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He has never seen Zeff without his chef’s uniform or the casual long sleeved shirts he has been wearing on the boat over the last week. It suddenly hits him that he has never thought about how his sailing background could have left signs. In this case, tattoos. He can’t decipher what they are from this distance, but they are there; small specks of colour on his broad shoulders and arms.
Arms that flex when the chef grabs his towel and begins to dry himself off as he shuffles back. It’s all rough movements, small annoyed grunts when he needs to stretch just a little harder to grab one end of the cloth to dry his back, making the hairs pull away from his skin and stand up in the low temperature of the morning. The chef pulls something towards himself and goes through smooth, practised motions. It takes him standing up for Zoro to understand that Zeff just put on his prosthetic leg.
Zoro feels a shiver run down his spine, and his breathing grows laboured, but he cannot look away.Zoro needs a yacht chef, but the only one available is his best friend's father.
Zeff loves being on a boat again, even if he has to cook for a brat.
Neither expect to fall into bed with one another.