch, “The train should be here soon.”

“The train?” Zoro squeaked, “There’s a liquor store—”

“On my way here so many moons ago, I saw a sign for apple brandy in the next town,” Sanji said, grabbing Zoro’s wrist and dragging him out of the bookstore.  “Doesn’t that sound tasty with some flaky white fish?”

Zoro, still protesting, but not resisting, followed Sanji to the train station and stood next to him making quiet grumbling noises as Sanji bought two roundtrip tickets to the next town.  They heard the train horn sound, and Sanji ran with Zoro, barely managing to catch the train.

As they slowly chugged away, Sanji saw Zoro looking back at Shimotsuki almost helplessly.

“It’ll still be there when we get back,” Sanji said, “When was the last time you left?”

“Few months ago,” Zoro said, “And I was only gone a few hours.”

“We’ll only be gone a few hours this time too,” Sanji said, patting his back reassuringly, “It’ll be fun.  Maybe there’s a bookstore in the next town.”

“How did you drag me here?” Zoro sighed.

“I’m not sure, to be honest, you could have stopped me if you wanted,” Sanji laughed.  He sat down next to Zoro, watching the countryside pass by.

“I don’t like leaving home,” Zoro said quietly, “I don’t know where to go or what to do.”

“That’s okay,” Sanji said, “You’re with me.  I’ll take us around.  You’re teaching me about the ocean, I’ll teach you about the cities.”

Zoro didn’t respond, putting his hands in his pockets and slumping down into the chair.

Sanji left him alone to stew, closing his eyes for a short nap.

---

He was woken by a hand on his shoulder shaking him.

“We’re here,” Zoro said.  Sanji nodded, striding off the platform, Zoro close behind.  He looked around for a map and spotted an information desk.

“Good afternoon, sir,” Sanji said to the attendant.  He smiled brightly at the man, “I saw a sign for apple brandy, and I was fighting to get off the train so I could get my hands on a few bottles.  Might you show me the way?”

The man nodded, pulling out a map and pointing out a few shops.

“Thank you,” Sanji said, walking away in the direction of the nearest store.

“Is there a bookstore?” Zoro asked.  He looked over Sanji’s shoulder at the map, his breath ghosting past Sanji’s cheek.  Sanji reached back to pat him on the head.  “Yup, there is one, it’s between our first and second stop.”

“We’re making a bunch of stops?” Zoro asked, crestfallen.

“I’m getting a few bottles from each one of these stores so we can compare which one we like the best,” Sanji said.  Zoro let out a distressed whine, which only made Sanji grin wider.

“Be a big boy,” Sanji said, pointing at the first store up ahead, “You can do it, mosshead.”

---

“What do you think?” Sanji asked when Zoro sampled the brandy at their last stop, “It’s more sour than the last place.  Good balance with a fatty fish.”

“Tastes good,” was all Zoro said.  Sanji sighed, turning to the storekeeper.  “I’ll take two of these, please.”

“Right away,” she smiled, disappearing to box up their order.

Over the course of the afternoon, Zoro had grown more and more relaxed when they entered stores, no longer skulking away to a dark corner whenever the shop owner approached them.  He dutifully carried the bottles that Sanji purchased, muscles rippling as he hefted the increasingly heavy bags across town, along with his own backpack full of books from the used bookstore they stopped at.

“Should be enough,” Sanji said, counting the bottles in Zoro’s hands.

“How do you have so much money, curly?” Zoro asked, a moniker he had started calling Sanji when a child they passed pointed at Sanji’s forehead and yelled out “curly.”

“A gentleman never reveals his source of income,” Sanji said.

“You probably come from a rich family,” Zoro sighed, “So you can be an aspiring writer and not have to do other work.”

Sanji grinned, thinking about Zeff and the tiny apartment they grew up in.  He accepted the box from the storekeeper and headed back toward the train station.  He had spent more than he had planned and would have to ask Pudding for more money again soon.  But, the royalties from his last book were ample, and he had splurged much less than he usually did after publishing a book.

They rode back to Shimotsuki.  The sun setting in the distance cast a warm light on Zoro, turning his tanned skin bronze.

“That wasn’t so horrible, was it, mosshead?” Sanji asked, “Did you have fun?”

Zoro looked at him, then looked back out the window.

“Was fun,” he admitted.

Sanji hummed happily.

“Thanks, curly,” Zoro said, “For… taking me.”  He pointed at the stack of books on the seat across from him, “’m gonna read those and then add them to the bookstore collection.”

“If you ever want to venture out to the great unknown and go to bookstores again, just let me know,” Sanji said, “I’ll take you.”

“How long… how long are you going to stay at Shimotsuki?” Zoro asked.

“Haven’t decided,” Sanji replied.  “Why?  Do you want me to stay forever?” he teased.

“Do what you want,” Zoro said.

“I’ll stay a little longer,” Sanji said, “I’m enjoying myself and the fine company I’ve found in this tiny town.”

---

They arrived at Oden and Toki’s home at 6 PM and were greeted warmly by their hosts.

“Apple brandy from Dressrosa?” Toki asked, “You spoil us, Sanji.  And Zoro, so glad you could make it.  I was worried you wouldn’t.”

“I like elephant tuna,” Zoro grunted.

“He means he wouldn’t miss this for the world because of your illuminating presence,” Sanji said.

Toki laughed, “I hope you’ll stick around Sanji.  I feel as though it was your doing that he’s here.”

“Kuina’s doing,” Sanji said, “Zoro always does the opposite of what I say.”

“Where is Kuina?” Zoro asked.

“She’s out back, getting the fire going,” Toki said, “Go join her and see if she needs help before the rest of our guests arrive.”

They made their way to the backyard, where Kuina was stacking logs in a large stone pit.

“Brother,” she said, giving Zoro a one-armed hug and smiling at Sanji.  “Saw the store was closed all afternoon.  What did you get up to?”

“We went to Dressrosa for a little impromptu jaunt,” Sanji said.  Kuina looked at Zoro in surprise; her brother just shrugged and began helping her create a woodpile.

“Did you start to wither and die as soon as you left Shimotsuki’s borders?” she asked him.

Zoro glared at her, “It was fine.”

“Mosshead enjoyed himself,” Sanji said, “He got a bunch of books.  We’re going to Green Bit soon.”

“We are?” Zoro asked, just as Kuina said, “You are?”

“Sure, why not?” Sanji said, “It’ll be fun.”

“I’m proud of you, Zoro,” Kuina said, “Putting yourself out there.”

“I’m not, he is—” Zoro spluttered.

“Zoro, be a dear and go get some fire starter from Oden.  Thank you,” Kuina said, and Zoro stalked away, muttering to himself.

“He must trust you a lot,” Kuina said when he left, “Taking a sudden trip out of Shimotsuki?”

“I kind of dragged him,” Sanji said, squatting down on the ground.

“Not many people can drag Zoro anywhere,” she replied.

“I’m quite strong,” Sanji replied.

Kuina sat down next to him.  “He’s very dense,” she said quietly, “It might seem like a constant uphill battle trying to get him to notice what’s going on around him other than his books.”

“What should he be noticing?” Sanji asked lightly.

“You don’t have to play that game with me, Sanji,” she said, “I know you’re interested in my brother.  I’m just telling you, you can flirt with him for a few years and he won’t think you’re being serious until you shout in his face that you like him.”

“I was beginning to realize that,” Sanji sighed, “A bit hard on me, don’t you think?  That he won’t give me any hints whether he likes me back, and I’m expected to just confess.”

“I think you should give it a shot,” Kuina winked, then put a finger to her lips when Zoro returned with an armful of tinder.

Sanji stood back and let the siblings get the fire going, holding his hands out as the flames bloomed.  A few additional guests joined them, each greeting Sanji warmly.  Sanji watched them dote on Kuina and tease Zoro, the love amongst the townspeople obvious.  It wouldn’t be so bad to spend the rest of his life here, he thought idly.

“Getting addicted to the simple life?” Oden asked, handing him a glass of brandy after he helped Zoro and Kuina get the elephant tuna onto the fire.

“I haven’t heard a single siren or harrowing scream since I got here,” Sanji said, “It’s usually an hourly event back home.”

“We welcome you staying as long as you would like,” Oden said, “I promise we’ll keep the sirens and the screaming to a minimum.  Zoro and Kuina will be pleased.  We haven’t had another young soul in town for a while.”

He raised a glass, and Sanji copied him, downing the glass of apple brandy in one go.

“Another?” Oden asked, and Sanji nodded.

---

“Honestly,” Zoro muttered, helping Sanji up the stairs, “Why did you drink so much if you’re a lightweight?”

“I wanted to impress Oden,” Sanji moaned, “I figured he’s a hundred years old, I should be able to keep up with him.”

“Even I can’t keep up with him,” Zoro sighed.  He waited as Sanji fumbled with his keys, finally managing to unlock the door.  Sanji stumbled toward the bed, falling down onto it face first.

“Just leave me here to die,” he said.

“Kuina would kill me too,” Zoro said, flipping Sanji onto his back.  He pulled Sanji’s shoes and socks off and wrestled him out of his jacket.

“How forward, mosshead,” Sanji grinned.

Zoro said nothing, retreating to the bathroom and returning with a glass of water and a wet washcloth.  He dabbed as Sanji’s face and neck, trying his best to clean Sanji up.

“Should brush your teeth,” Zoro said.

“Only if you’ll do it for me.”

Zoro shook his head, plopping a bucket next to Sanji’s bed.

“Good luck, curly,” he said.

“You’re leaving?” Sanji whined, “So soon?”  He shook his head side to side, the room spinning around him.  The apple brandy was strong.

After a great deal of grumbling, Zoro sat down on the ground next to his bed and leaned back against the mattress.

“Until you sleep, curly,” he said.

Sanji forced his eyes open, determined not to sleep.

“Did you have fun, mosshead?” Sanji asked.

“Why do you keep asking me that, like I’m a kid?”

“Because I never know if you are.  You’re always so frowny.”

After a beat, Zoro said gruffly, “It was fun.”

“It was fun because of me, right?”

“No comment,” Zoro responded, but Sanji could hear his smile in the terse words.

Deciding he would be woozy regardless if he was right side up or not, Sanji tiled his head over the side of the bed, his head right next to Zoro’s.

“Hey,” he said quietly.

“Hey,” Zoro responded.

“Wanna know a secret?” he asked.

“Not particularly.”

Sanji moved closer to Zoro until his cheekbone touched Zoro’s golden earrings.  Zoro didn’t move, sitting stock-still.  Emboldened by this and by the alcohol still coursing through his body, Sanji whispered into Zoro’s ear, “I’m staying here on Shimotsuki because of you.”

Zoro flushed, scurrying away from Sanji until his back hit the wall.  Sanji tilted his head so he could see Zoro’s expression; even upside down, he could tell Zoro was completely shocked.  Zoro really was dense.

“I like you,” Sanji said, “I really like you, mosshead.”  After a beat, he added, “Romantically,” in case Zoro didn’t get it.

Zoro made a choked noise in response.

“You still with me?” Sanji asked.

“Y-you— How?” Zoro garbled.

“I think you’re cute and handsome at the same time,” Sanji said, pulling himself back onto the bed and closing his eyes as the accumulated blood left his face, leaving him feeling faint.  “And you love books and I love books.  And you’re grumpy and sweet.”

“I’ve only known you—”

“A few days is enough for me,” Sanji said, “Hell, a few hours is.”  He turned his head to see that Zoro was still pinned to the wall.  “But, hey, mosshead, I get it.  A few days might not be enough for you.  Which is why I’m staying.  I just figured I’d let you know so you don’t get complacent.”  He leaned over the bed again, this time to quickly grab the bucket, an unfortunate feeling in the pit of his stomach as his body fought against the apple brandy.

“You better leave now,” he warned.

“Are you going to throw up?” Zoro asked.

“It’s a close call.”

Groaning, Zoro moved back to his bedside and began rubbing circles on Sanji’s back.

“Are you going to like me back if I throw up in front of you?” Sanji asked morosely.

“I don’t have any fucking clue what I’m doing, curly.”

“You’re doing great.  That feels nice,” Sanji said, relaxing under Zoro’s touch.

“No— I meant with the liking…”

“I know, mosshead.  I figured as much,” Sanji sighed.

“Give me some time,” Zoro said, a pleading tone in his voice.

“As much as you need.  I’m a spoiled brat from a rich family.  I can stay here as long as you’ll let me,” Sanji said, trying to keep his voice steady, trying to put on a brave face.

“You’re not a spoiled brat—” Zoro began.

“Bucket,” Sanji moaned, and Zoro quickly put it in front of Sanji’s face, then pushed his hair out of his eyes as Sanji heaved out the contents of his stomach.

---

“Don’t look at me, don’t talk to me, just let me be,” Sanji said as soon as he walked into Shimotsuki Books the next morning.  He had his sunglasses on still, the light flooding through the window was too much for him.  He quickly retreated to the backroom, brushing past Zoro.

“Did you know, in my dream, I was on a boat and the ground was shifting under my feet?” Sanji muttered, “I was dreaming of being seasick.  What in god’s name do they put in that apple brandy?”

“Am I allowed to talk?” Zoro asked.

“No, it was a rhetorical question,” Sanji said, collapsing onto the couch and covering his eyes with his arm.  He heard Zoro sigh, and then the sound of the pen scratching across paper as Zoro continued working on his inventory.

Taking a deep breath, Sanji worked to quell the doubt he had felt since waking up and remembering what he had said and done the previous night.  He waited until his pounding headache died down slightly and dragged himself to the desk, staring blankly at his papers.

“You shouldn’t push yourself,” Zoro said.  He walked into the backroom and put the kettle on to boil.  “On Shimotsuki, we have a remedy for hangovers that is foolproof,” he said.  He pulled out a small jar.  As soon as he opened it, a foul smell filled the room.

“I’m not drinking that,” Sanji said immediately, covering his nose.

“It’ll help,” Zoro said.

“I’ll just do what I always do when I have a hangover, complain and hate myself and everybody in the world for a few hours.”

“You get hangovers often?”

“More often than I should, less often than I could,” Sanji said.

“Does Pudding take care of you when you do?” Zoro asked, throwing Sanji a glance.

“Jealous, mosshead?”

“No, mostly curious how she has dealt with you all this time.”

“Begrudgingly,” Sanji sighed.  Zoro poured water over the substance he placed in a mug, and Sanji gripped both hands over his nose at the ensuing smell.

“Drink,” Zoro said, putting the cup in front of Sanji.

“I’d rather not.”

Zoro brushed Sanji’s hands aside, pinched Sanji’s nose, and held up the cup to Sanji’s mouth.

“You do realize this is burning hot, right?” Sanji squeaked.

“It’s not, I only warmed the water up to dissolve the powder,” Zoro said, “It’s not boiling.”  Tentatively, Sanji took a sip.  He gagged at the taste.

“Don’t be a baby.”

Glaring up at him, Sanji took Zoro’s comment as a challenge and downed the rest of the drink.

“You know, it doesn’t count as a hangover cure if it just makes me deathly ill in another way,” Sanji said.

Zoro gave him an unimpressed look, but didn’t move, still hovering next to Sanji.

“I, um, thought about what you said yesterday, curly,” Zoro said.

Sanji held his breath, turning to look down at his notes.

“I’m… an idiot about this kind of stuff,” Zoro continued, “Kuina complains that I’m going to die alone, asking for my belongings to be left to my books.  Which is ironic because my only belongings are books.”

Sanji snorted.

“But I also thought last night that… I would be sad if you left, and I would miss you.  Which is something I’ve never really felt before for anyone other than Kuina.”  He cleared his throat.  “I don’t know what that means.  I suppose I’m a little scared about what that means.  But, if it’s okay with you, I’d like to… figure it out… with you.”

Zoro was a fidgeting ball of nerves at this point, and Sanji let him squirm for just a little while longer before giggling.  “So, this means I can unleash the full force of my flirting on you, then?”

Gaping at him, Zoro shook his head.

“No?” Sanji asked, resting his head against Zoro’s hip and looked up at him innocently.

“I’ve got to finish some things,” Zoro said quickly, practically fleeing from the room.

Sanji grinned to himself.  This was going to be fun.

---

“Mosshead,” Sanji sang, “Come here, please.”

“I’m busy,” Zoro said grumpily.  Sanji leaned backward in his chair until he could just see the open door to the store where Zoro was sitting, shoulders tense.

“You don’t want to be consulted on the progress of my book?” Sanji asked.

At this, Zoro turned and shuffled warily into the backroom, sitting down on the couch and waiting, face expectant.

“Would you like to name some of the characters in my book?” Sanji asked.

“Yes,” Zoro said, lighting up.

“Okay, I’ve got a surly swordsman who easily gets lost,” Sanji said.

Zoro frowned, thinking seriously before saying, “Tim.”

“Tim.”

“No?”

“You’ve read every book under the sun.  Which one of those books stars a hero named Tim?” Sanji asked.

“Francois, then,” Zoro offered.

“And then we go to the other extreme,” Sanji sighed, “Alright fine, I admit it.  I didn’t actually want your help, I just wanted to see you.”

“Ah,” Zoro said, shifting uncomfortably.

Sanji sighed, beginning to regret confessing to Zoro.  At this rate, he would publish Water 7 in a few months, and the cat would be out of the bag before he and Zoro had even hugged.

He stood and rooted through his bag.  “Let’s go to the ocean,” he said, “I’m feeling better, some fresh air will be good.”  He pulled out his wetsuit and began shedding his clothes.

“What are you doing?” Zoro squawked.

“Changing.  I’m going swimming.  If you don’t come with me, I’m going to drown and it will be all your fault,” Sanji said, pulling his pants down and unbuttoning his shirt.

Zoro swiftly exited the backroom, and Sanji heard the door to the bathroom slam shut.  He wriggled into his wetsuit and peered into the bookstore, wondering if he had gone too far.  Moments later, Zoro emerged from the bathroom, suited up and red as a tomato.  Without waiting for Sanji, he stalked out of the bookstore.

Sanji caught up to him a block away.

“Are you upset?” Sanji asked.

“No,” Zoro sighed, “Just wasn’t expecting you to start stripping in the middle of the room.”

Sanji laughed, hopping onto the stone wall between the street and the sand, balancing on the thin strip of rock.

“The usual cove?” he asked.

“Tide’s too low,” Zoro grunted, “Won’t be easy to access.  We’ll go to another spot.”

“Exciting,” Sanji said, stumbling slightly when his foot caught on an uneven portion of the wall.  Zoro grabbed onto his wrist, holding him steady.

“I would have been fine, mosshead,” Sanji laughed.  Zoro looked resolutely forward, still grasping onto Sanji’s wrist as they walked.  Sanji smiled to himself, letting Zoro hold onto the fiction that he was keeping Sanji balanced.

They walked another few minutes, then Zoro tugged at Sanji’s hand, pulling him down onto the sand and pointing to another pier extending into the ocean, this one shorter than the one at the main beach.  Sanji followed Zoro to the pier.

“We harvest seaweed here at low tide,” he said, pointing at shears stored in a bucket attached to the pier.  He handed one to Sanji and jumped into the water until he was waist deep, pulling another bucket toward him.  “The place where the seaweed attaches to the sea floor is called the holdfast,” Zoro said, “Cut a few inches above it so the seaweed can regrow.”

Sanji nodded, watching Zoro bend over.  With a quick swipe, he pulled up a clump of seaweed, dumping it in the bucket nearby.  Copying his movement, Sanji walked alongside Zoro, pulling up seaweed and adding it to the pile.

“What are we going to do with it?” Sanji asked.

“Kuina makes a good seaweed salad,” Zoro grinned, “Sliced thin, with sesame seeds, mirin, ginger.”

“Sounds amazing,” Sanji said, his mouth already watering.

Sanji cut a few more clumps before Zoro told him to stop.  “Can’t take so much that it’s hard for them to regrow and for others to come grab some for their own dinner,” Zoro said.  He put the bucket back on the pier, then beckoned out at the ocean.

“Swim?” he asked.  Sanji put his goggles on and dove into the water, relishing the cold and the weightlessness of being in the sea.  He swam as far as he could on one breath, before resurfacing and looking around for Zoro.

He hadn’t moved, still standing waist deep near the shore, gazing out at Sanji.

“What are you waiting for, slowpoke?” Sanji laughed.

Zoro dove and seconds later was at Sanji’s side.

“Okay, I have to admit you are faster than me,” Sanji sighed.

With a self-satisfied smirk plastered to his face, Zoro dove again.  Sanji looked down, trying to see the mosshead in the murky water.  Then, he felt a sharp tug on his ankle, forcing him underwater before he had time to take in a quick breath.  The hand released him, and he resurfaced, spluttering and gasping for air.

“You fucker,” he gasped, coughing out seawater as Zoro popped up a few feet away, laughing.

Sanji swam toward him, trying diligently to send as much water into Zoro’s face as he could.  Zoro disappeared again, and Sanji kicked viciously at the water, hoping to connect to Zoro’s head.

After nearly a minute, Sanji began panicking, wondering if something had happened to Zoro.

“Mosshead?” he called, turning around in circles looking for green or bubbles.

“Zoro,” he shouted, then dove underwater to see Zoro peering at him, half a foot away, looking amused.  When they both broke the surface of the water, Sanji glared at him.  “Are you a fucking fish?  Don’t scare me like that.”

“You’ll have to learn how to hold your breath if you want to dive for oysters eventually, curly,” Zoro said.

“You’ll let me?” Sanji asked eagerly.

“After a few months of practice,” Zoro said.

“You expect me to still be here in a few months?”

“If you want,” Zoro said, then sank down until only his eyes were above water, watching Sanji cautiously.  Sanji moved closer, resting his hands on Zoro’s shoulders, letting Zoro keep him from submerging into the sea.

“Do you want me to be here in a few months?” Sanji asked quietly.

Zoro muttered something, but it came out as bubbles.  He refused to come above water.

“What are you feeling?” Sanji tried again.  Zoro looked away, and Sanji prepared to give up.

Then, Zoro took one of his Sanji’s hands off his shoulder and maneuvered it until it rested above his heart.  Sanji could feel the frantic fluttering beat of Zoro’s heart pounding in his chest.

“Interesting,” Sanji grinned.  Zoro responded with a glare.

“Let’s test this some more,” Sanji said, leaning forward and placing his lips on Zoro’s forehead.  He felt a burst of bubbles on the water between them, and Zoro’s heart rate rose impossibly higher.

“If you have a heart attack, I’m not sure I can drag your body to shore,” Sanji said, pulling away.

Zoro submerged completely, swimming back to shore at a frantic speed.  Sanji followed at a slower pace.  By the time he reached the beach, Zoro was lying with his back on the sand, his chest heaving up and down.

“Are you having a heart attack?” Sanji asked, squatting next to him.

“You’re embarrassing me,” Zoro said, turning away.

“You’re embarrassing yourself,” Sanji said.  He grabbed Zoro’s chin, forcing him to look at him.

“What are you thinking, Zoro?” he repeated.

“That I’m in over my head.  That I like looking at you.  That I don’t like feeling unmoored.  That I don’t know what to do.  That I wish you’d teach me instead of tease me,” Zoro babbled.

“I’m going to kiss you,” Sanji said firmly, “How does that sound?”

Zoro’s eyes widened, but he managed a “Fine.”

“I’m not going to do it if it’s just fine,” Sanji glared, “You really know how to make a man feel like a predator.”

“I—I would like to try,” Zoro said finally.  Sanji leaned closer, and Zoro squeezed his eyes shut, his mouth drawing into a thin line.  Gently, Sanji kissed Zoro’s cheek.

“Back to the store, mosshead,” Sanji said, standing up and walking away, “I’ve got stuff to do today.”

He snuck a look back and saw Zoro still lying prostrate on the ground.  Sighing, Sanji returned to Zoro, who was looking up at him confused.  He offered him a hand.

“We don’t have to start immediately with kissing.  And I don’t really know what I’m doing either,” he said quietly when Zoro allowed himself to be pulled to his feet, “But this feels right, and I intend to chase these feelings wherever they lead me.  If you’ll let me.”  Zoro nodded, still mute.  Permission secured and ignoring the quick beating of his own heart, Sanji held onto Zoro’s hand, retrieved the bucket of seaweed, and walked with him back to the bookstore.

---

“Mosshead, your organization is shit,” Sanji said.  He had a few books in his arms that Sanji had helped offer to shelve, a new delivery from Oden who had visited their neighboring town of Wano.

“What do you mean?” Zoro asked.

“Where the fuck is East Blue Geography?  Why is it not next to West, North, or South Blue Geography?”

“Because I’m more interested in East Blue Geography,” Zoro said simply, “So it’s closer to where I sit.”

“You realize this bookstore is for customers.  It’s not your personal library.”

“If they really wanted to find it, they could,” Zoro sniffed, taking the book Sanji was trying to shelve.  He hesitated, then rested his forehead on Sanji’s shoulder for a millisecond before fleeing.

Sanji smiled.  Since their seaweed-gathering trip a few days ago, Zoro had been trying his best, finding random moments to show Sanji he wasn’t just a grumpy log, that he was interested in starting something.  Or had they already started something?  Sanji still wasn’t sure.  He wandered the aisles, looking for where Zoro kept the mystery novels.

He stopped at the section for adventure books, which always made his chest balloon with happiness.  Zoro had an entire bookcase dedicated to Prince books, organized by timeline.  Kuina had told him that Zoro obsessively bought Sanji’s books whenever he saw them, no matter how many he already had.  (“He’s terrified someone is going to buy his last copy, and he won’t be able to read it whenever he remembers a scene he liked.”).  Sanji had gone back and forth about whether to tell Zoro who he was.  The longer he spent with Zoro, the harder a topic it was to broach.

At times, he wondered if Zoro suspected anything.  They chatted about Sanji’s draft of the Water 7 story, and Sanji had even showed Zoro a portion of his draft after admitting that he was modeling the swordsman after him.  Zoro had frowned when he first read it, and Sanji had held his breath, wondering if his writing style was too obvious.  Instead, Zoro had sulked the rest of the afternoon about how many times Sanji made fun of the swordsman not being able to tell his left from his right.

“Mosshead, I’m heading out,” Sanji said, checking his watch.

“You are?” Zoro asked, peering around the corner, “Why?”

“I’ve got a super-secret special thing to do at 1,” he said, “If I told you, I’d have to kill you.”

“Will you come back?”

“If my mission is successful,” Sanji said dramatically, “If not, I’ll be dead.  You better come get your last hug just in case.”  Zoro obediently shuffled toward him and wrapped his arms around Sanji.

“I can’t believe you actually gave me a hug,” Sanji muttered, “You really are going to be the death of me.”

“Don’t die,” Zoro said, letting go and returning to his desk.

Sanji headed back to the inn, still thinking about Zoro’s hug.  When he entered the lobby, Hiyori smiled at him and pointed toward the office behind her.

“You’re a godsend,” Sanji said, “It should be quick.”

“Take all the time you need,” she said.

Sanji pulled out the note from Pudding and sat at the desk.  He stared at the phone.  He always agreed to do a few interviews after publishing, but he always found them to be horribly boring.  He didn’t have any of his personal information available for the public, so the interviewers mostly asked generic questions about tips for new writers, future plans, writing process.   He had gotten used to giving canned answers that he had discussed previously with Pudding.

Taking a deep breath, he called the number on the note.

“WENP, Morgana speaking,” said a deep voice.

“Good afternoon, this is Prince,” Sanji replied.

“Mr. Prince, an honor.”

“The honor is mine,” Sanji said smoothly, “Thank you for the opportunity to speak with you.”

“We were very excited for the chance to finally interview you.  I know you always get the same questions, and I won’t bore you with those,” Morgana said.

Interested, Sanji sat up a bit straighter.

“I’ve read through your books a few times in preparation for this interview, and one of the things that stuck out to me is that your books always have the theme of freedom.  The goal of your main characters is always to live their lives to the fullest, on their own terms, disregarding what society or others tell them.  And in doing so, they liberate others.  Is that something that aligns uniquely with your own world view?”

Sanji chuckled, “I do have to admit, I’ve never gotten that question before.”  His mind raced as he considered how to answer.  He decided to go with something vague and general.

“I think… we are often dictated to what our own boundaries are,” he said finally, “From our peers, from our mentors, from our… family.  I want to convey in my books that those are often fictitious, that we can set our own dreams and pouring our hearts into achieving them is an act of sovereignty.”

“Is this based on personal experience?”

“Does it matter if it is?” Sanji countered.

“We can move on,” Morgana laughed.  “In The Island of Long Shadows, we saw a romantic relationship for the first time during the Davy Back Games, one based on a rivalry that turned into a partnership.  Are you planning to turn toward romantic themes more often in your books?”

Sanji’s eyes narrowed.  He would have to talk to Pudding about interviews in the future and make sure she laid down some more ground rules about questions interviewers could ask.

“Romance isn’t the focus of my books,” he said curtly.

“You’ve said before in other interviews that you write based on experience—”

“I’d move on from this line of questioning,” Sanji said, interrupting.  He fidgeted in his seat.  He should have done some research on Morgana before coming into the interview.

The journalist evidently understood the tone in Sanji’s voice and began asking more mundane questions about his books, going back to the very first one he had ever written, He Dreams of All Blue.

“Last question for you, Mr. Prince.  You are quite the prolific author.  Do you ever experience writer’s block?  If so, any tips on how to overcome it?”

“I’ve learned to have patience with myself,” Sanji said.  He paused for a moment, trying to figure out how to end the interview properly.  “Someone once told me that if you love what you do, it will provide for you and love you back,” he said, the words slipping out before he could remember where he had heard them.

“A wonderful adage.  Thank you for your time, Mr. Prince.  I hope to do this again some other time.”

“Yes, goodbye,” Sanji said, hoping to never have to speak with Morgana or WENP again.  He hung up, feeling vaguely unsettled.

After thanking Hiyori, he wandered back to the bookstore.

Zoro was at the counter, hair tousled, having clearly just woken up.

“Go back to your nap,” Sanji said.  He tried to fix Zoro’s hair, then gave up, returning to his desk and his manuscript.  He stared blankly at it.

“Curly?”

Sanji looked to his right and saw Zoro squatting next to him, looking up at him with concern in his eyes.

“Did your super-secret mission fail?  You look… weird.”

“Wow, very tactful,” Sanji said, “And no, it was fine.”

“Do you… want to talk about anything?” Zoro asked.

Deciding he wasn’t going to get any work done anyways, Sanji stood and pulled Zoro over to the couch.  Once Zoro was sitting, Sanji sprawled across the length of the couch, resting his head in Zoro’s lap.

“Zoro, do you ever wish you knew more about Prince?” he asked.

Zoro frowned.  “He doesn’t want to share, so it doesn’t matter if I want to know more.”

“How practical,” Sanji sighed, “But would you want to, if you could?”

“I mean, sure, he’s my favorite author.  I’d want to know more about him.  How does he come up with the worlds that he does?  Which one of his books is his favorite, that kind of stuff.”

“Do you care about his romantic life?” Sanji asked.

“No, why would I?  That’s private.”

“What a loyal fan.  If Prince was secretly a murderer, would you stop liking his books?”

“I don’t think Prince is a murderer,” Zoro said, “I would be able to tell.  His books are too… wholesome.”

Sanji snorted, covering his face with his hands.  He peeked through his fingers to see Zoro looking at him, confused.  Pushing himself upright, Sanji leaned toward Zoro and kissed the corner of his lips.

“Teasing me again,” Zoro said, flushing.

“Alright fine,” Sanji laughed, and brought his lips to Zoro’s.

Zoro went still as a statue, then huffed out a breath and pulled Sanji closer.  He pressed his lips to Sanji’s until it almost hurt.  He pulled back immediately when Sanji began laughing.

“It’s not a test of strength, mosshead,” Sanji said, settling himself into Zoro’s lap.  He lightly touched his lips to Zoro’s again.  Zoro let out a sigh, closing his eyes and letting Sanji do what he wanted.  Sanji kissed along Zoro’s lips, spending longer on his cupid’s bow, occasionally checking to see if Zoro was uncomfortable.  Other than breathing a little faster, Zoro was relaxed, his hands gripping at Sanji’s waist.

Sanji tugged at Zoro’s bottom lip with his teeth, eliciting a gasp.

“Open your mouth,” Sanji whispered, on the edge of restraint.  When Zoro parted his lips, Sanji kissed him hungrily, tongue flicking across Zoro’s.

Zoro was obviously inexperienced, which somehow made Sanji enjoy the kiss even more.  It was messy, bordering desperate.  Sanji worried that it was too much for Zoro, all at once, but whenever he drew back, Zoro clung to him tighter.

“Give me a second,” Sanji said finally, gasping for breath.  Zoro’s eyes were dilated, his lips and cheeks a bright red.

“What did you think?” Sanji asked hoarsely.

“It was… nice,” Zoro replied.

“The romantic awakening of a moss,” Sanji giggled.  He shifted slightly, then paused when he noted that Zoro was extremely hard against his thigh.

He glanced down.  Zoro followed his gaze, and immediately started shoving Sanji off of him.

“No, no you don’t, you do not get to turtle up,” Sanji said, grabbing onto his neck and holding on for dear life.

“Let go, curly,” Zoro hissed.

“I’m hard too, you stupid idiot,” Sanji muttered into his ear, “What did you expect from your furious making out technique?”  Zoro stopped struggling underneath him, and Sanji used the moment’s reprieve to move his hips against Zoro’s, trying to prove to him how much Sanji wanted him.

“Curly,” Zoro moaned, “I don’t know what to do.  I’ve never—”

“Just a small town boy,” Sanji giggled, “Wasting away in a dusty bookstore.”  His hands slid down Zoro’s chest.  Zoro’s eyes followed the movement, then grabbed Sanji’s hands before they could go any lower.  Sanji waited, sensing the turmoil in Zoro’s body.

Finally, Zoro blurted out, “Curly, I want to return your feelings.  You make me feel crazy all the time.  But I don’t want this to be a… fling or some fun thing you wanted to try with me before leaving.  I’m scared of leaping into this headfirst.”

“Sometimes, romance is leaping in headfirst, mosshead,” Sanji said.  He knocked his forehead against Zoro’s, “What more do you need from me to show you I want this?  That I want all of this.  How do I prove that?”

Zoro looked torn, insecurity weighing on his shoulders.  “You don’t have to prove anything, curly.  Just promise me that… you’re not leading me around or… tricking me.  Koushirou said sometimes people from the city will lie about who they are and then take everything—”

“All you have are books.  It would be really hard for me to take all those at once.  I could probably steal close to 100 berries in one suitcase.”

“Curly…” Zoro said.

“This is me, Zoro,” Sanji said, pushing on Zoro’s cheeks with his palms and forcing his lips to protrude like a fish, “This is someone who likes you.  A lot.  I’m not hiding some secret personality or motive.  If you’ll have me, I’ll stay.”

“Okay, curly,” Zoro said, “Well.  I like you too.”  He paused, searching for words, “I want to be with you.”

“I would hope so.  You just stuck your tongue in my mouth.”

With a growl, Zoro surged forward to kiss him again.

---

The next few days with Zoro were filled with sudden, snatched kisses.  Once Zoro got over his initial nerves, he settled down, each kiss so sweet and lingering, Sanji felt he could float away.  Sanji’s progress on the Water 7 draft sped up, and he filled it with his newfound love of the ocean and the boats he saw in the distant horizon.  After paying Hiyori another week’s rent, Sanji realized he would eventually have to tell his editor his plans.

Steeling himself, he went to give Pudding a call.

“Whole Cake Publishing.”

“Darling, it’s me.”

“Sanji,” Pudding sighed, “When are you coming back?”

“I’m moving to Shimotsuki,” Sanji said, “I’ve fallen in love with a local.”

There was a long pause.

“You’re joking.”

“I’m definitely not.”

“You said only old people live on Shimotsuki.”

“Only old people and a young, very charming bookstore owner who is just my type.”

“Do you remember the last time you decided to live somewhere else?”

“I have no idea what you’re referring to,” Sanji said smoothly, “I am very happy here in my new home with my new lover.”

“You’ve been in Shimotsuki for two weeks.”

“Zoro is very charming.”

“You are such a pain sometimes, Sanji.”

“Only sometimes?”

“Does this Zoro know he’s dealing with the most difficult author in the world?”

“Zoro doesn’t know I’m Prince,” Sanji said, “I haven’t told him.  He thinks I’m an aspiring writer.”

“Shouldn’t you… tell him?”

“I will eventually.”

“Hm,” Pudding said, and Sanji could tell she was about to launch into lecture mode.

“I’m nearly done with the Water 7 outline,” Sanji said, hoping to cut her off.

“You are?” Pudding asked, “Do you want to ship it here?  I’ll take a look, and we can talk about it over the phone.”

Sanji frowned, imagining the logistics of trying to talk through his plans with her without his manuscript.

“I’ll come back to Baratie for a few days soon,” he said, “I’ll want to move out of my apartment and bring some stuff back.  I did not pack for staying here forever.”

“You really are doing this, aren’t you?”

“You can’t stop me.”

Pudding let out a long sigh.  “Well, I suppose Shimotsuki isn’t that far away.  And you sound… happy, Sanji.  I wish I could say that you always sounded like that, but you don’t.  I’m glad you found something there for you.”

“I did, darling,” Sanji said softly, “I’ll keep you updated.”

“I’m just going to arrange for you to be able to access your own silly money, Sanji.  I’m going to get tired of shipping you cash.”

“You trust me with money now?” Sanji laughed.

“Don’t make me regret it.”

“Come visit, Pudding,” he said.

“I will.  I want to meet this Zoro.”

Sanji hung up and looked around, satisfied with the call.  He should go back to Baratie and grab some more of his manuscripts and ship over his favorite books.  And he would have to find somewhere to live in Shimotsuki rather than staying in the inn for the foreseeable future.  All things he would work out.

He walked to the bookstore and immediately pulled Zoro into a hug.

“What’s going on, curly?” Zoro asked.

“Just happy,” Sanji muttered, “Are you happy, you big brute?”

“Yes,” Zoro replied, one of his hands on the small of Sanji’s back, the other absentmindedly running through Sanji’s hair.

“I’m going to go back to Baratie for a bit soon,” he said, “Gotta pick up some stuff, bring some of my furniture, probably look for a place to live here so I stop imposing on poor Hiyori.”

“Do you want to live with me?” Zoro asked.

Sanji froze.

“Just, um,” Zoro said hurriedly, “I live in a three-bedroom house, and I only use the one room.  You can use one as your office and the other as your bedroom.  It’s not far, and it has a nice view of the town.”

“A few days ago, this man could barely touch me and now he wants us to move in together,” Sanji said.

“Kuina has space too,” Zoro said hurriedly.

“Let me live with you,” Sanji said, a bubble of laughter erupting from him, “I would like that, mosshead.”  He took Zoro’s hand and led him to the backroom, closing the door behind him.  Zoro sat down on the couch and looked at him warily, eyes flicking between the closed door and the widening grin on Sanji’s face.

Sanji settled himself onto his usual spot on Zoro’s lap and began kissing him, breaking away from his lips to lick and nibble at Zoro’s ears, his neck, his collarbone.  Zoro’s hands ran up and down Sanji’s back, gripping at the muscle that Sanji was slowly building up from their afternoon swims.

“Zoro,” Sanji whispered, “Can I touch you?  And don’t say ‘you already are’ like an insufferable brat.  You know what I mean.”

Zoro gulped and nodded.

Sanji unbuttoned Zoro’s shirt, biting his lip as his actions slowly exposed the skin underneath.  He had seen the bookstore owner halfway shirtless before as he disliked having his wetsuit buttoned up all the way when he wasn’t in the water.  But to be able to run his hands over the planes of Zoro’s muscles, his smooth skin.  His hands dipped lower until they reached his belt buckle.

He could feel the hardness of Zoro’s erection under his hands as he fumbled with Zoro’s zipper.  Zoro let out a soft moan when Sanji palmed him through his underwear.  Sanji couldn’t stop a matching sound from leaving his lips when he felt the heat under his fingers.

“Let me, please,” he said, sliding off Zoro’s lap and situating himself between Zoro’s legs.  Zoro looked at him confused, and Sanji used that moment to slip Zoro’s cock out and lean forward, taking him into his mouth.

“Curly,” Zoro gasped, “Curly, you don’t have to.”

Sanji ignored him, taking Zoro as deep as he could.  He placed his hands on Zoro’s hips, holding him in place.  Humming, he bobbed his head up and down, swirling his tongue in figure eights.  Zoro was heavy on his tongue, a thick length that had Sanji immediately fantasizing about having Zoro in him.  He redoubled his efforts, pausing every so often to suck the tip of Zoro’s cock, tasting precum on his tongue.

“I’m going to come,” Zoro gritted out, trying to push Sanji off.  Sanji brushed his hands away and looked up at Zoro through his lashes.

“Fuck,” Zoro moaned as he came, his back arching off the couch.  Sanji swallowed wave after wave, feeling the trembling of Zoro’s thighs under his fingers.  When Zoro finally relaxed, panting, Sanji let his cock slip out in a mess of spit and cum, then mouthed at the side and flicked his tongue across the tip of Zoro’s waning erection.  Zoro shuddered, eyes half-shut as he looked down at Sanji.

Smiling, Sanji reached down between his legs, his hand slipping under his soft cotton pants to touch himself, his own erection almost painful.

“Curly, I’ll—” Zoro said, reaching down to pull him to the couch.  “Wait, water, don’t move,” he said, leaping to his feet and nearly tripping over his pants.  Sanji laughed, watching Zoro struggle to get him some water, continuing to stroke himself.  He downed the glass Zoro offered him.  Zoro knelt on the ground in front of him, looking anxiously at Sanji.

“You don’t have to return the favor,” Sanji said, rolling his eyes, “You look horribly stressed.  Come up here and sit next to me.”  Zoro obediently sat down, and Sanji turned to the side, propping his legs on Zoro’s lap.  His shed his pants and his shirt quickly.  Zoro rotated between staring at his cock and at his chest, eyes almost glazed.  Settling into a comfortable position, Sanji returned to touching himself, long strokes that Zoro followed obsessively.

“Do you want to try?” Sanji asked.  Zoro nodded, and Sanji relaxed as Zoro’s large hand began pumping up and down his cock.

“Tighter,” Sanji murmured, “I’m not going to break.  Don’t you masturbate yourself?  You know what feels good.”

Zoro swallowed hard and began moving faster.

“Yes,” Sanji crooned, “Like that, good job, mosshead.”  Emboldened, Zoro brought his other hand to cup Sanji’s sack, massaging in time to his strokes.  Letting out a soft moan, Sanji gripped at the couch.  The feeling of Zoro’s calloused fingers, so much warmer than his own, was foreign, but Sanji drew closer and closer to completion with each stroke.

“Does it feel good, Sanji?” Zoro asked, voice thick as he stared down at his own hands, as if unable to believe they were his own.

“More, Zoro,” Sanji gasped, and Zoro focused his efforts on the sensitive, engorged vein on the underside of Sanji’s cock.  And Sanji was coming, a loud groan punched out of him as dug his heels into the couch, pumping up into Zoro’s hand.  His orgasm washed over him, Zoro’s name on the tip of his tongue as he rode the surges of pleasure.

When he opened his eyes again, Zoro was watching him in wonder.

“You look incredible when you come,” Zoro said hoarsely.

“Oh shut up, I know I look like an idiot, everybody does,” Sanji said, sitting up and kissing him soundly on the lips.  He looked down at himself, the trail of his cum dotted all over his chest.  Zoro suddenly reached out a hand, swiping up some of the cum and putting it in his mouth.

“It’s really gross, Zoro,” Sanji chuckled when Zoro’s face scrunched up into a grimace.

“You did it for me—”

“Eh, better than all over my face.”

“I could have covered it,” Zoro said.

“We can have an argument about what to do with your cum next time,” Sanji said, sitting up and looking around for towels.  He wet the towel and began wiping himself down.  Zoro stopped him, insisting on taking the towel himself, and carefully, too carefully, dabbed at the mess on Sanji’s chest.

“Let’s go to Kuina’s for dinner,” Sanji said quietly, “Then let’s stop to get some things, and I’ll go to your place tonight.  I haven’t seen it yet.  Give me a tour before I formally agree to live with you.”

Zoro nodded, kissing Sanji until Sanji seriously considered skipping dinner and going straight to Zoro’s house.

“Kuina’s,” Zoro said, a small smile on his face as he let go and began handing Sanji his clothes.

---

After a few days of spending the night at Zoro’s, Sanji decided he really didn’t need to go through the fiction of having his own room.

“We’ll need a guest room anyways,” Sanji said, “For when all my friends visit.”  He made Zoro some toast, plopping it in front of him as he read the newspaper, his glasses perched on the tip of his nose, dressed only in his briefs.  Sanji would be going to Baratie that morning, and he was already feeling lonely at the idea of leaving Zoro.

“Mmhmm,” Zoro responded.

“You know, when you wear glasses, I either want to take them off and do something really filthy to you or leave them on and do something really filthy to them.”

Zoro turned a deep shade of red, still not entirely used to some of the things Sanji now felt unleashed to say after many nights in a row of sex.  The previous night, they had run to the beach in the middle of the night, the moon high in the sky, and found a secluded rocky outcrop.  Sanji had come multiple times, gasping his pleasure to the cold Shimotsuki air as Zoro held him through his orgasms.

“Well, I need them to read,” was all Zoro said in response.

Sanji rolled his eyes.  “Have fun reading, I’ll be taking care of my own erection in the bedroom then.”

Zoro dropped the newspaper like it had burned him, stumbling after Sanji, who laughed and pulled him back onto the bed.

“How do you want me?” Zoro asked.

“Like this,” Sanji said, looking up at him, “Glasses stay on though.”  As Zoro quickly shed his underwear, Sanji wriggled out of his bathrobe, slipping his own briefs off and tossing them to the side.  Zoro began preparing him, carefully, slowly, one finger at a time until Sanji begged him to hurry.

“I have a train to catch, mosshead,” Sanji gasped when Zoro trailed kisses down his chest, then licked a wide stripe up his cock.

“You’ll make it,” Zoro said, taking Sanji into his mouth and bobbing up and down.  He kept pace with his fingers, thrusting them in and out, curling them as much as he could to press against the spot he knew made Sanji moan.

“I’m gonna come,” Sanji warned, taking short breaths as he felt his mounting pleasure peak.

Zoro put his other hand to work, pumping Sanji at the base of his cock while licking and sucking at the tip.

“Oh oh fuck fuck,” Sanji sobbed when he came, long thick strips of his cum landing on Zoro’s face and his glasses.  “You— you really let me— your glasses—” he panted.

With a smirk, Zoro licked the side of his lips before repositioning himself and entering Sanji with one long thrust.

“Zoro, ah, ah, Zoro, oh god,” Sanji moaned, gripping at Zoro’s forearms as he was rocked back and forth by Zoro’s hips slapping against his ass.  He kept his eyes open, barely, watching in awe at Zoro’s debauched face, his mouth open, cum dripping down his cheeks and one of his lenses, cheeks red, eyes staring at Sanji full of want.  Zoro pulled back, gripping tighter onto Sanji’s legs, lifting him up to get a better angle.  He began again, fucking into Sanji at a steady rhythm, and Sanji could now see the thick slide of Zoro’s cock burying deep inside him.  It was a heady sight, punctuated by the gorgeous curves and angles of Zoro’s body, every muscle being used to make Sanji feel like losing his mind.

“Curly, I’m close,” Zoro warned, “I’m close.”

“Me too, me too, Zoro, Zoro,” Sanji cried out in response, watching Zoro’s eyebrows knit together as his hips stuttered.  When he felt Zoro spilling into him, Sanji reached up for him, pulling him down.

“It feels so good, you feel so good, Sanji,” Zoro babbled, “Let me, please.”  His hands fumbled for Sanji’s cock between them, he pumped his hips a few more times, and Sanji was coming again, back arching into Zoro’s touch before he melted boneless back into the bed.

They laid there, panting as Zoro wrapped Sanji in his arms.

“I really am going to miss my train.”

“You won’t.  Shimotsuki is small.  It won’t take that long to get to the train station.”

“I still have to pack.”

“I’ll help.”

“I’ll need another shower.”

Zoro groaned, slowly pushing himself off Sanji and helping him to his feet.  They dragged themselves to the shower, and Sanji stood, letting Zoro clean him under the warm spray.

“Are your glasses going to be okay?” Sanji asked, toweling his hair off and pulling on comfortable clothes for the long train ride.

“They’ll survive,” Zoro said, trying to wipe them off with a napkin.  He gave up when Sanji began packing, joining him to load Sanji’s Water 7 notes and a few changes of clothes into his suitcase.

They walked together to the train station, hand in hand.

“Sure you don’t want to come with me to Baratie?” Sanji asked.

“Maybe some other time,” Zoro said, “I know how to call you.”  Sanji had given Zoro his home phone number and Pudding’s, just in case.

The train horn sounded, and Sanji hopped on.  He held onto Zoro’s hand for a moment, forcing Zoro to jog alongside the train as it began moving.

“I love you, mosshead,” he said suddenly.  With a grin, he let go, watching Zoro’s face turn from disbelief to outrage to joy.  He laughed as Zoro chased after him.

“I love you, curly,” Zoro shouted, and several other Shimotsuki residents turned to stare at him.  Still giggling to himself, Sanji went to his seat, craning to check if he could still see Zoro as they rounded a bend.  Shimotsuki would be talking about that yelled confession for days, he assumed.  Too bad he wouldn’t be around to needle Zoro about it.  He trusted that Kuina would do so for him.

He settled back in his chair and spent the next few hours watching the view outside turn more and more industrial until finally the train pulled into Baratie City.

---

“It’s published, by the way,” Pudding said, after giving Sanji a hug and helping him get settled at her long editing table.

“What?” Sanji asked absentmindedly, flipping through his notes.

“The WENP article.  Was in this morning’s edition.”

“Oh,” Sanji said, “Do you have a copy?  The journalist gave me a bad feeling.  He better not have made shit up.”

“He wouldn’t,” Pudding said, “It wouldn’t be worth it for him.”

“Hm,” Sanji said, finding the interview halfway through the day’s edition and scanning it quickly.

“It’s more interesting than your other ones,” Pudding said, “I liked your last line.  It was sweet.”

“What was the last line?” Sanji frowned, looking for it.  Someone once told me that if you love what you do, it will provide for you and love you back.

“Who told you that?” Pudding asked, “I certainly didn’t.”

“Who did tell me that?” Sanji murmured.  A moment of uncertainty.  The smell of jasmine.  A dusty bookstore.

“Fuck,” he muttered, when realization struck, “Fuck.”

“What?” Pudding frowned.

“Phone, where’s your phone?” Sanji asked, looking around the room.

“What’s going on, Sanji?”

“Zoro fucking said that to me.  When we first met,” Sanji said frantically, “He’ll know… he’ll know I’m Prince.”  He would have to call Kuina, tell her to keep Zoro from finishing the newspaper.  Or somehow explain to him before he read Koushirou’s words, told to Sanji in confidence, in the interview.  He pulled out the list of numbers Zoro had given him and dialed, holding his breath.

“Shimotsuki Tavern,” Kuina answered.

“It’s me, Sanji.  Have you seen—”

“Oh god, Sanji, we’ve been trying to reach you, but the number wasn’t working.”

“Let me talk to him, please,” Sanji said, an icy calm descending over him.

He heard low voices and then a soft exhale he had become so familiar with.

“Zoro?” he asked tentatively.

“Why didn’t you tell me, curly?” Zoro asked, voice tired.  Sanji collapsed to the floor.

“I… I didn’t want you to treat me differently,” Sanji tried to explain.

Zoro didn’t answer.

“I’m sorry, I should have,” Sanji said, “But I couldn’t find the right time.”

“You asked me about Prince so many times,” Zoro said, “I told you how much I liked his— your writing.  Was it that funny watching me act like an idiot?”

“No, I didn’t think that at all.  You were so sweet, it made me happy.”

“Did you… did you like me only because I was your fan?”

At this, Sanji curled into himself, “No, god no, Zoro.  I like you, I love you, because you’re… you’re kind and clever and you love books and you love bookstores and everything about you just screams goodness.”

“You told me… you told me you weren’t hiding some secret personality.”

“I’m not, Zoro,” Sanji moaned, “This is me.  I’m not putting up some act.  I am Prince, but it’s just a job, Zoro.  I’m Sanji, your Sanji, your curly.”

“Pudding is your editor, isn’t she?  You went back to talk about the Water 7 draft, not to move out.  The secret mission you had a while back was the WENP interview.”

“I’m here to move out too,” Sanji said, “I want to come home to you.  I want to move in with you.

“I need some time to think, curly,” Zoro said, voice desperate.

“Think about what?” Sanji asked, “Let’s talk, please talk to me about what you’re thinking.  I’m coming back, as soon as I can, I want to see you.”

The line was silent.

“Zoro?”  Feeling like his heart was breaking into pieces, Sanji felt heavy tears fall down his face.

“Give me that, Sanji,” Pudding said, grabbing the phone from Sanji’s trembling hands.

She took a deep breath.

“Zoro, are you there?  My name is Pudding Charlotte.  I’m Sanji’s editor.  Before you go off into a righteous rage about this, I’m going to explain to you why Sanji uses a pseudonym in the first place, why he’s not so keen to tell everybody who he is right from the start.”

“Pudding,” Sanji said desperately.

“You go to the bathroom and calm down, sweetie,” she said, “Let me handle this.  This is part of my job description too.”

Sanji’s feet moved automatically at Pudding’s command.  He heard Pudding speaking calmly.  His real name is Sanji Vinsmoke, though you better refer to him only as Sanji Black.  He comes from the shittiest family in North Blue.  He ran away and found a man willing to care for him at his darkest moment.  He cannot and will not use his real name…  Then he closed the bathroom door and sank down, putting his head on his knees.

---

“You’re going back,” Pudding said, opening the door to the bathroom forcefully, “Now.  I’m going with you to the train station.”

“Is he—”

“We had a good chat.  He wants to see you.  You can come back after you talk to him.  Bring him when you do, I want to meet him and maybe punch him in the face.”

“I should have told him.  It’s my fault, Pudding, not his.”

“Yes, you should have,” she said, “But it’s hard for you.  And I did it for you.  I told him about Judge and your brothers and the unfortunate circumstances that we had to meet.”

“Did he like hearing that we were engaged?” Sanji asked tiredly.

“No, but he can suck it up if he really wants to be with you.  And it was pretty clear that he did.”

“Thank you, Pudding,” Sanji said.

“Thank me after you get this all sorted out,” she said, pulling him out of the office, “Go back to him and the sleepy village.  Call me when you get there.”

Sanji numbly embarked on the same journey he had just taken that morning in reverse.  Time passed in a blur as he thought about Zoro and Shimotsuki.  What would be waiting for him at Shimotsuki?  How much more would he need to explain himself?  Would Zoro understand?  Would his safe haven no longer welcome him?

The sky was dark by the time he arrived.  He looked desperately out the window, but he didn’t see anybody at the station.

But when he stepped off the train, the sole traveler to disembark, he heard the patter of footsteps, and suddenly Zoro was there.

“Zoro,” Sanji gasped as Zoro pulled him into a tight hug.

“I’m sorry,” Zoro muttered, “I’m sorry I was shitty on the phone.”

“You weren’t shitty,” Sanji said, feeling tears prick at the corners of his eyes, “I surprised you.”

“I should have trusted you more.”

“I am from the big city, where we seduce you and take everything you own.”

Zoro said nothing, then whispered, “In The Alabastan Queen, the cook calls himself Mr. Prince.  And in… Four Plagues of Germa… the cook is the son of—”

“Mr. Prince came from a noble family and just wanted to be a cook,” Sanji said quietly, “And I just want to write and create stories about hope and freedom and fall in love with whomever I want.”

“Planning to fall in love with someone else, curly?”

“No,” Sanji said, feeling like laughing and crying in equal parts, “No, I want to stay with you in Shimotsuki.  I want to wake up with you and walk to the bookstore with you and swim in the ocean with you and fall asleep with you.”

“Let’s go home,” Zoro said firmly, “You can tell me more about Mr. Prince if you want.  Only if you want.  Or you can tell me about Prince’s stories.  I want to listen.”

---

“You’re the most famous person who’s ever lived here, Sanji,” Kin’emon yelled as Sanji and Zoro walked by.

Sanji waved cheerfully at him as they arrived at the bookstore.  They passed the table and the makeshift awning they had set up outside and walked to the backroom.  Sanji sat down at his desk and finished organizing the pages of his Water 7 manuscript, now named Aqua Laguna.  Zoro fidgeted nervously next to him, moving around the stacks of boxes holding hundreds of copies of Aqua Laguna.

“What if nobody comes?” he asked quietly.

“Well then, Prince is a shitty author, and nobody wants to see him,” Sanji said.

He had published Aqua Laguna a few weeks ago.  After seeing Zoro’s face light up when Sanji offered him the first copy, signed by him, Sanji had gotten the idea in his head of doing his first ever autograph session at Shimotsuki Books as a way of attracting new people to the quiet village.

After he had told Kuina, she had gotten the entire town ready for an influx of visitors, and Shimotsuki had descended into a few happy weeks of renovations.

Zoro began pacing.

“Still a few hours,” Sanji said, “Are you going to pace for hours?”

“They better come,” Zoro muttered, “I would come.  Do they consider themselves real fans if they don’t come to the first book signing Prince has ever done?”

“Zoro, Sanji!”

Kuina came hustling through the store toward them, a grin on her face.  “They’re coming,” she panted, “Oden said the first train of the day arrived, and it’s packed.  He’s already telling townspeople to take carriages to Dressrosa and Wano to get more food and alcohol.”

“The signing isn’t until the afternoon,” Zoro said, shocked.

“They probably just want to see where Prince lives,” Kuina said.

“I’m gonna make myself scarce,” Sanji said, standing up, “I’ll be back in the afternoon for the signing.  Pudding should be here soon too, Kuina.”

Zoro grabbed his hand and began running, dragging Sanji with him out of the bookstore and down the street toward the boardwalk.

“The usual cove?” Sanji grinned.

“High tide,” Zoro said, and they sprinted across the beach, chasing after flocks of seagulls until they arrived at the quiet cove with its ring of protective rocks.

Shedding his clothes as he ran until only his briefs were left, Sanji dove into the water, still cold despite the season.

“Shimotsuki salt and sand,” he grinned when Zoro joined him.

Zoro kissed him fiercely, pinning him against a wall of rock, feeling up and down Sanji’s skin until Sanji’s breath came out in harsh pants.  When Sanji finally pushed him away, Zoro splashed backwards, floating on his back.  Sanji did the same, resting his head on Zoro’s torso.

As they bobbed up and down with the gentle waves, Sanji looked up at the sky.  It had been half a year since he first arrived at Shimotsuki.  He was fully moved into Zoro’s house now, spending idyllic days in the bookstore.  Zoro had begrudgingly agreed to teach Sanji how to dive, acknowledging that Sanji was naturally built like a swimmer and had gained strength and put on muscle in all the right places after months of training.

“Maybe more young people will move to Shimotsuki because of you,” Zoro said quietly.

“They can only come if they agree to worship me.”

Zoro snorted.

“I do have a story I want to write about a man worshiped as a god who didn’t want to be.  Tentatively titled, Usopp the Great,” Sanji said.

“Already thinking about the next book, curly?”

“Always,” Sanji laughed.  He trailed his fingers down Zoro’s stomach, lazily tracing the ridges of his abs.

“I’m thinking about reopening the bookbinding studio,” Zoro said.

“Koushirou would be happy to hear that,” Sanji smiled.

“Maybe I should reorganize the bookstore,” Zoro mused.

“Don’t,” Sanji said immediately, “It’s part of the charm, not being able to find the section you want but stumbling across one you didn’t know you needed.”

“Fine, less work for me.”

“You could move the Prince books closer to the front of the store so people can see them as soon as they come in.”

“No can do, curly,” Zoro laughed, “I keep those close to me.”  He moved, and Sanji, still resting on his stomach, nearly sank underwater before the back of his neck was cradled by a large hand.  And Zoro was kissing him again, the taste of salt on his lips.

Sanji lost track of time, holding Zoro’s impossibly warm body, kissing Zoro until his legs could barely keep him afloat.

They were interrupted by Kuina’s voice, accompanied by Pudding’s.

Zoro glared at the sound of his sister and Sanji’s editor calling for them.

“I know you’re there, Zoro.  You two need to get ready,” Kuina shouted.

“Shh,” Sanji whispered to Zoro, moving so they were blocked from sight by a rock.  Zoro nodded and left kisses up and down his neck.

Pudding’s voice joined Kuina’s, “Sanji.  Black.  Stop hiding.  I can literally see the trail of your clothes going to the water.  I will go in there and drag you out by the hair.”

Sighing, Sanji gave Zoro a rueful look before untangling himself from his partner.

“I’ll be there in a sec, darling.  Don’t look,” he called to Pudding.  He was currently very hard, and he had no intention of letting his editor see.

“I’m heading back to the bookstore, if you’re not there in half an hour, I’m sending dogs after you.”

Zoro peeked around one of the rocks.

“They’re leaving,” he said, swimming quickly back to Sanji, an excited look in his eyes, “I think we have time for—”

“No,” Sanji laughed, covering Zoro’s mouth, “I’m going back.  I do need to bathe and get changed.”

Zoro sank down, blowing bubbles in frustration.

“After the signing,” Sanji said, patting him on the head before diving underwater and swimming back to shore.

---

“Thank you for coming,” Sanji said to the last guest, his face aching from a few hours of keeping a smile plastered to his face.  He massaged his fingers and stretched his wrists as he watched Pudding shoo away the remaining onlookers.

“Go to Kuina’s tavern,” she told them, “You might see Prince there later.”

When he and Pudding were finally alone, Sanji sighed.  “I’m not sure I want to do that ever again.”

“I told you we should have stopped after the first hour,” Pudding said.

“But there were still so many people left.  They came all this way for me.”

“Imagine if you did this in Baratie.”

“It’s a true test of my fans if they’re willing to come to Shimotsuki to get a signed book,” Sanji smiled.  He stood and stretched as Pudding began packing up her day bag.

“You sure you don’t want to stay a few more days?” he asked, “It’s very peaceful here.”

“Brother is coming into town,” Pudding said, “I’m picking him up tomorrow.”

“Ah, tell Kata I said hi,” Sanji said, “It’s been a while.  He should come to Shimotsuki, I bet he would like it.”

“I’ll let him know,” Pudding smiled.  She gave him a hug.  “Take a break,” she warned, “If you give me another draft in a few weeks, I’m going to tell Zoro to take all your writing supplies away.”

“Zoro and I are going on a long trip,” Sanji smiled, “I’m going to show the little duckling the world.”

“Good,” she nodded, blowing him a kiss as she headed in the direction of the train station.

Sanji walked into the bookstore; the bell, which had been used more today than it had in likely the last year, made a tired chime.  Zoro poked his head from the backroom and grinned when he saw Sanji.

“Finally finished?” he asked.  The recluse had stuck around for the first five minutes of the signing, then fled into the bookstore after seeing the crowds lining up for Sanji’s signature.

“Yup,” Sanji said, looking at the shelves and the various empty slots, “Looks like people bought a lot of books.”

Zoro’s face turned stormy as he glared at the cash box, and Sanji knew the money he had earned that day was a personal affront to Zoro because it meant parting with many of his favorites.  Sanji giggled, looking down at the note taped to the counter: “In the backroom.  Ring the bell only if you’re about to purchase a book. -Roronoa.”

“You seriously need to work on your salesmanship,” Sanji said, pressing the bell a few times.  “What were you doing in the backroom?” he asked, “Sleeping?”

“I finished it,” Zoro said excitedly, taking Sanji’s hand and pulling him behind the counter.  He led Sanji to the bookbinding equipment that had been placed back on Sanji’s work desk.  Sitting next to the equipment was a book.

Sanji picked it up, tracing the lettering pressed into the front cover.  Aqua Laguna.  By Sanji Black.  Original Manuscript.  He opened it to the first page, the blue-green marbled pattern of the title page resembling the Shimotsuki ocean.

“Does it look okay?” Zoro asked anxiously.

“It’s perfect,” Sanji said hoarsely.

“One of the letters on the cover is slightly off-center,” Zoro said, glaring down at his own hands.

“It’s perfect,” Sanji repeated.  He held the book in his hand, thinking about the first day he started writing it, in this very room.  He remembered Zoro’s enthusiasm when Sanji described the plot, hanging on to each word of the adventure with rapt attention.  Sanji had consulted Zoro about Aqua Laguna more often than he had with Pudding in the end, the bookstore owner the perfect partner with whom to bounce ideas.

Sanji picked up a nearby published copy of his book, flipping to the Acknowledgments page.  Zoro rested his chin on Sanji’s shoulder.  He pointed proudly at the words written on the page.

“That’s me,” he said smugly.

“That’s you,” Sanji laughed, kissing him on the cheek.

---

For my Shimotsuki salt and sand who showed me an enduring love

My art!