Archive of Our Own ^beta

Zoro strolls down the pier in Sixis with heightened senses. The afternoon sun is warm on his shoulders; cut only by the crisp breeze of the coast brushing across the planks. He pauses as he reaches a wall of bounty posters, pretending to read over the names as he checks his periphery again. 

He’s still being followed.  

The man is a good few meters back this time and leaning against one of the docks posts. His dumb spiked hair and face tattoo sticks out like a sore thumb. 

Why the hell would the man ever think he could be stealthy with a dumbass face like that?

Zoro hasn’t figured out who they are yet, but he’d noticed the man lingering in his footsteps about three days ago. 

A seat taken in the corner of a bar. A purchase made only two stalls away. A presence in the shadows of an alleyway. 

The man’s intent was unclear; and Zoro had very little appreciation in subterfuge. 

If he’d been trying to be secretive, Zoro thinks he probably shouldn’t have had such unique features. It gave the bounty hunter very few doubts he’d spotted the same man hovering about an unusual number of times. 

His presence was hindering Zoro's plans and pissing him off. The swordsman had been hoping to catch a supply ship out to the Sambas region soon. He’d heard Shell’s Town had a bustling marketplace and had been attempting to reach it.

Somehow, he’d ended up in Sixis instead, but the locals said Shell’s Town was only a short sail away and Zoro had become quite adept at bartering with supply merchants for passage in recent years. However, the moment Zoro felt confident the man’s recurring presence was purposeful , the bounty hunter realized he’d need to detour his path. 

There was no way Zoro would lead his shadow to his intended destination without knowing his goals. His chances that this ended in anything other than a fight to the death was slim. 

As such, the bounty hunter stopped by the nearest post office that morning to send word ahead that he’d be delayed. 

The coin in his pocket was beginning to fair a bit too light for his preference, so he kept his message short. Sending it off without a second thought as he moved onto the next point of concern. 

Dealing with his shadow. 

His annoyance flaring brighter than any true concern for his safety,  Zoro ensured he had freshly cleaned swords, and his reliable waxed canvas bag on hand. Then, he detours to the nearest forest and makes his way deep into the trees. 

No need to make a scene, after all.

“Seven days? I could catch up on my sleep.” 

Zoro counts nine sunsets and thinks he might be in trouble. 

Not that he regrets anything. 

He doesn’t regret eating the worst tasting onigiri he’d ever had to protect the smile of a child. 

He doesn’t regret withholding his blades at the bar to prevent a mess. 

Zoro doesn’t regret how he got here , but there’s a looming, uncertain future ahead of him that’s looking a bit dimmer by the day. 

That marine brat had even come by and brandished Wado Ichimonji in front of him, his movements embarrassingly mechanical. Clearly a trained hand with no experience. 

That idiot knew nothing of honing one's movements to the weight and feel of a blade. It was a disservice to her brilliant quality and an insult to swordsmanship. Zoro vows he’ll the brat in full when he gets out. 

When he gets out. 

Because no matter what the brat said, Zoro wouldn’t die here. 

He wouldn’t die without fulfilling his promises. 

“I’m Monkey D. Luffy, and I will be King of the Pirates. And I think you should join my crew!”

Zoro scoffs, the idiot had just climbed out of a sewer grate.  

“What makes you think I’d wanna play pirates with you?” Zoro deadpans.  

“You’re a great fighter,” Luffy declares, “I’d say that together, we’d make a pretty good team.”

“I kill your kind for a living,” Zoro sneers as he emphasizes, “Pirate… hunter.”

“You keep saying that, but is that all you are?” Luffy asks, his tone open and honest, “Is that all you want?”

Zoro scowls, the abrasive rope around his limbs is a physical reminder that his career as a bounty hunter was shot to shit. The marines had already admitted they had no intentions of freeing him. Though the number of days he’d been tied up in the stockyard alone had been enough to reveal that ahead of time. 

That being the case... even when Zoro did get free, what kind of livelihood could he garner without the income from his bounties? 

The prompt forces a similar memory to the forefront of his mind. The smell of tobacco and the brush of blunt fingernails across his scalp. Of soft words pressed between an even softer smile. 

“What’s next?” 

Zoro swallows around a dry and thick throat, “I made a promise to someone a long time ago… to become the world’s greatest swordsman.”

“Impressive,” Luffy comments, stepping around to work at the knots keeping him attached to the post. 

“You can untie me, but I’m still not gonna join your crew. ” Zoro tells him honestly, “I’ve got someone I need to get back to.” 

“Okay,” Luffy agrees, moving around the post and starting to work on the knots holding him captive. 

“I mean it.” Zoro adds gruffly, “I don’t owe you anything.”

“I just think it’s a waste of time for you to be hanging out here when there’s something you want out there.” Luffy shrugs, striding back to the sewer grate and slipping into the opening, “good luck on the sword thing.” 

Zoro watches him go with aching limbs and a curious gaze. 

“What we need is a place to lay low, wait out any reinforcements they send after us.”

Zoro didn’t intend to join a pirate crew, but his options were few since his bounty hunting career was over. He’d left Shells Town with Luffy because there was only one ship. 

He’d kept following Luffy because it felt natural, as natural as following sunlight for a nap. 

It was so natural, in fact, that Zoro didn’t even realize he was falling into it until he’d been entangled. 

It was easy and it was good. Luffy believed in dreams larger than the world and he did it in a way that sucked everyone else in; lifted them to ride a wave across the sea. 

Luffy made impossible things seem easy. 

Luffy also wants to go to the Grand Line. And, surprisingly, Zoro wants to go with him. He wants the challenge and the adventure that comes with following a dream just as big as his own. 

It was just that; there was currently someone missing from that dream. 

The swordsman leans against the Going Merry’s white railing with a scowl, his arms bunched up across his chest as he poses how to possibly bring up to his Captain that they needed to find a floating restaurant. 

A floating restaurant that Zoro could only ever locate by word of mouth. 

Nami was bound to be ecstatic. 

She’d already been complaining that she couldn’t navigate in the dense fog they’d sailed into since they left Syrup Village. Zoro couldn’t imagine how well that request would go over. 

So as Luffy sits on the figurehead, pointing and directing their navigation by his damn nose for some godforsaken reason, Zoro runs a series of prompts over in his head. 

“Before we head to the Grand Line, Luffy, I need to see someone-”

“So Luffy, since you like food so much, I wanted to mention a cook I know-”

“ don’t know where this restaurant actually is right now, but last time it was anchored near Aldermere… I think-” 

“Luffy, have you thought about getting a cook for the crew?” 

The swordsman grimaces, it all sounds ridiculous when he trials it in his head. 

Abruptly, his thoughts are torn away as the crew starts jabbering. 

“What is that?” Nami asks. 

“Is that land?” Usopp blurts out. 

“Can’t be,” she corrects, “There aren’t any islands anywhere near here.” 

The fog gives way enough for bright red lettering to be legible behind a fuzzy haze of fog, and Usopp squints as he reads it aloud, “what’s a… Ba-rah-tieh?” 

The rest of the familiar vessel appears as they sail closer. The silhouette of her dark wooden hull coming into shape, the yellow glow of her windows cutting through the fog and her lighthouse illuminating the surrounding waves. 

Zoro’s heart clenches in his chest. The stark contrast between his longing to reach her and the shock of suddenly being deposited on the Baratie’s deck without warning is jarring. A viscous mix of excitement and horror turns in his chest and lodges in his throat like tar.

How long had he been away this time?

“Be setting off again after our delivery, Hunter. Likely a few hours. If you’re on board we’ll port ya’ back but we won’t be waitin’.” 

“Understood,” Zoro drawls, striding off of the worn planks of the fishing vessel with a curt nod to its captain. The floating dock gives an inch from his steps but he pays it no mind, one arm comfortably resting on the hilts of his swords as he strides towards the bright teal door of the Baratie.  

Zoro doesn’t expect he’ll be done in time to catch the return trip, but he’ll keep it in mind. 

He’d stay as long as he needed to catch his quarry. 

Brass Odell was the rogue quartermaster of a crew Zoro had taken out a month prior in New Dale. The spineless bastard having scurried away during the battle. He'd run the moment his captain had been felled under the swordsman’s blade and had been just ahead of the bounty hunter’s trail ever since.

His bounty wasn’t even very high, but Zoro was trying to make a name for himself. He’d only started bounty hunting six months ago and having a straggler on his reputation was infuriating. 

Finally, a fresh rumor in Drach had pointed Zoro to a floating restaurant off the coast. Catching a willing ferry to said restaurant, unfortunately, had cost Zoro nearly the last of his coin. His purse was uncomfortably light from the chase and he was really leaning on that tip to be correct before he went broke over a grudge. 

Stepping through the front doors, Zoro finds the bustle of the restaurant surprisingly vibrant for mid-afternoon. The main room is an extravagant, multi-tiered rotunda with rich woodwork and a haze of lantern smoke. 

A fishman in a suit watching the entryway catches Zoro’s gaze and gives a courteous nod, “good afternoon, Sir. Do you have a reservation?” 

“No, I don’t.” He replies, gazing out over the tables with a keen eye. 

“I’m afraid without one we have limited options for seating,” the man informs him, “will anyone else be joining you?” 

“Just me,” Zoro looks back to the concierge, “I’ll take any table you can offer.”

The concierge hadn’t been exaggerating, Zoro finds. 

His offered seat ends up being a small pedestal table near the doors to the kitchen, close enough to see a slip of the kitchen when the bifold doors swung wide. The edge of his table is shoved up against a robust wooden column and it’s so narrow Zoro has to be careful how he adjusts his knees so he doesn’t bump them into the table’s support. 

A quick-footed waiter had already dropped off a menu and Zoro was quickly realizing he might’ve been better off trying to sneak around the hull for the chance to find Odell. 

Because fuck. He couldn't afford this. 

The only boon so far was the fact that his table was on the outskirts of the room, providing the bounty hunter with a view to the entire dining area from a seat his charge would be unlikely to notice. 

Still… Zoro hadn’t caught sight of the man. Odell had rusty red hair that he kept in a high ponytail, the short tufts sticking out like a dumb pompom, Zoro'd been sure he’d be able to spot him without much fuss due to the garish look. 

How big was this fucking ship? Could there be other dining rooms he couldn’t see? A bar? Private rooms? 

“Are you ready to order, sir?” His waiter interrupts his thoughts, a petite man with slicked black hair and a notepad in hand. 

Zoro glances down at the menu again and bites back a grimace as he quickly runs through the prices once more. 

What was the cheapest thing he could order that wouldn't get his ass thrown out?

He spies a familiar plate in the appetizers, the price just low enough he could afford it. 

“Onigiri,” he replies.  

The waiter doesn’t immediately respond and it’s immediately obvious he’s not expecting that to be the only item. 

“And a beer,” Zoro adds. 

With pursed lips, the waiter scribbles his order down on his notepad, “we’ll get this started right away, Sir.” 

The swordsman nods, already turning away to look back across the restaurant with a scowl. 

Where the fuck was Odell?

“New shipments here!” A runner hollers from the back of the kitchen. 

“The hell you yammering for about it?” Zeff’s voice roars back, “get it on ice!”

“Two Bourguignon for table eight!” 

There’s a clatter of metal pots from the left, “ Carne, did you move my fucking pan again!?” 

“Fuck no! Stop losing your own shit!” 

Sanji smirks to himself as he nabs a stalk of fennel from across the counter, deftly chopping it into even portions. Zeff’s peg leg echos over the metal clanging of utensils and there's a wooden drag from the crates being dropped off at the door to the pantry. 

“Sanji?!” Patty shouts. 

“Ah ah- don’t try and drag me into this, arsehole! ” The blond sneers, lifting his hand from his cutting board to point the tip of his knife at the other chef, “I wouldn’t touch your shitty risotto with a ten foot pole!” 

Patty mimes cutting his throat with a glare and Sanji flicks his hand to offer him his middle finger. 

“Steamed mussels, Steak au Poivre, and Coq au Vin for table fifteen!” 

“Steak au Poivre and Star Sea Bass for table three!” 

Sanji nods to himself as the noise filters effectively in and out his periphery. He swipes a hand delicately around the edge of a finished plate and slides it under the warmer, “scallops for table six!” He calls. 

A runner waves a finger in recognition and the blond turns on his heel to get back to the sauce he has simmering on the back burner. Sanji gives the pan a swirl and makes the quick decision to add an extra splash of red wine, nabbing the neck of a bottle at his station and feeling the clink of his rings as they hit the glass. He adds a silky pour and enjoys the satisfying aroma of dry alcohol on his tongue as steam arises. The addition blending seamlessly into the pan. 

“Onigiri for table twenty three!” 

Sanji gives his pan a final twist of a stir as the words register and looks to the door that leads to the dining room with a scowl, “who the hell sat someone at table twenty three?” He mutters to himself. 

Table twenty three was shit.  

Sanji lowers the heat for his pan and throws in a pinch of salt, frowning into the burgundy sauce as he rolls the thought over. 

It was four in the goddamn afternoon. There should’ve been no reason to have a patron at that sad excuse of a seat. The damn thing was barely large enough to sit a child and shoved between one of the large supports to the balcony and the din of the kitchen nearby.

They’d left it out on the floor to keep the space full, but Zeff had told the staff to avoid using it unless absolutely necessary. 

Most of the time it was where they sat sailors that would upset up the general dining- Usually ones needing distanced due to the stench of a long stretch of sea. 

Then the order registers. 

Onigiri, the most basic item on the Baratie’s menu. 

Sanji plates his bordelaise with a perfectly medium-rare steak and shoves the finished meal to the line, grimacing as he sees that the boring ticket for table twenty three was still hanging up for the taking. 

Who could possibly be pathetic enough to order the cheapest item on the menu from the shittiest seat in the house? 

The blond lets out a resigned sigh before plucking it up. 

Damn his soft heart. 

Sanji whips up what is most decidedly not onigiri in short order. Instead of plain rice with scrap fillings, he sears a fresh Summer trout. Plating two filets with tender, flaking meat and a golden brown sear atop a warm bed of seasoned rice. He smiles to himself as he artfully places the second filet offset of the first. 

Flipping his dish towel over his shoulder and out of the way; he glances around to confirm Zeff was still barreling about in the pantry with the fresh stock.  

He’d need to deliver the meal personally so the waitstaff wouldn’t tattle on him to the old bastard. If he got caught sending out alternate plates again he thinks Zeff might actually make good on his threat to throw Sanji out of the kitchen.

So, with practiced ease, Sanji takes up the plate in one hand and slips off the line with a confident stride. 

Zoro nurses his beer with a glare. 

He’d checked every table. Between glances around the columns of the ship and a slow trip to the restroom to cover his blindspots; Zoro was confident he’d laid eyes on every customer in the dining room. 

Either Zoro’s tip had been misspoke or Odell was elsewhere on the ship. 

The bounty hunter takes a long draw from his beer, watching as a tittering group of women stroll off into a side hallway on the dining balcony. 

The Baratie was not a small ship. 

“Your food, Sir.” 

Zoro turns his attention back to his table, where a lean blond was placing a plate of food in front of him. A plate of food that was not his order.

Seared white fish, resting over strips of nori trimmed into curving ornament, all atop a bed of fluffy white rice. 

“I ordered onigiri,” the swordsman corrects him quickly; because he could not afford a fuck up the cost of whatever price was on that meal. 

The waiter, a young man with silky blond hair and brilliant blue eyes, just offers him a charming smile and leaves the plate where he placed it, “we’re having a special today.” 

Zoro scowls, “what kind of special?” 

“Free upcharge for the shittiest seat in the house,” the man teases, throwing him a wink before spinning on his heel. 

Zoro freezes as the man strides back to the kitchen. Surprise turning into interest as he notices the way the man’s chef’s whites accentuate his trim waist.

His gaze lingers longer than necessary, his eyes following the long line of his legs until the man fully disappears through the swinging doors. 

Had he… just been hit on?

Suddenly, Zoro finds he might have more than one reason to go wandering around the hallways of the Baratie. He swallows, and the aroma of his meal drags his eyes back downward. The briny smell of fresh fish warmly cut with a buttery citrus was mouthwatering. 

Holy shit. 

He would go look for Odell after he ate his fill. 

Zoro is lost. 

The Baratie is not a small ship. 

It seemed that the restaurant also housed a number of spare rooms, hallways of staff apartments, and multiple lounges. 

In his entirely purposeful expedition, Zoro had learned there were a lot of places Odell wasn’t.

He lets out a tense breath as finds himself wandering into the edges of a large exterior bar. It’s evening at this point, the golden haze of dusk is cutting through bottles of liquor and reflecting warm hues on the floors and walls. Mentally, he tallies the berri in his pockets for the chance of a drink. 

But as Zoro wanders into the heart of the room, there's a figure that catches his eye. In a moment of view between flocks of bar patrons, there's a familiar blond leaning against the railing. 

Sanji sucks in a lingering drag on his cigarette, grateful for the nicotine after a rush of a shift. He taps his wrist against the railing to ash it, watching as the char drops silently into the waves. 

A quiet form steps into his periphery, leaning against the railing just a few feet away. Sanji glances, and is amused to find the same customer he’d spoilt earlier that day. The man is staring out into the crowd with a firm gaze, but lingering close enough to be purposeful. Sanji’d not gotten a good chance to look at him earlier, having rushed back to the kitchen so as not to be caught.

Now, the blond finds himself regretful he’d missed the opportunity. The onigiri customer was a young man, possibly even close to Sanji’s own seventeen years. He had mossy green hair and his skin was a tawny bronze. Sanji takes in compact muscle coiled under a simple tunic and dark pants with an appreciative gaze. Lastly, his countenance is sealed by three katanas strapped to his hip, sharp cheekbones and an even sharper gaze. 

Sanji instantly realizes his earlier mistake. 

Their concierge hadn’t placed him at the shit table because he’d been unsavory. 

He’d placed the swordsman by the kitchen because he’d been afraid. He’d been worried the man was up to no good and wanted the ships best fighters nearby. Poor Gustav, Sanji thinks.

How ironic. 

And how better to pique Sanji’s curiosity? 

Sanji ducks his head and takes a short drag of his cigarette. Staring outright, he can tell the swordsman is watching him out of his periphery, now. The blond smirks at him. 

“I don’t like debts,” the swordsman starts the conversation, tilting his head to meet Sanji’s gaze firmly. His three golden earrings shift as he moves and Sanji finds his eye drawn to how they glint in the light of the lanterns.   

“Good thing you don’t have one,” the blond retorts, because he means it. He has no intention of swindling a man into payment he’d not agreed to. 

The swordsman quirks a corner of his mouth up, seeming pleased by the reply. Then his dark gaze piercing, “That’s too bad; I was hoping to settle it.” 

Sanji blinks, the words registering before he grins. There’s a thrill of excitement that flares in his ribs. So the swordsman could dance?

Taking another hit from his cigarette, Sanji blows out the smoke in the man’s direction, jeering playfully, “you think you can offer equal compensation for the dish I served you?”

The swordsman smirks, “I can offer something better.” 

“In that case,” the blond leans in, “I do hope you enjoyed your food. I’m Sanji.”  

With a crooked, cocky grin, the swordsman introduces himself, “Roronoa Zoro.”  

Suddenly, at a nearby bar top, there's a resounding smack from the flat of a hand. 

“For the last time- Leave me alone!” A woman’s voice hitches. 

“I said I’d pay ya- ya bitch-!” 

Sanji is already moving when he hears Zoro’s hiss of a breath close behind him. The blond closes the distance across the bar with a few long strides and swipes the barstool out from underneath the cursing man with an easy swing of his leg. 

“Odell.” Zoro growls from behind him. 

The toppled man, a rough customer in worn clothes and crimson hair in a knot atop his scalp, shrieks as he catches sight of him. 

The blond’s already prepared to heave the degenerate up by his throat and punt him over the railing, but he doesn’t get a chance before Zoro closes in.  A glint of silver in the lantern light the only warning before Zoro has a katana smoothly drawn and angling for the man’s throat. 

“Oi-!” Sanji hisses, throwing his heel out and blocking the swing with the sole of his dress shoes. The force of the hit jars his hip and he snarls lowly at the swordsman, “there’s no fighting at the Baratie.” 

“Out of my way.” Zoro declares, not taking his eyes off of the red-haired man on the floor of the bar, “he’s a scumbag. I have a bounty for him.”

The patrons around them have scattered to the edges of the bar, if not out of the space entirely. 

“H-he’s lying!” The man cries. 

“There’s no fighting at the Baratie ,” Sanji repeats in a hiss, kicking away the katana and blocking Zoro’s path. “This is a food establishment, we wouldn’t want to make a mess.” He explains evenly. 

Sanji then glances at the woman cowering near the bar top, glaring pointedly at the red mark around her wrist from unwanted hands. 

Sucking another drag from his cigarette, the blond returns Zoro’s sharp gaze with a sneer. “Let me escort you to the docks , Roronoa.” 

Zoro grins. 

Sanji’s scowl deepens as he reads through the list of the crimes, leaning against the outer hull of the Baratie while Zoro stuffs body parts into a waxed canvas bag. 

“Is all this true?” Sanji mutters. 

Zoro pauses, his brow creasing before he answers with a simple, “yes.” 

“Good riddance,” Sanji frets, hoping the morning tide will wash the blood from the planks. “But did you have to be so messy?”

“Yeah,” Zoro smirks. 

The cook scowls, putting out a finished cigarette on the damp planks behind him as he stares out into the night. The dark sky blanketing the dock in soft blues and the wind threading a chill into his collar. 

Zoro fastens the tie of his bag with a deft knot and stands, one hand resting on the hilt of his swords while the other wraps around the strap of his bag. His weight shifts unevenly from the sway of the dock and he’s watching the blond with an air of hesitation. 

Sanji considers him carefully, unmoving from his place against the hull. 

“Do you plan to kill every pirate you come across, Bounty Hunter?” 

“Do you plan to gut every fish in the ocean, Cook?” Zoro asks with a quirk of his eyebrow. 

The blond tilts his head with a smirk, conceding the point. The warm light from the windows of the ship highlighting the bronze of Zoro’s exposed skin. 

“Do you aim for justice, then?” Sanji asks. 

“It’s a means to a living,” Zoro admits, “my aims are higher.” 

Sanji takes out a fresh cigarette, tapping the bottom of the carton against his palm, “and where might that target be, swordsman?” 

Zoro lets the breeze breathe between them before he answers, throwing his dream out into its endless breath, “to be the greatest in the world.” 

“That is grand,” Sanji agrees with a soft smile, “commendable, if not tragic.” 

“And what do you dream of, Cook?” Zoro asks. 

The blond blows fresh smoke out above them, the rich tobacco blanketing their conversation. “A child’s tale,” he admits sardonically, “a sea where you can find ingredients from all four seas. The All Blue.” He offers, his voice revenant. 

Zoro takes a moment to meet the cook’s nervous gaze, “sounds like a good place to make onigiri.”  

Sanji grins. He rolls his lower lip between his teeth and his empty fingers itch to reach out and see if the cut of Zoro’s muscles feel as delicious as they look. 

He thinks it is a damn shame if he wastes his chance to find out. 

The blond rolls the words in his mouth before he suggests, “You probably shouldn’t set sail this late. The waters get awful choppy in the night around here. ”

“Don’t have a ship,” Zoro replies easily. 

“You-,” Sanji blinks, “you don’t?” 

The swordsman shrugs, “never know where I’ll end up, just easier to travel light.” 

“Not having transportation is traveling light ?”

“I had a boat once,” Zoro admits with a hint of a scowl, “lost track of it.” 

There’s a story in there somewhere, and Sanji’s tempted to pry, but the waves are gathering height with the tide and the chill is biting without the aid of the sun. So, instead, Sanji finishes off his cigarette and fiddles with his lighter until the metal warms to his palm. 

“We have a morning shipment scheduled, you know,” Sanji tells him, “fresh produce from Aldemere.” 

Zoro doesn’t reply; the small furrow of his brows easily revealing he’s not catching on. 

“I’m friendly with their captain,” the blond continues, “I’m sure he’d give you a lift.” 

Even in the dim lighting of the evening, Sanji can see the salacious glint of recognition taking over Zoro’s eyes, “in the morning?” The swordsman queries, throwing him another crooked smile that's far too endearing. 

Sanji grins, “bright and early.”

Zoro nods slowly, in mock consideration before tilting his head, “sounds like I've got some time to kill.” 

“Well, bounty hunter, you seem familiar with such a task,” Sanji drawls.

The swordsman quirks his lips, “when’s the bar close?” 

“Midnight,” Sanji flicks his lighter closed, “though I might know of a private taproom- If you’re up for some company.” 

“Even better,” Zoro heaves the strap of the bag up and over his shoulder with a grunt and a smirk, “lead the way.” 

“Uh-uh, ew, no ,” the blond grimaces, “the bag stays outside.”

Zoro scowls, “it’s my meal ticket.” 

“I’m your meal ticket,” Sanji clarifies, “that is a fucking corpse.”  

“Priss.” 

Sanji rolls his eyes, “you can throw it in the bilge if he means so much to you, c’mon.” 

Zoro makes himself comfortable on one of the lush couches of the lounge, watching the blond browse the liquor cabinet with a thoughtful gaze. Sanji had led them to a quaint room on the upper forecastle. With a set of plush, red velvet furniture and a fully stocked bar; the cook had explained its small size left it unused by customers most nights.

The cook also explained that it had the added benefit of being as far as one could physically get from the grumpy head chef’s rooms in the quarterdeck; as it was often where the cook disappeared to after a good row with his old man. 

Zoro just melts into the cushions as the Cook talks. Enjoying the accented lilt of his voice and the rich smell of tobacco steeped into the walls. Sanji hums in consideration as he makes a selection, gathering a handful of bottles, syrups, and jars to move to an open countertop. 

“What’s your poison?” 

“Strong.” 

Sanji rolls his eyes, though he embraces the attention Zoro gives him with relish. He works with elegant, efficient movements. With a prompt, Zoro regales him with the tale of his first bounty. Meanwhile, Sanji pours smooth servings of liquor into glasses with an even twist of his wrists. He makes it look effortless and is flushing pink from the attention, catching Zoro’s gaze every so often with a brilliant smile. As Zoro reaches the end of his tale, Sanji slices a fresh lemon rind into a curl and garnishes the rim of each glass with a flourishing spritz of citrus. 

“No fucking way,” Sanji drawls, finishing the drinks by dropping each of the lemon curls into the liquid amber. “I don’t believe you.” 

“It’s the truth,” Zoro smirks, giving a nod in thanks as Sanji hands him one of the finished drinks. 

The blond hums in false disbelief, using the swing of his shoulders as joins Zoro on the couch to land himself flush against the swordsman side. “Everyone that came through was raving about how terrifying he was!” The blond persists. 

“He was a shithead,” the swordsman corrects evenly, “big sword, big words- no skill.”  

Sanji laughs louder, “the terrifying Captain Eagle!” He embellishes the word with a waggle of his fingers, his rings clinking gently with the movement. 

“More like a sparrow.” Zoro snorts. 

The blond snickers, “goodness, is bounty hunting really that easy?” 

“Not always,” Zoro admits, though his tone drips with confidence. The tilt of his chin draws their eyes in line and Sanji swallows, his gaze measuring the distance between their lips. 

“You’re such a cocky shit.” 

“Like you’re any better,” Zoro snarks, drifting closer so he can clink their cocktail glasses together, “can’t even make a drink without theatrics.” 

“Don’t blame me for enjoying the show,” Sanji teases.

Zoro doesn’t comment, though the curve of his lips tells otherwise. 

“And take a drink,” the cook pouts, “I want to watch the moment I ruin you for other bartenders.” 

The swordsman rolls his eyes but takes a sip, expecting it to be too tart, too sweet, or too watered down. 

Instead, Zoro’s floored to discover it’s fucking delicous. An earthy whiskey cut with the edges of the burn twisting into sharp notes of citrus, steeped in a bed of spices that coated the tongue. 

Since when could booze taste like this? 

“Oh,” Sanji purrs, “you like it.” 

“Not bad,” Zoro corrects, in the undersell of the fucking century. 

“How generous of you,” Sanji grins, seeing through him like glass. 

Unwilling to lose his footing in their banter, Zoro takes another mouthwarming sip and leans into the blond’s space; “I can be generous,” his gaze drawing from the brilliant blue of his eyes to the soft pink flush of his cheeks. “I told you, I don’t like debts.” 

“Yes, so you’ve mentioned,” the blond smirks. 

“Fancy restaurant in the middle of the sea,” Zoro prompts, swirling the amber liquid of his glass and savoring the burst of citrus that arises between them, “there ought to be a head or two I could turn in for you.” 

“Your confidence is cute, swordsman,” Sanji teases affectionately, “but you don’t run a floating restaurant in the middle of pirate territory without handling your own shit.” 

Zoro swallows another sip as he considers this, then asks, “you fight, Cook?” 

Sanji sneers, “I could kick your arse.” 

“You could?” Zoro echoes, his dark eyes alight with interest. Smoothly, Zoro glides a palm over the fine fabric of Sanji’s suit pants and presses into the dense muscle of his thigh. He recalls the solid force the cook had used earlier in the evening to block the strike of his blade with his heel and grins. 

Sanji leans in, close enough to mingle their breaths as he answers, “ I could.” 

Zoro bridges the final gap between them, unashamed to press his chapped lips against the Cooks as a lithe hand brushes across the back of his own. Sanji sighs into the affection, tangling their fingers together in their laps and pressing back with equal fervor. 

The blond’s breath hitches against his mouth, freeing his grasp of Zoro’s hand so he can thread his fingers around the curve of the swordsman’s jaw. He angles Zoro’s mouth with a gentle hold, sliding his fingers up and into cropped hair when he’s satisfied with the placement. 

Sanji tugs lightly on his hair, a grin stretching his lips and his breath warm across Zoro’s cheek, “do you grow this yourself, Mosshead?” 

“Do you ever shut the fuck up?” 

The blond just laughs. 

It’s electric. Zoro swipes his tongue across the seam of Sanji’s lips and his belly curls at the warm bite of booze in his saliva. At some point Sanji divests them of their glasses, so Zoro takes the opportunity to hook his hand around the back of Sanji’s knee, drawing the long line of his leg across his lap to leverage him closer. 

Sanji folds into his space with grace, soft and pliant despite the way Zoro knows his own movements are choppy and desperate. 

Zoro won’t be the first to admit his experience was limited, though he can make up for most of it with confidence. 

The blond still seems to catch on, however, and draws back slightly. 

“Look, swordsman,” Sanji breathes the words against him, the roll of his smooth accent doing horrendous things to Zoro’s common sense. “Relax, you’re not the only one lacking exposure to these activities.”  

“You talk like an old man.” 

“Brute,” the blond snorts into his neck, tickling the short hairs at Zoro’s nape before kissing the skin there affectionately, “look; not everything needs a goal, yeah? Let’s enjoy the ride.” 

The admission softens the space between them. Zoro allows himself a small, quiet breath in and out; heart spiraling as he takes in Sanji’s soft smile and bright blue eyes. 

“...Yeah. Okay, Cook.” Zoro agrees, wishing the way the words fell from his lips didn’t sound so winded. 

Then Sanji smiles at him again and Zoro doesn’t think he cares about pretenses anymore. 

The supply ship to Aldemere is waiting. 

Sanji’s heart is fluttering in his chest like a moth trapped in a lantern. He feels giddy and stupid and altogether too close to his age. 

What had started as a brazen attempt at a tryst on both parts had flourished into something tangible, something solid, and terrifying. They’d done little more than heavy petting and fallen asleep curled up together on the lounge’s couch. 

Logically, Sanji doesn’t think he should be feeling this way. 

“I’ll be back,” Zoro tells him, a bit more seriously than Sanji needs but he’ll appreciate all the same. 

So he smiles, cheeky and wide as he replies with a breathless, “yeah?” 

The swordsman holds his gaze with a smirk, “gotta settle my debts.” 

“Oh? ” Sanji raises an eyebrow. “Admitting your company wasn’t valuable enough to make us even?” He then lowers the timbre of his voice to add, “or are you just making excuses?” 

Zoro takes a strong step forward and curls a warm hand around the blond’s waist. An echo of the night they’d shared, bumbling about actions that neither would audibly admit were new. 

Sanji presses their foreheads together and wishes his ribcage were a snare. 

“I don’t like debts, Cook,” Zoro reiterates. 

Sanji grins, allowing himself the pleasure of tracing a thumb along the swordsman’s jaw as he whispers, “then I look forward to the payout.” 

Usually Zoro would arrive at the Baratie on the supply docks, hitching rides with one of the restaurant's various supply ships. Entering through the front feels awkward and formal. In an odd way, it feels like he’s sneaking in. 

The concierge doesn’t recognize him and Zoro doesn’t bother to try and correct it while his crew negotiates a table, his focus and gaze naturally searching out the doors to the kitchen. Nami bribes the man, because of course she does, and Zoro can’t find a cause to look away from the swinging galley doors as they’re led to their table. 

He’s so distracted his fucking swords knock into the booth and he feels like a moron. 

“I’d be happy to check your swords for you, sir.” 

“I got this,” he grumbles, tucking his hilts in and switching to the opposite seats, grateful no blond chefs had been nearby to see the blunder. 

“Very good,” the concierge nods, “here are your menus. Your waiter will be with you shortly.” 

“I wonder what kind of food they have here,” Usopp murmurs excitedly. 

Zoro drops the menu to the table and crosses his arms, staring off back into the heart of the dining room. 

He doesn’t have any interest in seeing what Zeff was offering this month. 

There’s a fight brewing. Usopp points it out with a grimace as two men stand up from their seats on the far side of the room. 

The men seem to be arguing about who gets to sit closer to the kitchen for the aroma. Nami calls them morons while Luffy narrows his gaze and is nodding along in serious contemplation. 

Voices raise and Zoro begins weighing the pros and cons of stepping in. The pros being that stepping in for a dashing save to the atmosphere is an excellent way to announce his arrival to the Cook. 

The cons being if he fucks up and even so much as gets a scratch on the ship, Zeff might actually filet him. 

The swordsman doesn’t end up needing to make a decision, though. Zoro sees Sanji the moment he bursts from the kitchen. His blond hair and lean stride catches his eye instantly and Zoro finds his heart lurching in his chest. Sanji’s wearing a sleek navy suit with a pinstripe blue shirt and it's alarmingly attractive. 

The bastard. 

Zoro watches with apt attention as the blond deftly resolves the conflict, one hand still in his pocket and not a morsel of food spilled. His swift movements are concise and elegant, his fair hair standing out like starlight in front of the dark decor of the dining room. 

“Good fighter,” Luffy remarks around a mouthful. 

Zoro resists the urge to comment, though there’s a prideful swell in his chest over the observation. That Luffy would see Sanji’s worth without Zoro intervening at all was a boon of its own. 

The blond strides their way with a plate of rolls and a frown. The swordsman clenches his jaw and can’t take his eyes off of him as he grows closer. 

Had Sanji gotten taller again?

“Hi, welcome to our shitty restaurant, where the only thing worse than the ambiance is the food,” he quirks a tense smile, “my name is Sanji. What can I get for you?” 

Zoro clenches his jaw and tries not to burst into laughter at the realization. 

Sanji hadn’t come out to the dining room to resolve the budding fight. He was actually waiting tables. 

Zeff had thrown him off the line again. 

“One of everything, please,” Luffy orders, like an imbecile. 

“Any drinks?” Sanji asks, “one of our signature cocktails to help you choke down your meal?”

Nami snorts, “giving us the hard sell, huh?”

Instantly, Sanji melts, “Apologies, madam, I didn’t see you there. Would you care for an apéritif to start? We have several rare Micqueot vintages in stock. Or perhaps you’d like a glass of Umeshu?” He suggests with a wink, “you know, something sweet for someone sweet.”

“Something wrong with your eye?” Nami prompts. 

Sanji grins, quick as ever, “Just blinded by your beauty.”

Zoro clears his throat, “Waiter, can I get a beer and something for my friends?” 

And he sees the exact moment Sanji notices him, the way his blue eyes dart to Zoro’s face when he speaks up. 

“Two beers.” Usopp continues onward, “I usually have three, but…”

“And a milk!” Luffy adds. 

Meanwhile, Zoro’s waiting for the moment it starts. The barrage of cursing with lidded eyes, the cheeky smile and force of his heel followed by the gentle brush of a hand. The way Sanji pushes and pushes until Zoro’s made enough room for him and his dumbass heart behind Zoro’s ribs. 

Fuck, he’s missed him. 

Instead, Sanji licks his lips and blinks. There’s a quick drop of his gaze where Zoro knows Sanji is evaluating if he’s injured, before the blond finally looks away, “Three beers and a milk,” he parrots, returning to Nami, “And, uh, for madam?”

“Water.”

Laying on thick, Sanji presses on, “Still, sparkling, mineral? With ice or without? Cubed or crushed?”

“Regular water in a regular glass. Thanks,” Nami deadpans. 

Right away,” Sanji smiles, and he turns and leaves without another word. 

Shit. 

Sanji was pissed. 

Fuck.

Zoro knows Sanji’s ignoring him because he’s upset with him. 

Because he’d snuck up on him; because it’d been months. 

Because Sanji’d had time to wonder if Zoro wasn’t returning to him; or because Sanji’d been worrying if Zoro was still alive. 

Moronic Cook thoughts, really. 

And Zoro finds he doesn’t care to hasten their way into those arguments. Sanji was gonna be even more pissed off when he learned why Zoro’d gotten delayed in the first place.

Also he’d kind of joined a pirate crew. 

Argument number three. 

Dinner is delicious, as the food always is at Baratie. 

Zoro orders onigiri and is regretfully disappointed when that is exactly the meal placed before him. Though it probably couldn’t be helped that Sanji’d clearly been punted from the line, he knows the blond could have easily provided the kitchen with a different order. 

Everyone else gushes over their food, commenting excessively on the faire as the crew learns that Luffy evidently has the stomach of a trash compactor. 

Once more, the swordsman wonders how to best bring up the prospect of collecting a cook for their crew. 

A certain cook. 

A blond one, that Zoro happened to like… a lot. 

Who was also currently furious with him. 

The swordsman eats his onigiri with a scowl and watches idly as Sanji flits about the dining room, occasionally being graced with the return of an icy blue stare in his direction. He pictures the Going Merry’s quaint kitchen and thinks he might not be able to sail off again without Sanji in it. 

The evening drolls on with plates upon emptied plates of food stacked across the table. Zoro’s pretty sure Nami’s caught on to him eyeing the Cook but the teasing quirk of her lips does little to deter him. 

She has no fucking idea how bad he has it. 

Finally, the check comes and soon after, Zoro is ducking down in his seat as Zeff hauls Luffy off to the kitchen. 

The swordsman just bites back a laugh and takes another pull from his beer before bluntly announcing, 

“Anyone else wanna hit the bar?” 

“I had one friend.”

Dinner shifts end at nine. 

Zoro knows that dinner shifts end at nine. 

The swordsman had thought the best course of action was to give Sanji some time to cool off after surprising him in the dining room. To let him set the terms of their next bout instead of attempting to approach him in the kitchen; where the knives were. 

But the clock over the ornately carved bar indicated It was nearing eleven, Nami and him were doing an efficient job of draining the liquor at the table, and Zoro was beginning to wonder if he’d fucked up more than he realized. 

He’s nearing a decision to go hunt the Cook down, knives be damned, when a cordial drawl interrupts the table. 

“Which one of you is Monkey D. Luffy?”

Zoro turns towards it and finds his breath catching. 

It was Dracule Mihawk. 

Dracule Mihawk was on the Baratie. 

The World's Greatest Swordsman. 

The man Zoro needed to defeat for the title he coveted. 

Zoro stands without an ounce of hesitation, the words of a challenge heavy on his tongue. He’s formal in his request, knowing the weight of wanting to act in honor of his goals. 

And also, there goes argument number four. 

“I, Roronoa Zoro, challenge you to a duel to the death.”

ⴵ▪──── ⚔︎ ONE AND ONE HALF YEARS AGO 🍽 ────▪ⴵ 

“Eggplant!” Zeff’s voice rings out. 

“What?” Sanji gripes back from the pantry, “I’d be done by now if Patty would fucking help me!” 

“No,” the head chef’s voice gets closer before his form takes over the pantry doorway, “that goddamn stray is out back for you.” 

“The what?”

“The fucking stray,” Zeff points furiously towards the south bow of the ship. “That bastard you fed! He’s back for more scraps!” 

Oh. 

The blond sighs. 

It is humiliating that Sanji knows exactly who Zeff is referring to. 

He shoves the roll of twine he’d been working with onto the shelves and takes off towards the supply dock. His steps hasten as he walks and he tries to smother the flutter of relief in his chest. 

As he pushes through the door to the dock, Sanji finds he needn’t worry about smothering it. The moment his eyes land on Zoro his relief flares immediately into anger. 

“You shithead!” Sanji rants, closing the space between them with two strides and snatching the swordsman’s shirt collar up in his grasp, “it’s been weeks! ” 

Zoro grins back at him. “Hey Cook.” 

“Don’t ‘ Hey Cook’ me,” the blond glares, “you said you’d be back in a few days!” 

The swordsman rolls his eyes, “It’s not my fault you live on a ship ,” Zoro argues, “stop moving it.”  

“What-?” Sanji deadpans, “we’re anchored . We’ve been anchored the entire time. Where the hell have you been?”

Zoro frowns, “that can’t be right.” 

“Moss, we have a goddamn lighthouse ,” the cook emphasizes with an incredulous scowl. The swordsman’s frown grows deeper and his gaze glances off to the side. Instantly, Sanji lightens the hold on Zoro’s shirt. His grip loosening as he leans back, “ look. If you don’t want to come by anymore I’d rather you be direct with me.” 

“What- no!” Zoro disputes harshly, his hands snapping up to catch the blond’s wrist before he could fully pull away. 

Sanji sucks in a tight breath, swallowing it down as Zoro closes the last step between them. 

“I never seem to end up where I intend to be,” he admits softly, a furrow of frustration bent between his brows as he moves.  Zoro trails his fingers up the length of Sanji’s arms, then smoothing down his sides until he rests them gently atop the blond’s hip bones. 

“If I did, I’d be here more often,” Zoro tells him, his features containing the same stern resolve that he seemed to have about every action in his life. 

It’s ridiculously endearing. 

Sanji smiles tersely, letting his own hands linger around Zoro’s collar; his thumbs tracing the fine hairs on his nape. “That is a very astute way to inform me that you get lost,” Sanji teases affectionately, unable to resist tilting his head in so that their noses brush together. 

Zoro takes the silent offer and presses their lips together firmly in a kiss, bold and steadfast as always. Sanji grins against him, reciprocating with his own tender affection. 

“You’re fortunate I’ve seen you get turned around in our pantry or I might not believe you,” the blond whispers when they draw away to breathe. 

“Baratie's pantry is the size of a house,” Zoro informs him, his hands sliding upwards to draw circles into the trim of the blond’s waist. 

The blond smiles, stomach turning flips at the attention and the way Zoro’s warm breath rolls across his lips, “it most certainly is not ,” he snickers. 

“Oi brats!” 

The two burst apart at Zeff’s interruption. Sanji cursing as he turns on his heel to the door where the chef is leaning out over the dock with a glare, “what the fuck do you want, Old Man?” 

Zeff just glares at Zoro for a moment, “make sure the stray washes up if he’s going to breathe near the kitchen.” 

“Oh fuck off-!” 

His piece said, Zeff smirks in satisfaction and stomps off before Sanji can properly share his middle finger.  

“Meddling bastard,” he grumbles. 

Zoro snickers, throwing the blond a crooked smile, “think I’m growing on him?” 

“Like a weed, Mossy, ” Sanji reassures him fondly, “now c’mon; let me show you to the groomers.” 

“Oi!” 

“I read that you took out a swordsman in Goa.”

“Mhm, slippery fucker.” Zoro nods, leaning back into the familiar velvet of the forecastle lounge as he takes his first sip of a generously high-proof rum. A heavy storm provides a whispering static in the background, the wind whipping against the planks and offering a luxurious excuse to stay a little longer. “Bastard took off into the swamp when he knew he was gonna lose and I lost sight of him as soon as we hit the tree line.” 

“How’d you find him, then?” Sanji prompts, finishing his own drink off with a sweet cherry garnish.

The swordsman grins, “didn’t. I ran across him after a week of trying to get out of that damn jungle myself.” 

Sanji tucks himself into Zoro’s side, the swordsman naturally adjusting as the blond swings his legs across his lap, “what was it like?” 

“What was what like?” Zoro comments, his free hand landing on the pale expanse of ankle in his lap and pressing his thumb across the crux of his joint. “Killing him?” 

“Goa, you brute,” Sanji clarifies with a snort, “the swamp.” 

“...Muddy.” 

“Love, you’re a horrible storyteller,” Sanji laughs, taking a small sip of his own cocktail.  “Tell me about the flora. I’ve heard tales that it's very dense.”

“The trees were…big; with big roots.” The swordsman frowns into his glass, still brushing his fingers across the slip of skin between the hem of the blond’s pants and his socks. “And I stepped on a lot of weeds.”

“I’m enthralled,” Sanji deadpans, “keep going.”

“M’not good at this,” Zoro scowls. 

“Yes, it’s quite obvious,” the Cook agrees with an exaggerated sigh. “If I could trust you not to poison yourself I’d ask you to bring me samplings of some of the folliage. I bet you sliced through so much taro.”  

Zoro purses his lips in consideration, “what'sit look like?” 

“Large, heart shaped fronds,” Sanji mimes, ‘on tall, thick stalks. Very lush.” 

“I did slice a lot of big-ass leaves,” Zoro admits with a sip. 

The blond snickers, “they’re toxic if not prepared properly, I might add.” 

“I wasn’t planning to munch on random plants,” the swordsman points out.  

“I wasn’t actually concerned about that, Moss,” the blond coos, topping off the swordsman drink with a wink. “Didn’t take you for a cannibal.”

“You’re a right shithead, Cook.” 

“No more than you,” Sanji quips with a smile. “Now I wasn’t finished- Beneath all those juicy, toxic leaves is a root vegetable. It’s earthy and starchy, similar to a yam. Excellently versatile produce. We get it imported sometimes, but it’s rather pricey-” Sanji trails on about the applications of taro with a glint of excitement burning in his sea-blue eyes. 

Zoro doesn’t know shit about vegetables, doesn’t care to know shit about vegetables; but there was always something precious about watching the Cook rave about his passions. 

Sanji had even said as much about Zoro before when the swordsman had gone off about a man’s rusted cutlass. 

Zoro was still kind of peeved about that, actually. A good fucking blade- wasted by poor maintenance. 

Goddamn criminal. 

“-will boil the hell out of it. A fucking disservice to the natural starches, honestly,” Sanji rambles, his hand idly drawing swirls into the back of Zoro’s hand. “ And- Mossy, are you paying attention?”  

Zoro hums in vague reply. “Cook, if you’re so interested in all this, you should see all these fancy plants yourself,” he turns, close enough to draw his nose along Sanji’s cheekbone, “you should come with me.” 

“Moss,” Sanji sighs, carding a hand through Zoro’s cropped hair fondly, “I can’t leave the Baratie. I can’t leave Zeff. You know that.” 

“What I know-,” Zoro grumbles, leaning into the affection and pressing a line of soft kisses to the blond’s jaw, “is that you’re the only one telling yourself that.” 

“You don’t want me to travel with you” the blond corrects, melting into the swordsman’s touch as he denies him, “a chef trailing after a bounty hunter . What would that accomplish?”

“I wouldn’t get scurvy,” he points out, more than a little petulant. 

Sanji laughs softly, a resigned and sad thing. He pulls their tangled hands together and presses a kiss to each of Zoro’s scarred knuckles. “I would no more enjoy carving a bloody path across the East Blue than you would prefer wilting on the Baratie’s deck, Love.” 

The blond presses a final kiss to the corner of Zoro’s scowling lips, pressing their foreheads together fondly as he tells him, “I adore the time we spend together. But we serve our purposes.”

Sanji’s point is irritatingly correct and Zoro doesn’t have the thoughts to properly retort it with the man draped across his lap. They had both bound themselves to terms of honor and respect in their lives. 

Zoro, in his promise to Kuina, and Sanji with his steadfast resolve to support Zeff after their survival. 

It was one of the many reasons Zoro had found himself enamored with the blond, infuriating as it was to have it held against his own selfish wishes. 

For lack of a better retort, Zoro just grumbles something unsavory into Sanji’s skin. The Cook laughs, turning Zoro’s chin so he can smooth the words over with his lips. “Come now, Moss. Tell me more about the relatives you stepped on in Goa.” 

“Hey, chore boy, how’s that dish pile coming along?”

Sanji is furious with Zoro. 

He is, he tells himself. 

He can’t believe the moron had the absolute balls to disappear for three goddamn months only to show up at the Baratie without announcing himself. 

Without seeking Sanji out. 

And with a fucking pirate crew?

Sanji gives him the cold shoulder because it’s what he deserves . He sends out onigiri, exactly like Zoro ordered it, because he’s petty . And he’s prepared to chew up that pirate captain and spit him back out in the compost. 

Because he’s worried Zoro’s lost his damn mind. 

But when he finally gets the captain alone, he’s surprised to find the boy actually doing the work Zeff had told him to do. He’s shit at it, but he’s not arguing or fighting about it. 

They’re going to be out more money replacing all the broken plates than they are likely to make up for the cost of that meal, but the clutz isn’t actively sabotaging the work, at least. The niggling sense of concern that Zoro had gotten pulled into something stupid and dangerous softens into curiosity and he finds himself taking up conversation with the captain that is far less hostile than he’d pictured. 

With an ease he’s surprised by, he even ends up telling Luffy about his dreams. About the All Blue, a story most laugh at. 

But Luffy doesn't. He takes it in stride, as if the All Blue is a factual inevitability as long as Sanji believe in it, and continues on their conversation without further preamble. 

“How long have you been a waiter?” Luffy asks, features open and honest. 

“Not a waiter- I’m a cook. Best one in the East Blue,” he explains, taking a drag of a fresh cigarette, 

“If you want to cook, you should cook,” Luffy tells him, his bright smile open and genuine, “Don’t let some stubborn old man get in the way of your dream. Stand up to him. Tell him what you want!” 

“It’s more complicated than that,” Sanji swallows thickly, tapping his lighter on the table absently. 

The pirate gives him a cheeky grin, “I don’t really do complicated either.”

Sanji licks his lips before asking his next question, one that had burned in the back of his mind since the crew had arrived. “Why- Why did you come to the Baratie?” 

“We were hungry!” Luffy explains brightly, “We were lost in the fog but then I smelled the incredible food you guys were cooking and my nose led us straight here!” 

The answer is a jab to his heart. They hadn’t even been looking for the Baratie?

Had Zoro not even mentioned him?

Sanji doesn’t get the chance to ask, the rest of wherever their conversation was going drowned out by the pounding on the kitchen door and the pleas of a hungry sailor. 

It’s not until Gin is properly fed that Luffy returns to him, a bright gleam in his eye and an aura of honesty that Sanji so rarely sees in the world. 

“You’re not only a good cook. You’re a good guy.” Luffy says aloud, seemingly if only to announce it for himself before he abruptly faces Sanji with a grin, declaring more firmly, 

“If Zeff doesn’t appreciate you, you should join my crew.”

“You want me to say you’re the best? You’re the best. Okay?

You’re the best I’ve ever seen, but you are not better than him.

And if you fight him tomorrow, you’re going to lose.”

Zoro can’t go to Sanji tonight. 

He can’t. 

Tomorrow he faces the most important fight of his life. If he wants to have the best chance at success, he’ll need to be completely focused. 

It was possible he and Sanji would reunite as they always did. The sharp words, the energy and the bite of life as they orbit around each other until they collide. 

But it was just as possible the distance and missteps had taken him too far away. 

Zoro sharpens his swords to perfection and sits down to meditate. Facing Sanji again could be his downfall. Unsure his footing enough to falter him. 

Zoro had to win. 

He would win, and he would return with his head held high. 

“I demoted you, remember?”

“That you did. But Patty’s sleeping off a brutal hangover, so unless you want to do brunch prep all by yourself…”

Sanji's heart aches. 

He’d waited up late in the forecastle lounge the night before; like a lovelorn fool. 

Zoro hadn’t shown up. 

He directs his turmoil of emotions into the hilt of his palm as he chops vegetables, into the twist of his wrist as he whisks harshly. He clenches the utensils a little tighter and makes sure everything is fucking perfect. 

Zeff is in no way helping. 

“I can tell just by looking at that- That remoulade needs a lot more oregano.” 

“Oregano is for savages,” Sanji informs him. 

“Zeff! Chef Zeff!” Patty yells, with the tone of a tattling child. 

“What the hell are you yelling about, Patty, brunch service hasn’t even started,” Sanji tuts, though he knows he’s missing his usual fervor. Zeff slaps the back of the blond's shoulder in a half-assed attempt at scolding him. 

“There’s a fucking duel on the east deck,” Patty waves an arm out harshly, getting up in the blond’s face.

“Awe,” Sanji groans, “another tiff over a lady? That’s the third this week.” 

“No no no, it’s a goddamn kid out there fighting Dracule Mihawk,” Patty hisses, “we’ll have to fucking mop ‘em from the planks at this rate!”

Sanji’s heart stutters in his chest, “what?” 

The words register hollow, as if bouncing around in a glass. Because Sanji's heard that name before. The warlord's title whispered over grand admissions, with hearts spilling into each other hands as their lives intertwined.

Sanji feet are moving before he realizes it and Patty’s shouts knock fruitlessly against the back of his dress shirt as he races towards the east side of the ship. 

“That fucking idiot!” He rasps, “that shitty, goddamn-” 

“ZORO!” Luffy’s voice rings out and the rest of his curses catch in his mouth as Sanji bursts out onto the upper deck and launches himself to the railing. 

Just in time to see the warlord’s blade cleave across his lover’s chest. Sanji watches in horror as Zoro surges backward with the force and lands with a wet, bloody thud. 

Sanji wants to scream, he might be screaming Zoro’s name but his chest is so tight he’s not sure if anything comes out. 

He has to get down there. He has to get to him. He-

Sanji dislodges his grasp of the railing and races to the nearest set of stairs. He thinks he might be hearing Zoro yelling something but he can’t put it past his imagination with the way his ears are ringing. 

“Zeff!” He hollers, his shoes squeaking on the wood varnish of the stairs and his voice cracking like a childs, “Zeff!” 

The bastard’s wooden leg draws near in increasing cadence, the man coming into view at the base of the stairs, having taken the direct route to the action, “Eggplant what the hell are you-?!” 

“It’s Zoro!” Sanji snarls, snatching up the old man’s jacket collar with a clenched fist, “the east dock, he needs help. He-”

“Well don’t waste time, then Eggplant,” Zeff shakes him off with a growl. “Lead the damn way.” 

Sanji clenches his jaw and nods, taking off once more as Zeff’s odd pace follows behind him. 

“-oro!” 

“Zoro wake up!” 

Sanji reaches the dock in full stride, the wooden doors crashing open as he races out towards the wounded swordsman. 

His chest constricts as he slides on his knees to Zoro’s left side, his hands trembling as they find purchase on the swordsman’s shoulders. A gasp falls unbidden from his lips as he takes in Zoro’s unconscious form and all the blood welling up across his chest, “Moss!?” 

“Wha-?” 

“Why’s the waiter-?”

“Shit- Eggplant!” Zeff hisses, clapping a firm hand on the blond’s shoulder and heaving him away from the bleeding swordsman. “I’ll need our kitchen knives, a bottle of our best whiskey, and a fresh yellowtail from the cooler. 

“A-,” Sanji stammers while Zoro’s crewmates hover in range, “A yellowtail?” 

“ The bigger the better!” And Sanji must look a right mess because Zeff shoves him again and hisses, “ Just do it already!” 

After a scramble for supplies and a bumbling effort to relocate him, Zeff makes efficient work of Zoro’s wounds. Sanji makes sure to follow every direction given as they stitch up his lover on a surprisingly tidy pirate ship. Sanji ignores the curious looks he gathers from the pirates as they stand, restless around the galley. 

Even if Zoro hasn’t mentioned him, even if Zoro’s left Sanji behind. 

Sanji needs to make sure Zoro survives to receive the beating he deserves from him. 

The pirate captain does seem to notice the way Sanji lingers after Zeff’s done his part trying to save Zoro’s life, but he seemingly takes no mind at it. 

Luffy doesn’t mention it when Sanji takes his time cleaning up after the patch job. For lingering on a ship he doesn’t belong to. He doesn’t tell Sanji to leave when he finds his way to Zoro’s side; and he doesn’t mention it when Sanji corrects him on how to pronounce Wado’s name. 

Luffy just smiles and thanks him. 

So Sanji lingers. 

He takes a turn telling Zoro stories from children’s books. He guides Luffy on how to properly clean a sword and he makes sure the crew is fed while they wait for him to recover. 

Sanji spends nearly all of his time at Zoro’s side, fretfully telling himself he’s waiting for his chance to kick the moron’s ass for such a stupid move. 

And he does. 

Up until Arlong shows up at the Baratie with blood in his sights.

“Firestarter in the dining room!” 

“Sanji!” Patty calls out, “your turn!” 

“No way! I’ve got a bechamel on!” Sanji retorts, “send Carne!” 

“Fuck off! I took the last one!”

“Getting hot!” The server hollers, louder this time. 

“Awe, come on! ” Sanji groans, shoving his saucepan to the back burner and pulling his dish towel from his shoulder. 

The blond gives his towel a good twist so he can snap it at Patty’s arse as he strides to the doors to the dining room, snickering at the high pitched yelp he gets in return. 

“If my sauce breaks while I’m gone I’m tossing it in your bed!” Sanji announces. 

“Get smothering!” 

Sanji rolls his eyes, the younger servers darting out of his path as he bursts through the kitchen doors and into the dining room. 

“Empty your pockets!” A rough voice is yelling. 

There’s a bulk of a man in the middle of the dining room, a blunderbuss in each hand and a snarl on his lips. The fabric of his pirate’s coat are dulled from the sun and lined with fraying hems; whether a sign of either experience or failure, Sanji couldn’t yet tell. 

“If you’re looking for a hot meal, Sir, I’m happy to direct you to a seat,” Sanji announces, drawing the pirates attention to himself as he makes his way confidently towards him. 

“I’m Captain Thorncroft! My pirate crew has the ship surrounded!” He snarls, pivoting to aim a barrel directly at the blond’s chest. “Back off!”

Sanji smiles, “they’re welcome to join! I can set you up in one of our private rooms, we’ve plenty of seats for a party.”

“We’re not here to pay for this overpriced slop!” The man growls, his gaze darting with disdain around the room, “we’re here to unburden the luxuries from these silk coin purses!” 

Sanji clenches his jaw, slipping a hand in his pocket as he slides his heel around for balance, “Overpriced slop? ” 

The blond moves in a swift pivot, arcing his leg up across the man’s arms before the pirate could even consider pulling the trigger. The guns scatter across the floor in a blunt clang of metal and there’s a gratifying snap of bones that Sanji thinks -based on the man’s scream- are probably his wrists, and maybe his forearms as well. 

Continuing from his kick, Sanji uses the force to alter his footing, landing on his swing and whirling around a second time to land his foot into the man’s temple. 

The pirate crumples like a sack of bricks. 

“No cause for alarm, folks,” Sanji drawls, smiling around the dining room to a mix of responding features, “please return to your meals.” 

The man groans from the floor, his arms bent at an odd angle and blood dripping from his head. The blond scoffs, waiting a moment to ensure the captain wouldn’t attempt to rise before turning heel toward the front door. 

“Now,” the blond sighs, tapping a fresh cigarette from his carton as he makes his way up the grand stairway, “let’s see about this crew of yours.” 

The concierge dips out of his way with a grateful bow as Sanji strolls out onto the main docks; his adrenaline taut and his steps light. 

He lets out a mouthful of smoke to warm his lips as he hits the crisp, ocean air- 

And pauses. 

A wet thud greets him, the falling body of a bleeding pirate landing into his path. Sanji’s gaze travels with amusement to a slew of bodies strewn about the deck in various forms of dismemberment, finally landing on a lone form in the middle of the planks. A warm gaze, tanned skin and a cocky smile meeting him as the swordsman cleanly swings the blood from his blades. 

“Hey Cook.” 

Sanji doesn’t bother hiding his smile. “Hey Moss.” 

“They have a Captain,” Zoro tells him.

“They had a Captain,” Sanji corrects, taking the reminder to lift his shoe and shake the blood off of it. 

Zoro grins, stepping over limbs as he makes his way to blond and looking far too pleased with himself. He’s clearly been traveling rough, his clothes are worn at the edges and there's a ruddy burn of sun across his cheekbones. 

He looks roguishly handsome and it’s highly unfair. 

“What a fucking mess,” Sanji tuts, gesturing with his lit cigarette, “really? Right at the front door?” 

The swordsman smirks, running a hand through his hair to brush it free of the sea spray, “you’re really ungrateful, you know that?” 

“And you’re a goddamn ship cat leaving me presents on the doorstop.” 

Zoro smirks, looking at Sanji with a warmth that was (again) highly unfair. “You feed ship cats,” he points out. 

Sanji sighs, fighting to smother his smile between pursed lips. 

He does. 

They’ve choreographed their habits by the time a year has passed. 

A familiar push and pull, banter and affection. 

There’s a pragmatic, fearful sort of energy that lodges itself in Zoro’s chest knowing that his progress to being the world’s greatest follows the axis of a floating restaurant. 

When he’s away, it feels nearly like a crutch. A part of him that is constantly aware of how far he’s wandered. 

But then he returns and he’s centered again. A charming smile, warm arms, and a sharp tongue reminding him how trivial those thoughts are when he feels like he’s home. That Zoro could spend his entire life pushing the limits of his capabilities, reaching for his lofty dreams, and there still might be a smarmy blond at his side that keeps him humble. 

“You’re in nearly every paper now,” Sanji comments idly, “the big bad Demon of the East Blue.”  

Zoro grins, “keeping an eye on me?” 

“If there’s time after I read my novellas,” he muses, smiling around his cigarette. 

The swordsman rolls his eyes. 

“I do find it amusing, actually,” Sanji admits, “not a single picture gets published where you’re clean of blood. The general public seems horribly frightened of you.” 

“Zeff still doesn’t seem to care,” Zoro retorts. 

“No, no,” Sanji corrects him softly, “he didn’t threaten to kill you today. I think that’s progress.” 

“Thrilling,” Zoro deadpans.  

The blond snorts in reply. 

The night sky is far above them, bespeckled gemstones on a velvet blue. Their fingers are tangled across the worn planks as they lie on the foredeck. The touch is warm and grounding against the chill of the evening breeze. 

“So what’s next?” Sanji asks. 

Zoro frowns, turning to gaze at the blond, “what do you mean?” 

“You’re the most feared bounty hunter in the East Blue.” Sanji echoes, “but you want to be the greatest swordsman in the world. So what’s next?” 

What’s next? 

The lithe hand in grasp of his own suddenly feels thin and tangible. As if Sanji were only half in his grasp, ready to leap from a crumbling cliff the moment the ground shook. 

“I keep getting stronger,” Zoro replies firmly. Because it’s the only correct response. The only accurate response. 

“And what if there’s no more foes to best in the East Blue? What if you’ve bested them all?” 

The words echo with a hollow bitterness. An ultimatum that Zoro doesn’t know how to answer. He tightens the grip on Sanji’s grasp and draws their hands to his chest, settling them over his heart. 

“Then I’ll find more.” 

“Oi! Eggplant!” 

“What now old man,” Sanji drawls, sliding a freshly sliced onion neatly into a mixing bowl. His rings hit the edge of the bowl with a muted ping. 

A newspaper slaps onto the counter next to him and Zeff leans in with a smirk. 

“He’s getting closer again,” the head chef informs him with a smug raise of his eyebrows. 

Sanji glances down to the bold title on the parchment, letting out a resigned sigh at the text. 

“That’s only a few miles down the nearest coast,” Zeff hums, “he might even hear ya if you try hollering off the north bow.” Zeff suggests, like an ass. 

The blond snarls, “and maybe you could try running a decent fucking restaurant for once.” 

“Don’t yell too loud now, Sanji!” Patty jeers as he carts a box of produce across the kitchen, “I’ve got a bet out on two months this time!” 

Sanji rolls his eyes, and as Patty’s laugh titters over his shoulder, the blond jabs a heel back into the other cook’s shin. The hit landing getting him a satisfying grunt of pain in return.

“Ha, ha,” the blond mocks, “congratulations on being mature, gossiping old men. Really,” he insists, “so proud.”

Sanji tosses his bowl of ingredients with more force than necessary, cursing as a dice of tomato flings out and onto the counter. 

Fuck. 

“Eggplant.” 

Sanji turns away from the glittering waves, his feet dangling off the pier and a half-smoked cigarette between his fingers. He eyes Zeff’s approaching form warily, fully conscious of the fact he’d drawn out his smoke break longer than he should’ve. 

Zeff is scowling but it’s a rather neutral look for him, so the blond just takes another slow drag and waits.

“Mail for ya,” the head chef says, dropping a thin envelope into Sanji’s lap when he clomps within reach. 

“Mail?” Sanji frowns, speaking around the cigarette in the corner of his mouth, “for me?” 

Zeff snorts and turns to head back into the ship, “sorry I opened it, Eggplant. Your stray forgot there’s more than one chef on this fucking ship.”

Sanji’s heart patters in his chest, wasting no further time as he plucks the envelope from his lap to investigate. It’s no more than a few inches wide and the closure has been obviously knifed open by Zeff's hand. Flipping it over, he spies the addressee and understands exactly why Zeff would have mistaken it.

To the Blond Cook at the Baratie.

What a fucking moron. 

He dips a finger into the envelope and slides a small slip of paper from inside. It takes him only moments to read, the correspondence merely a short scratch of a message. 

Sanji clenches his teeth around the filter of his cigarette. What- what the fuck did that mean?

Zoro was being followed? By who? Pirates? Someone after his head? The implications certainly sounded malicious. 

Not to mention Zoro had never bothered to send anything by mail before. 

It’d been over two months since the swordsman had visited. There was a bloom of warmth from the fact that Zoro had bothered to send notice that he wanted to see Sanji, but couldn’t. 

But why would he think that was necessary? Does he think the Baratie can’t handle themselves? That Sanji wouldn’t be able to kick the ass of whatever foe was tailing him? 

What the hell was Sanji supposed to do about this? He was bound to spend whatever length of time it took for Zoro to return, wondering if something horrible had happened to him. That wasn’t reassuring in the fucking slightest. 

He shoves the message deep into the pocket of his dress pants and lights a fresh cigarette with a furious flick of his lighter. 

What an asshole.

There’s a flap of wings as the news coo sweeps by the supply dock. Sanji watches the shadow of its flight break the sunlight onto the counter, his heart stilting in trepidation. 

“Paper!” 

The blond closes the recipe book he’d been reading and walks over to the open door. He faintly can hear Patty and one of their suppliers chatting over the unrolled parchment as he reaches the doorframe.

“-a clown can’t be that difficult?” The supplier asks. 

Patty pauses in the conversation, looking up as Sanji comes into view and frowning at him. Without being asked, he flips through the paper and hands Sanji a flier out from the back pages. Returning to his conversation the moment it changes hands. 

“Thanks,” Sanji mumbles, stepping away to one of the other wings of the dock to read it. 

Sanji quickly skims through the list, clenching the page as he gets through it. 

No Roronoa Zoro. 

Zoro hadn’t claimed any bounties in four weeks.  

The last mention of him in the paper had been from his stint in Brightwell, Sanji’d gotten his damn cryptic message a week later and it'd been radio silence ever since. 

A couple weeks gap in his bounties wasn’t entirely abnormal if the swordsman were after a bigger target. Tracking wasn’t Zoro’s best skill, but his poor sense of direction was a damn near match for his patience and stubborn streak.

Four weeks, though. From what Sanji could recall, Captain Lancaster’s bounty wasn’t so significant that Zoro wouldn’t be after his next meal ticket by now. 

So why wouldn’t he be turning any in?

Can’t come by right now. 

Being followed. 

Sanji crumples the paper in his fist, looking over to Patty is what he only belatedly realizes is a last ditch effort when the other chef just shakes his head in reply. 

No articles either, then. 

There’s a glint of pity in Patty’s eyes and it makes the blond feel bitter. How obvious was Sanji’s distress to have garnered actual emotion from his shithead coworker? 

How broken would Sanji's heart be if he never heard of Zoro again? 

“He’s got one foot in each world right now, caught between life and death.

You have to find a way to keep him tethered to our world.

Talk to him. Tell him stories. Sing him sea shanties for all I care.

He may not reply, but at least he’ll know his crew are still with him.”

Sanji forcibly unclenches his jaw as he collects warm, seasoned rice into his hands. He leans into the familiar movements, the repetition. 

He tries not to think about Zoro, laying in the back room of the ship, his breathing heavy and a feverish sweat accumulated on his brow. 

He pushes a divot into the center of the rice with a practiced twist and doesn’t think about Zoro at all.  

“Oh, rice balls!” Luffy cheers, abruptly leaning over the island and into Sanji’s space. The captain’s elbows digging into the counter as he watches Sanji’s hands work. 

Sanji sighs- So much for distractions. 

“That’s perfect. They’re Zoro’s favorite!” 

At the statement, Sanji quirks his head curiously, “he told you that, did he?” 

“Not exactly,” Luffy shrugs, “but he’d have to like them a lot to eat them off the floor, right?” 

The Cook nearly crushes a half-formed onigiri in his palm, “sorry, what?” 

Luffy snickers, climbing up into one of the barstools with his palms flat on the counter and a fond smile. “I know, right?” 

“No I don’t,” Sanji deadpans, “please enlighten me.” 

The Captain grins a mile wide, “it was when I first ran into him, in Shells Town. A little girl brought him some at this bar, but this marine bumped into her and made’er drop em.” Luffy narrates excitedly, “so he eats one off the floor and tells her it’s delicious .” 

Sanji’s heart clenches tight in his chest as Luffy continues to regale him. 

“Then- He forces the marine to eat the other one and beat up all the others that tried to jump into the fight. All without getting his blades out.” 

“He fought Marines?” Sanji echoes, “over onigiri?” 

“Well not exactly,” Luffy drawls, sneaking an unfinished onigiri into his mouth, “he was protecting the little girl from the Marines, too.”

Shit. 

Sanji’s tender heart couldn’t handle such tales about the man he’s supposed to be upset with. 

“It was so cool,” Luffy declares in a tone of awe. 

“Is that how you recruited a ruthless bounty hunter for your crew?” Sanji can't resist asking, swatting the captain's hand as he slinks it across the table to his ingredients. 

“Kind of?” Luffy shrugs, “I didn’t get the chance until I freed him from the Marines.” 

The statement makes Sanji pause. “ Wait, he’d been held captive? You said he beat them all up?” 

“Yeah, dunno. I ran into him later tied up in the marine stockades, he didn’t seem very friendly with the marines after that.” 

The words chill him to ice. 

“How long?” 

“What?” 

“How long was he out there?” 

Luffy hums with a scowl, “I think it was at least a week before I finally broke in.”

“At least a week?” Sanji clarifies. 

Luffy shrugs, “something like that.” 

Something like that. 

Sanji was going to be sick. 

Fuck. 

Sanji was supposed to be pissed. 

How the hell was that supposed to be fair? 

“And even then-!” Luffy emphasizes, “When I asked him to join my crew. He said no.” 

And with a knowing smile, Luffy tells him, “Zoro said he had someone to get back to first.” 

Sanji swallows around a dry throat. 

That shithead. 

“I, Roronoa Zoro… vow to stand by your side from now until the end.

Until we find the One Piece or die trying.

So bring on the Marines or pirates or sea beasts.

You’re my captain, Luffy, and I’m your first mate.”

Zoro had woken up to loud voices and searing pain. 

It was somber; learning that Nami had double crossed them, had used them. 

The weight of a promise is something Zoro’s familiar with. He builds his life around being able to carry their weight. Being Luffy’s First Mate is a vow that he’ll bear with pride. 

After Usopp crashes into the room, Zoro focuses through a dull ache everywhere as the sniper and Luffy take turns detailing everything that happened while he’d been unconscious. 

“Fishmen attacked the Baratie?” Zoro grunts, flinching as he instinctively tries to sit up and a flash of searing pain spreads across his torso. 

“Stop moving, I’m allergic to blood,” Usopp grimaces. 

“Don’t worry, Zoro,” Luffy pats him on the shoulder, “we sent them running, didn’t we Usopp?” 

“Definitely,” the sniper agrees, in what is clearly a complete and total lie. 

The swordsman frowns, “everyone’s alright?” 

“Yeah, made a mess of the place though,” Usopp says. 

Zoro just grunts and lies back once more into the pillows. His torso aches like a hot iron and his confidence is shattered. They take turns detailing what he’d missed. They’re full of shit and Zoro thinks only about a quarter of what they say is actually true, but he gets the point either way. 

Unbidden, his eyes wander beyond his crewmates. 

“-live? Zoro?” 

“What?” Zoro blurts, looking towards the open hallway behind them with a grimace.

“Are your eyes okay?” Luffy asks him, honest concern in his voice. “You keep looking to the right…” 

“They’re fine,” he grumbles, “I just… I thought there might be an extra idiot around when I woke up.” 

“Who?” Luffy asks, glancing over his shoulder. Usopp follows suit, eyebrows raised. 

Zoro thuds his head back and glares at the ceiling. Sanji had to be extra pissed if he wasn’t waiting to give Zoro an earful the moment he woke up. 

Shit. 

“Oh!” Luffy adds in a bright tone, “are you talking about Sanji?” 

His gaze cuts over to his captain with a snap and if the way Luffy grins back at him is any indication, he’s given himself away immediately. 

“Ooh,” Usopp jeers with raised eyebrows, “so you do know each other.” 

Zoro growls, “shut up.” 

“Don’t worry,” Luffy informs him succinctly, “he said he’ll be back.”  

The Captain affectionately slaps his hand on Zoro’s shoulder, jarring him. 

Between the searing pain across his chest and the knowledge that seeing his furious lover was imminent, Zoro wasn’t sure which was worse. 

“Hey Sanji!” 

It’s late evening when Zoro overhears Luffy’s jubilant voice greeting the blond back onto the Going Merry. There’s a soft voice that Zoro can’t make out in reply, before Luffy loudly continues the conversation. His words echoing down the wooden hallway.

“You should head back there, Zoro was asking about you!” 

Betrayal, Zoro thinks. Honest and open betrayal. 

Sanji’s indiscernible voice responds and Zoro strains to hear it as he makes his way down the hallway. Unfortunately, he can’t make it out and has no advantage when the blond’s form strides into the door frame to the bedroom. 

“Hey Cook,” Zoro rasps. 

Sanji sighs, long and exasperated, “Hey Moss.” 

Zoro blinks to push the fatigue from his eyes so he can take in the blond properly. Sanji is gorgeous in the soft light of Merry’s lanterns, his light hair taking on the golden hue of the warm lights and his sea blue eyes depthless. Damn, he's so pretty.

The swordsman moves to sit up as the Cook takes a tentative foot closer, but quickly finds the flash of pain across his chest disagrees. Any semblance of a word on his tongue morphs into a hiss and Sanji darts closer. 

“The hell, Moss! Don’t move, you fucking moron!” The blond snarls, bracing a hand on the swordsman’s shoulder to guide him gently back against the hammock. 

“No moving, got it,” he agrees with a grimace; though he folds his arm up to wrap around the cook’s wrist as he’s panting. 

Sanji lets out a tight breath. Notably, he doesn’t move his hand from Zoro’s shoulder. 

Zoro doesn’t move his either. 

“I’m supposed to be mad at you,” Sanji tells him. 

Zoro can't help but smile. “I’m sure you’ll get there.” 

Sanji frowns; and Zoro can feel the way his thumb is swiping arcs softly against his skin, “I got your message,” he murmurs. “Who was following you?” 

“An assassin, I think,” the swordsman admits.

“An assassin?” Sanji echos, “someone sent an assassin after you?” 

“No,” Zoro shakes his head minutely, “they wanted me to be one.”  

“Oh,” the blond scowls, “oh. You would make a horrible assassin.” 

The swordsman scoffs, “you’re such a shithead.”

“Explain to me how I am wrong?” 

Zoro snorts, proving Sanji’s own point as he tilts his head to knock affectionately against the blond’s forearm, his voice growing softer as he says, “sorry for not coming by sooner.” 

“I’m sorry for the reasons you couldn’t,” Sanji empathizes. 

The blond reaches out, as if to lean into the swordsman’s arms, before he corrects himself and his hand hovers, unsure where to safely place it. 

Zoro watches him with an awkward grimace. His ego had taken a beating and he found himself hesitant to broach the topic, uncertain how he’d handle a scolding for his failure from the man he loved. 

Trepidation, however, was its own beast. So when Sanji settles his second hand lamely on Zoro’s hips, Zoro rips the bandaid off and prompts, “you’re not going to mention the duel?” 

Sanji looks back at him with a bittersweet gaze, “What’s there to mention? I already know why you did it. I already know you’re devastated by the loss. And I already think you’re a moron.” He frets softly, his usual contrary as he spits out his words and smooths down Zoro’s hair with a gentle hand. 

“You’re an idiot who chases his dreams harder than anyone I know and you wouldn’t be the moron I loved if you didn’t. But I’m still allowed to think you’re a moron because I watched you do your best to get yourself cut in fucking half and helped stich you back up.” Sanji purrs, “does that work for you?” 

Zoro’s heart warms, leaning his cheek into the lithe hand that holds it, “That’ll work.” 

“Now, Moss. I’m glad you’re not an assassin,” Sanji drawls, drawing his hand lower to trace across Zoro’s jaw, “but please explain to me why you are now a pirate?” 

“The same reason you are,” Zoro answers with a smile. 

“I’ve not agreed to anything,” the blond informs him with a smile. The unspoken yet lingering in the soft tone of his voice. 

Zoro raises his eyebrows with amusement. 

Then, the blond adds, “do you not want to ask me?”  

The swordsman shakes his head, “It should be your choice. To search for your All Blue, to follow our Captain.” 

His earnestness cuts through Sanji’s teasing, the blond biting around an affectionate smile as he checks, “our Captain?” 

“Wishful thinking,” Zoro drawls, entirely unapologetic. 

Sanji dips, gently pressing a kiss to Zoro’s cheek before pressing their foreheads together. The light of the room filters through his hair like a golden curtain around them. 

“A chef has no need to travel with a bounty hunter,” Sanji recites carefully, his warm breath coiling into the space between them, rich with the flavor of tobacco. “But I suppose every pirate crew needs a cook.” 

Zoro grins, leveraging the movement he can tolerate and surging up into Sanji’s lips. The blond snickering against his kiss and returning it with interest. 

They kiss until they’re winded. Until Sanji is breathless, whispering false venom against Zoro’s jawline.  

“For the record. I want you to know that my joining this crew has nothing to do with you.” 

“Sure, Cook,” Zoro agrees easily, nosing happily at Sanji’s cheek. 

“You being here- Has no effect on my decision.” 

“M-hm.” 

“In fact,” Sanji tells him, brushing his fingertips fondly across Zoro’s cheekbones, “you’re going to get in my way.”  

Zoro smirks, "I’m going to nap in the galley and snore so loud.”

“We’ll never be able to keep enough booze.” Sanji laments, petting back Zoro’s hair and pressing kisses to his hairline. 

“I’m gonna drink this ship dry.” 

“You’re a brute,” Sanji murmurs. 

“And you never shut up,” Zoro retorts, both of them grinning as he tugs Sanji back to his lips so they can kiss some more. 

“Heard you guys need a cook,” a vibrant voice declares, a lithe blond striding aboard the Merry. 

“Yeah!” Luffy cheers, voice harsh with excitement, “ Yes, we do!” 

“Welcome aboard,” Usopp joins in. 

Zoro, meanwhile, meets Sanji’s grin with a smirk, “Why are we bringing the waiter?” He questions loudly. 

“Because we can’t boil water,” Usopp deapans from behind him. 

Sanji turns with his bag still slung over his shoulder to meet Zoro’s gaze with a blinding smile. The swordsman throws him a middle finger and receives a salacious wink in return. 

“Luffy do not touch my food,” Nami hisses, stabbing her fork at him as Luffy whines, drawing back to his own empty plate. 

“I’ll get your thirds, Captain” Sanji smiles, getting up from his seat to gather a plate covered by the stove. The light in the galley is dim, the lights shifting slightly with the sway of the ship but the vibrant sounds of the room are familiar and bright. 

“You’re the best, Sanji!” Luffy cheers, melting happily over a fresh serving of fried rice. 

“Such gratitude is always welcome ,” the blond replies smoothly, looking pointedly at Zoro as he tops off the swordsman’s beer. 

Zoro rolls his eyes and grumbles a blunted, “thanks.” 

“Eloquent as ever,” Sanji drawls in mock sweetness as he slides back into his seat next to Zoro. As he settles, he slides his arm leisurely along the back of the seatrest, clinking his rings pointedly against Zoro’s earrings before he relaxes. 

“This is gonna take some getting used to, I think,” Usopp comments, staring at the two oddly. 

Sanji grins in amusement, trailing his fingertips along the fine hairs of the swordsman’s neck. Zoro, meanwhile, finds himself grateful for the evening haze, knowing his damn ears were probably turning red under the attention. 

“How did you meet, anyway?” Luffy asks around a mouthful of rice. 

“Zoro tracked a bounty to the Baratie about two years ago,” Sanji explains with a fond smile, “I took pity on him when he frightened our concierge into giving him the babysitting seat.” 

“The babysitting seat?” Nami echoes with a snort. 

“The table closest to the kitchen,” the blond clarifies, “Gustav has a habit of putting anyone he worries might be trouble nearest to the Baraties famous fighting cooks. ” 

This was news to Zoro, the swordsman scowling at the implication, “I wasn’t gonna cause trouble.”

Sanji raises his eyebrows incredulously, “Moss you were literally there to kill someone .”

“Yeah but not any of the staff .” 

“Generous of you, certainly,” Sanji teases over a sip of wine. “Either way, I heard a cheap order come in for that sad excuse of a table and decided to show a little empathy.” 

“What?” Zoro cuts in, “you hit on me.” 

“I thought you were poor and hungry,” Sanji corrects with a tilt of his glass for emphasis, “and for the record- I was correct.” 

Usopp spits out his drink with a cackle. 

“What the hell, Cook?” Zoro sneers, “you’re the one that invited me up to a private lounge.”  

“I cannot be held responsible for my actions after I properly laid eyes on you,” the blond declares, “I’m merely explaining how we came to be.” 

“So… You’ve been hooking up for a while?” Nami cuts in, her tone an even deadpan. Sanji immediately coughs on his wine, spluttering out the redhead's name while Zoro snickers at the way Sanji’s whole face flushes cherry pink. 

“It’s- It’s more than a…” The blond stammers, his poised attitude wrought asunder by Nami’s bluntness. “I mean, I suppose we hadn’t really discussed putting labels on it…”

Zoro grins as the Cook flounders, tripping from embarrassment to anxiety in a single stride. It was stupidly endearing, stupid being the major component. 

“The Cook’s my other half,” Zoro declares abruptly, cutting off Sanji’s rambling as he takes a quick swig of his beer, “Partner, boyfriend, whatever else it’s called. He’s who I always came back to.” He explains, matter of fact. 

Sanji sucks in a tight breath, his face still flushed as he stares at Zoro with wide eyes.  

“Moss,” Sanji hisses, his fingers pressing into Zoro’s skin with a burning heat, “you absolute shithead. You cannot just say things like that.”

Zoro smirks, his grin crooked as he replies, “what are you gonna do about it, Cook?” 

“Nevermind,” Usopp drawls, “I get it now.” 

“Ew,” Nami adds. 

Luffy just laughs, shoving another scoop of rice into his mouth.

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