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“Sanji,” said Zoro, and it was a breathless thing, a word barely there, so low and muffled that Sanji wouldn’t have heard it if not for how still the ocean was, waves lapping against the wood of their ship and the wind seeming to pause for a moment, if only to let him hear his own name, just then. He had never heard Zoro say anything in that way before. He had never heard the ocean slyly graze the ship like it did then, or maybe he was just imagining these firsts, these beginnings, and he was imagining Zoro saying this- it was a dream, surely. The air seemed hazy, shimmering like they were in a desert, lines of the water seeming to have no central direction or want. Sanji wanted to ask the ocean what it wanted.
Sanji, after pulling his cigarette out of his mouth with careful fingers, decided that it was only Zoro who was dreaming. On nights like these, Sanji woke up often, covered in sweat- someone up above had decided he wasn’t meant for the heat, he thought, but the Grand Line changed its weather every day, so it was hard to predict which nights would be restless and which would pass by in moments and snippets of conversations had in his head, in dreams. He would get up sometimes to cook breakfast early or have a smoke. He wondered what Zoro dreamt about. He wondered why it involved him. If it were anyone else, Sanji might have decided it was romantic; a name said in a dream was an indicator of something, at least. But this had him skeptical- maybe Zoro was dreaming of a fight, or anything else. Sanji had dreams about many different people, all the time, only bits and pieces coming to resurface when he woke up. That didn’t mean he wanted to-
“You were supposed to be on watch,” said Sanji warily, to Zoro, to no one. The ocean giggled at him.
“I am,” said Robin’s voice from the crow’s nest. Sanji jumped and nearly bit through his cigarette. “I offered to let him sleep since I couldn’t myself. He passed out right there, of course.”
“Oh,” said Sanji, sleepy and delirious and probably bright red, if he knew himself at all. “That’s nice of you.”
“Perhaps,” Robin replied, saying nothing else. Sanji tapped his foot on the boards of the ship, side-eyeing Zoro, who was drooling a bit.
“He went to sleep outside yesterday, too,” said Sanji after a while.
“Our swordsman doesn’t want anyone hearing what he says at night.” Robin seemed amused. “Usopp told him he heard him talking in his sleep. He seemed,” it sounded like Robin was turning a page in her book, “upset.”
Sanji stared at the curve of Zoro’s neck in the dark, swallowing. “Huh.”
—
Sanji wasn’t one to pry, but he did a lot of thinking. He would never ask Luffy about his past because he knew he wasn’t supposed to care- and he mostly didn’t, but he thought about it. He thought about Nami and Robin and he thought about how attraction to them was a distant hum, a pleasant, warm smile; attraction to Zoro, though, was a jagged edge, a wind picking up, a grin on the edge of a scowl. Nami and Robin weren’t soft people, of course, but Sanji felt a distance from them because of the knowledge that he wasn’t wanted that way. Zoro wasn’t nice, Sanji thought, but he was-
Sanji often stopped thinking, then.
Zoro rarely made straight-on eye contact with Sanji unless he wanted a fight. Zoro was an oxymoron of a person and yet fit together more than decently. He didn’t care until he did. He was quiet until he yelled. He was always passionate, though, and always easy to read when revving up for something. Zoro liked to rev up for things.
Sanji didn’t like to get angry, exactly, he just became angry sometimes. He had issues. Whatever. Zoro reveled in his temper. Sanji and his temper just came together, every so often, to have a party, but it would end in a mess and too much alcohol and things he unfortunately remembered saying when the sun came up.
Anyway, Zoro wasn’t looking at him that next morning when Sanji shoved a plate of food in his direction. Sanji delicately placed a glass of orange juice in front of Robin and then Nami as Luffy made various inhuman noises, wolfing down slabs of bacon and bread.
“Thank you,” said Robin pleasantly, and Sanji beamed. He thought he saw Zoro’s eyes dart in his direction, but when he looked, Zoro was methodically tearing a pancake apart, gaze not anywhere near him.
Sanji knew, objectively, that most people weren’t going to reciprocate. But this was what he was: a heart on a sleeve. Embarrassing. He figured that he had to be himself, had to try- what was the use of being afraid of showing affection? He didn’t think too much about the sad part, the rejection. If he could constantly give others something, then why not do so. He was a cook. He wanted there to be enough to go around.
“Whose turn is it to help with the dishes?” Chopper said, almost nervously. Last time he had broken a few plates and seemed to still be upset about it even when Sanji had assured him it didn’t matter because Luffy had broken about a hundred more in the past week or so.
“I think it’s Luffy’s,” said Nami, setting her glass down with a smug smile.
“No.” Luffy banged his hands on the table. “I think it’s Zoro’s turn!” He gave Zoro a shit-eating grin. Zoro glared at him. Usopp laughed at them, wiping his mouth with his hands.
“It actually is the marimo’s turn,” Sanji said, handing Usopp a napkin tiredly. “Unfortunately.”
“Call me that one more time,” growled Zoro, eyes on Sanji, finally, finally.
Sanji opened his mouth with satisfaction before Nami rolled her eyes at them, getting up. “Okay, guys, just clean the goddamn dishes.”
“Sure, you’re right,” said Sanji, smiling. Zoro pretended to vomit.
Luffy was pouting. “I want seconds.”
Sanji batted his extended hand away. “You’ve gotten seconds already. And thirds. And fourths. Wait a while, won’t you?”
Luffy looked at him for a moment, and then at Zoro. He had a strange expression, and then it was gone. “Fine.” He laughed and grabbed Chopper and Usopp. “We’re gonna go fish.”
“Uh, sure,” said Sanji, picking up the plate he had knocked over in the process.
Zoro was getting up, purposefully slow. Robin was dog-earing a page of her book. Sanji didn’t know if she had been reading and eating at the same time but it was likely. “Have fun, you two,” she said, arms sprouting from the table and picking up her used dishes to hand them to Sanji. He was touched.
“Fun is a word for it,” muttered Zoro.
“That doesn’t even mean anything,” said Sanji. “It’s literally just washing the fucking dishes.”
“You somehow make it unbearable,” said Zoro, which Sanji didn’t think was true, because his most peaceful Zoro-involved memories involved the both of them, drying plates and forks and knives in silence in this very room, but okay, all right, sure.
“You’re unbearable,” Sanji grumbled back, taking a spoon from the stack and dunking it in soapy water.
“Good one,” said Zoro haughtily, taking the spoon from him to dry with almost too much force. “I’m so hurt.”
Sanji didn’t even bat an eye. “Like you have enough in that brain of yours to do better.”
Zoro huffed but seemed to decide he was done with the conversation. Sanji settled into the sound of their breathing in between yells of delight from their crew-mates outside, fooling around, and the ocean, there, again. Sanji wouldn’t call the ocean a friend. It was simply someone he had been around in the most important eras of his life. What would you call someone like that? Family? Home? He didn’t know.
But after a while, his thoughts drifted, his hands brushing against Zoro’s knuckles, an accident. Zoro leaning over him to rinse something again, his body too close for Sanji to think about soap and water and towels. No purpose behind it. Accident, accident.
“You talk in your sleep, huh,” said Sanji, as cautiously as he could muster.
Zoro tensed. “Usopp told you. Or…Luffy?”
Sanji wondered who else had heard Zoro saying random shit in the middle of the night. Robin seemed to be keeping information like this for future blackmail or her own enjoyment or something. She and Nami probably spent nights cataloguing things like this. “No. I heard you last night when I went for a smoke.” A pause. He was trying to be casual. “No one’s going to judge you.” He felt he needed to add something else. “Shithead.”
“It’s just private,” said Zoro, irritated.
“What is,” asked Sanji, only sort of looking at him out of the corner of his eyes.
“I don’t like not having control over what I say.” Zoro slammed a fork down. Sanji watched him, heart racing, excited, for some reason. “It’s just private,” he repeated.
“I get it, I get it,” said Sanji, and he could tell Zoro was waiting for him to tease him. But he couldn’t think of anything to say to mock him, so he shrugged. “It gets cold, though, sleeping outside. You know how the weather is. Could be dangerous.”
Zoro studied him. “Missing me, cook?”
“Oh, no,” said Sanji, feeling the urge to run a hand through his hair but not doing so because it was all wet. “In your fucking dreams.”
Zoro was silent for a moment that felt too long, before cursing at him under his breath for the rest of the hour.
—
Spices. Sanji was looking for spices.
He was walking in between stands, people crowding the streets- it was too hot today; all the days that meant anything were too much of everything. Chopper plodded beside him. Sanji was reminded of Alabasta, of trodding over sand for a bit before everything went to shit, losing Chopper without thinking much of it. He thought of Vivi, of what she might be doing right now. Every person they met, they left behind, except for their obvious few. Sanji didn’t miss them as much as he…remembered them. He didn’t know what to do with all the remembering.
“Sanji?” Chopper was saying, swatting at his leg.
“What.” Sanji stretched out his neck, trying to ignore the urge to smoke.
“We should get back soon.” Chopper seemed sheepish around him, all the time. Sanji didn’t know what that meant- kids had always been a mystery to him. He’d grown up as one of the only children on a ship, after all. Teenagers were even more confusing. Sanji figured Chopper would grow out of it.
“After we find some cinnamon,” said Sanji. “I’ll go quick. I think I smelled it a minute ago.” You’d think it would be easy to find such a basic ingredient. Sanji had run out a few days ago and wanted to make something special.
“Cinnamon,” said Chopper solemnly, sniffing. “It’s over there, I think.”
“Great work,” said Sanji, genuinely pleased, and Chopper flushed all over and called him a few names.
When he was buying the stuff, Zoro came up behind him and punched his shoulder. “Time to go, shit cook.”
“Why aren’t you on the ship?” said Sanji, airy and conversational, ignoring Zoro’s impatience and handing a woman some Berries.
“Luffy ran off and Nami told me to find him before trouble started. Can’t find him anywhere, though.”
“And you’re here bothering me because…”
“It’s your turn,” snarled Zoro.
“Uh huh.” Sanji eyed the bag of cinnamon in the sunlight.
Chopper looked between them. “I can go look-“
“No,” said Sanji and Zoro at once, looking at each other with irritation.
“No,” repeated Sanji after a sigh, “Zoro and I are going to do it. Go back to the ship.”
“Sure,” said Chopper slowly. “I can take your cinnamon for you.”
“That’s kind of you, Chopper,” said Sanji. Zoro gave him a funny look. “Thank you.”
Chopper’s expression was both upset and bright. “Whatever. I hate you.” He galloped off towards the meadow in between the town and the beach. Sanji turned in the other direction. Surely Luffy had gone as far as possible into the worst place he could muster.
“Chopper’s the only one you’re ever that nice to,” said Zoro. He was chewing on some gum. Loudly. Sanji didn’t love it.
“You’re like a cow,” said Sanji in reply. He wasn’t about to explain his deepest issues to him.
Zoro scoffed at him, chewing louder. They followed a path towards a forest in the distance- “This seems ominous enough that Luffy would be interested in it,” noted Sanji. The trees reached towards them, wooden tendrils in the dimming light.
Zoro chuckled. “You’re actually smart sometimes.” Sanji watched him close his eyes as he laughed. He rarely made him laugh.
There was a man, up ahead. He was braiding flowers together with gangly hands, seemingly cheerful.
Sanji eyed him warily. “Hello, sir.” Zoro snickered at his manners. Sanji wanted to punch him, but refrained. “Have you seen a guy with a straw hat running around here today?”
The man looked at them both curiously. “No.”
Zoro seemed unconvinced. “Really.” Sanji nudged him, not kindly. Zoro fumed.
“Yes, really,” said the man, putting down a daffodil. The breeze picked up; Sanji’s fingers twitched. Something was off. “Tell me, boys,” continued the man. “Have you been having any dreams, as of late?”
Sanji and Zoro just looked at him.
“I can sense it on people,” said the man. “Things that are left unsaid. Left for when you close your eyes.”
Sanji found this incredibly cheesy and he also didn’t like the weirdness of this conversation, not at all. “If you’re looking for a fight or something, go ahead and try it.” Zoro had his hand on the hilt of one of his swords. Sanji had a moment where he pictured his heart, dancing around in his chest. Excitement. That was what Zoro was full of, when things got difficult. Sanji just got mad.
“Not a fight.” The man lunged forward, grabbing Sanji and Zoro’s hand. “I’m bored. What the hell, you know?”
“What,” said Zoro, because they weren’t fighting, they were- somewhere else. Sanji lost track. Somewhere else.
—
Sanji was humming to himself. When he was a kid, he wondered where the other cooks had learned so many songs to hum. And sing. And dance to. The answer was the cooks before them. And before them. And so on. Sanji liked the cyclical nature of it.
Luffy poked his head in through the door. Sanji turned to give him a flat look as he cut the last part of a radish into small pieces. Luffy knocked on the door with his fist a few times, just to annoy him. “Is it time to eat yet?”
“No,” said Sanji. “Soon. I’ll tell you when. Like every other day we’ve been on this ship.”
Luffy pursed his lips. “And there’s no snacks in the meantime?”
“What am I, your babysitter? Leave,” said Sanji, amiably. He would never admit it, but he liked that Luffy got so excited to eat.
“No, Zoro’s his babysitter,” said Nami, leaning over a piece of parchment to draw a circle with her compass in just the right way.
“Fuck off,” said Zoro, nudging past Luffy on his way in and reaching for an apple in a basket near the fridge. Sanji quickly shuffled over to slap him.
“If you cut me with that-“ Zoro barked, referring to the knife Sanji was waving around.
“Oh, this?” said Sanji, twirling it around in his hand; he’d taught himself to do little tricks when he was very young and only a dish boy. Zoro didn’t have the decency to look impressed. “I thought you were a swordsman. You shouldn’t be afraid of a kitchen knife.”
“I am when it’s being handled by a dumbass.” Zoro tried to take it from him.
“Kids, kids, be quiet now,” said Nami, absently. She suddenly looked out the porthole. “Actually, no. I think the wind is changing. I’m going outside.” She folded her papers into a neat stack before slamming the door behind her.
Sanji turned his gaze back to Zoro, who was now biting into an apple. “Oh, come on-“
Zoro held the apple in his face. “Want some?” His teeth were so sharp.
“No, asshole.” Sanji gave him an annoyed stare. “Let me finish cooking.”
Zoro leaned toward him. Sanji registered, vaguely, that he had been cornered into the wall. Zoro’s lips were hovering over his own. “You look good today.”
Sanji raised an eyebrow at him. And- no. Something wasn’t right, there were flowers growing out of the floorboards, the sun was pink, the ocean wasn’t even moving-
And he wasn’t himself anymore, he was somewhere else. He- he knew this.
“Oh,” said Zoro, like he was talking about a workout routine. “Okay.” He wasn’t the Zoro who was kissing him right now. He and Sanji were standing on the other side of the room. The other two versions of themselves- they were- Sanji felt like he shouldn’t be watching. He wasn’t watching.
“What the fuck is happening,” said Sanji, blood rushing through him, fast.
Zoro shook his head at him. He was definitely watching.
“This is- this is-“ Sanji rubbed at his eyes. “I think this is a dream I had.”
“You think?” Zoro was looking at him.
“I don’t usually. Remember them.” The flowers were growing everywhere, bright bursts of color. Sanji wanted to run for the door.
“I see,” said Zoro, face unreadable, and Sanji opened his mouth to ask him something and forgot what it was. The world was reeling.
—
“Ha,” said Sanji, as Zoro missed. “Greatest swordsman, my ass.” He showed him his teeth.
Zoro often smiled when he fought, like he couldn’t help himself, the motherfucker. Never with Sanji, though. “Aren’t you hot in that suit?”
“Flirting with me, are we?” Sanji darted around Zoro in an attempt to hit him from behind. No dice. “Not going to work, marimo.”
“The worst insult.” Zoro had a sword in his mouth. Two in his hands.
“Ooh, he’s excited,” said Sanji, pausing to adjust his collar for a moment. Zoro swung at him.
“Nope,” said Sanji, but then he paused. “Wait, it seems like you got me.” He watched Zoro’s eyes widen in satisfaction, surprise, then interrupted by Sanji’s foot swinging to hit his face. “Kidding.”
“You bastard-“ Zoro went to slice at his right sleeve.
Sanji sidestepped him. “This is a nice suit. I’m going to start on dinner.”
“Okay,” said Zoro, and Sanji knew it was too agreeable but Zoro got his sleeve this time, anyway.
“What did I just say,” Sanji said, irked.
“Get a new one,” said Zoro, taking the sword out of his mouth, Sanji wasn’t watching him too closely, not ever, of course not. Spit all over metal. Disgusting, unpleasant. Yeah.
Sanji managed to maneuver his gaze to meet Zoro’s and glare. Deep down, he was actually a bit annoyed about it. He wasn’t exactly swimming in money.
Zoro seemed to notice his lack of response. “What, nothing?”
“Dinner,” said Sanji, stretching his arms in a couple directions like he didn’t care.
“Nami could fix it or something,” said Zoro, trailing after him but trying to make it seem like he wasn’t.
Sanji frowned at him. “Since when does Nami sew?”
“I don’t know!” Zoro stomped around the deck. “Usopp?”
“Oh, yeah,” said Sanji thoughtfully. Zoro was nodding hopefully. “You’re not actually feeling guilty about it? It’s fine, mosshead. Jeez.”
“I wasn’t.” If Sanji hadn’t known any better, he’d think Zoro was trying not to blush. He really was striking, Sanji thought, angry at himself for getting that far in thought mileage. Zoro was a thunderstorm. It was an attractive quality that Sanji despised very much.
“This is boring,” said a voice, suddenly next to him. Sanji jumped. Zoro was itching his the back of his head, standing next to him. They were once again outside themselves, looking in from a few feet away as their other selves bickered. “Isn’t this just a memory?”
“I-“ said Sanji, flustered. “We should try to get out of this. That man must’ve done something to us.”
“Seems so,” said Zoro, tapping the boat’s railing with his hands aggressively. “Devil fruit, maybe.”
“Why is it just my-“ Sanji realized the ship was being swallowed up by flowers. “Ugh,” said Sanji. The world was whirling around them again.
—
When he was little, Sanji had read books full of fairy tales and imagined nights like this.
Sanji thought, that in the end, victory wasn’t a party, it was the way Zoro languidly leaned over him to grab the last of the sake. The rest of the crew was on land. Zoro had gotten tired and Sanji had volunteered to go back with him. He didn’t know why he had done so. He didn’t know.
“Look,” said Sanji, “the moon is fucking huge.” He said it in the way that people who had known each other for a long time said banal things, just to say something, thoughts out in the open. He had known these moments aboard the Baratie. He knew them now. It was nice.
Zoro nodded seriously. “Yeah.” This was not riveting conversation, but Sanji liked it, settled into it like the last plate on a table. A beginning, an end- but only fairy tales had these things. This ship, this night- they felt endless. But maybe he was getting too sappy, too romantic, he’d grown up that way. He couldn’t help it, okay. Writing poetry in his head all the time. He was embarrassing.
“What you thinking about,” asked Zoro, shaking the glass bottle as if to see if there was more left. It was empty. He frowned.
“This and that,” Sanji replied, leaning back casually.
Zoro laughed. “Oh, sure.”
“What are you thinking about?” Sanji shot back.
“You,” said Zoro, flashing him a grin.
“Oh, sure,” said Sanji, rubbing his eyes. “And what about me, you green-headed shit?”
“Hm,” said Zoro, leering, but he couldn’t be leering at Sanji, of all people- “I don’t think I’m gonna share. If you don’t.”
“Ugh,” said Sanji, irritatedly. He stretched out his legs onto the wood of the deck. It was warm out; he wanted to take off his jacket, but he didn’t like the present company. “I was only thinking about how nice tonight had been.”
“What, you reflecting on all the girls who said no to spending the night with you?” Zoro chortled. “Beautiful night, yeah.”
“Bastard.” Sanji lit his cigarette. “At least I have girls saying something to me.”
“Ha,” said Zoro. “Girls.”
Sanji looked at him for a while. “Well, you must like someone.”
Zoro blinked, scratched at his ear like he was really thinking about it. “Someone?”
“Nami?”
Zoro slid an indignant look over to him. “What? No.”
“Robin…?”
“She’s great, but no.”
Sanji was silent for a moment. “…Luffy? Usopp?”
Zoro studied one of his swords. “Ha.”
Someone not on the ship, then. “Have you ever-“
“Have you ever even slept with someone?” Zoro was teasing him.
Sanji got a little flustered anyway, the abruptness of it. “Slept with?”
“Fucked,” clarified Zoro, closing his eyes like he was about to go asleep. Sanji found this mildly infuriating. The laid-back crassness of the word stung, somehow.
“Fucked,” repeated Sanji, not sure whether he wanted to lie or not. He usually just said whatever he wanted, in the moment. He was an in-the-moment sort of guy. He was.
“I mean, not that it matters if you have or not,” said Zoro, and his voice was so casual that Sanji picked up on the weirdness of his tone. “Everyone can live their fucking life. You just go around acting like-“
“Like?” prompted Sanji, raising an eyebrow.
“Like you do.” One of Zoro’s eyes was studying him.
“Well,” said Sanji. “First of all, fuck you.” Zoro’s mouth twitched. “And if- and if you must know, I actually haven’t been with anyone. That way.” Sanji felt himself heating up. “I’m waiting for the right person,” he added haughtily, chin held high.
“You can’t even say it. That’s cute.”
“You’re such a fucking shitass.” Sanji rubbed at his face. “Shit. Ass. Thought it didn’t matter.”
“It doesn’t,” said Zoro, sitting up a little. Sanji registered the movement- a fight? It was so late. “I actually haven’t had sex either.” He grinned at Sanji.
Sanji slapped his shoulder, huffing. “So you were just being mean for the hell of it. Cool. I thought we were going to have a nice little bonding moment.”
“And this isn’t that?” Zoro simply rolled up his shirt sleeves, apparently because of the never-leaving heat. Sanji spared a glance at his muscles, at the shape of his shoulders under the guise of irritation. These days he couldn’t stand to be on deck when Zoro was training without a shirt on. Sanji would always start a fight. Couldn’t help himself. What were people supposed to do with all that inside of them? Talk about it? Fuck no, he’d kick something. Break a pot or a pan. Well, he wouldn’t. He’d just want to. That shit was expensive.
Sanji sighed and lit his cigarette again.
They stared at the cloudless sky for a while before Zoro prodded, “A lot of people went on your restaurant ship, and you never…?”
Sanji felt the urge to stub out his cigarette on Zoro’s bicep. He restrained himself. “Being uncharacteristically talkative tonight, are we?”
Zoro held up his hands. “Must be the alcohol, asshole. Whatever. I’ll leave you to your smoking session.”
Sanji opened and closed his mouth a few times, then flicked his lighter with his hand a few more. “Aw, don’t pout.” Zoro looked at him expectantly. “Honestly, I tried. Laugh at me all you want.”
“Nah,” said Zoro, which Sanji did not find encouraging, but.
“I think I’m just bad at being casual about certain things and really good at it with others.” Sanji ran a hand through his hair.
Zoro looked at him. “You just lack confidence sometimes.”
Sanji frowned. “Maybe so.”
Zoro grunted. “I think I forgot to think about people along the way,” he offered in return, and Sanji felt like this was something important but couldn’t pin down his own reaction. “I got caught up in my dream. You know how it is.”
“Nothing else mattered.” Sanji didn’t meet his eyes. Looked at the moon.
“Yeah.” Zoro shrugged. “Probably don’t even know how to kiss well.”
Sanji took his cigarette out of his mouth, slowly. “You’re telling me you’ve never kissed anyone.”
“Only a couple people.” He didn’t seem embarrassed, but from the set of his jaw Sanji knew that he was lying.
“Well, even I’ve kissed a few people,” Sanji said carefully.
“Well, you’d kiss anyone who asked,” muttered Zoro.
“At least I have fucking experience.” Sanji glared at him. “For when someone does want-“
“As if someone ever will,” snarled Zoro, suddenly slanted and angled differently, the kind of Zoro that got Sanji more confused than anything.
Sanji just gave him a tired look. “It’s midnight, sword boy. If you’re so upset about this then come over and let me teach you how to fucking kiss.” He meant it as a joke but felt it tumble to the ground as he said it.
“Teach me,” repeated Zoro, hand coming off his sword but still annoyed, it seemed. “Like you’d have anything to show me. I’ll show you a fucking kiss.”
This was incredibly stupid, Sanji thought, but at the front lines of his mind was a need to prove himself, to win. He put out his cigarette, mouth tight. “Sure you will, mosshead.” Zoro was already kissing him.
Zoro was actually not a terrible kisser. He wasn’t great, sure, but Sanji found his earnestness - maybe just competitiveness - endearing. Or something. Tongue trying to get into his mouth from the get-go. No tact about it. Zoro wouldn’t be tactful, thought Sanji, closing his eyes. Of course he’d just go for it. No nerves. Gracefulness in his bravery, in his certainty. Sanji let him put his tongue in, curious. He had his left hand wrapped around Zoro’s neck. He had his right hand holding Zoro’s collar. He wasn’t sure how long it had been. The air was unmoving. He pulled back, mind empty.
Zoro didn’t look at him, just buried his head in his neck, pressing a kiss near its base. Sanji shuddered.
“People do this, right?” Zoro was so quiet, but still seemed amused. “Kiss the neck.”
Sanji, not really listening, put a hand on his shoulder, sweaty and tanned and strong. “Yeah, yeah.” He had memories of Zoro in every context possible, lifting things up that were twenty times his size. The set of his jaw. The light reflecting in his eyes. The droplets of perspiration falling down different parts of his skin. Sanji had looked. Sanji had definitely looked.
“You’ve got to-“ Sanji collected himself. “You’ve got to be more delicate about it, when you kiss. You know what foreplay is, don’t you?”
“Sure, just like you know,” said Zoro, smirking at him. “I don’t think you like delicate.”
“It’s not about what I like, is it,” said Sanji, losing it when Zoro pressed a kiss onto his cheek.
“Oh, it is,” said Zoro, smooth, sure.
Sanji didn’t know what to do with that. “Again,” he said, pulling Zoro up to mash their mouths together. It was messy, lots of teeth. He found he didn’t care about the discomfort. It was more than great. It was exciting. He was scared he was going to mess it up.
Zoro met his eyes, breath fanning all over Sanji’s cheeks as he moved back just slightly, breaking the kiss again. “Aren’t you hot, wearing that?”
“No,” breathed Sanji. “Not at all,” he said, as Zoro eyed the buttons of his jacket with obvious interest.
“I am,” Zoro said with finality, deft fingers quickly taking off his shirt. He had too much practice, Sanji thought, internally rolling his eyes.
“You’ve got to be more discreet. Savvy?” Sanji was watching Zoro pull it over his head. “What’s the goddamn word? Subtle.”
“I’ll work on that.” Zoro was a knife in the dark. “Show me subtle then, Sanji.”
Sanji twitched at the sound of his name. “Idiot.” He was shrugging off his jacket. Zoro reached over to unbutton his white dress shirt. “We’re both idiots.” Zoro looked at him, pleased. Sanji thought he saw something out of the corner of his eye, some instinct in him going something’s wrong, something’s off, but he ignored it. He was fucking busy, thank you. He kissed Zoro again.
“Wait,” said Sanji, as Zoro tugged at him. Zoro blinked, waiting. “Let me-“ He took Zoro’s hand in his, squeezed it.
“You’re so sweet,” said Zoro, always trying to win, get the last hit, but it didn’t land where it needed, his voice wasn’t mocking enough.
“Shut up.” Sanji liked Zoro’s hands as much as he liked the rest of Zoro. He intertwined their fingers, thoughts somewhere slightly else. Zoro watched this silently.
“This is how you do it,” muttered Sanji, giving one of Zoro’s knuckles a kiss. They were bruised, chapped, healing from fights barely gone. Sanji liked Zoro’s scars. Sanji kissed another knuckle softly.
“Oh,” said Zoro, and Sanji liked the way his voice wavered.
Sanji grinned at him, but it wasn’t a sharp thing. “Who’s sweet now?”
Zoro seemed to be looking behind Sanji. “Oh,” he said again, and Sanji turned his head- there were flowers everywhere. Every kind. Lily of the valley. Morning glories. Dandelions. Flowers that would normally be on weeds. Flowers he hadn’t ever seen. And they weren’t supposed to be there, growing out of the ship, but Sanji knew, now, what was going on. He was annoyed.
Zoro glanced blankly at their hands, still together. Neither of them moved, and Sanji watched Zoro’s chest go up and down, up and down, letting out a sigh.
“Okay, again, these seem to be only my dreams,” said Sanji, reaching for a cigarette, but his pack was buried in ivy, crawling up his leg like it had the capability of desire. He remembered bits of and pieces of these, moments that he couldn’t place. His reflection in Zoro’s sword in the dark. Zoro’s hand in his. Etcetera.
“This is fucked up,” said Zoro, seemingly more to himself. He seemed to be both in shock and not surprised at all. “We’re not separate from ourselves anymore. Know what I mean?”
“Yeah, yeah,” said Sanji, rolling his eyes as best he could. He violently picked a petal off of a tulip. “Fucked up.”
“We need to get out of here,” said Zoro. “All of your dreams involve us kissing.”
“I’m not exactly enjoying this either,” hissed Sanji, not wanting to analyze that statement and instead ripping the petal into pieces. They were chest deep in plants by now. “This is private shit. Why couldn’t we have gone into your dreams, you bastard?”
“Like I got to choose,” growled Zoro. “My dreams are, like, random bullshit. A bunch of stuff put together and they don’t make sense. Yours are too close to life. It’s weird.”
“Like I got to choose,” parroted Sanji back, wanting to spit on him, but he couldn’t, the flowers were tall and the moon was laughing and they were gone, he couldn’t remember.
—
A smaller Sanji had known this: there were things that people could become, and these things were often pressed upon you by others.
A smaller Sanji had done this: ended up on a ship that was also a restaurant where he could become whatever the fuck he wanted. And he wanted nothing more than to yell and scream and be close to someone. He wanted to kick doors down and start fights and wake up next to the love of his life.
An older Sanji then realized this: the yelling and the screaming were easy. The love was much harder.
He tried very hard. He liked to try very hard. That was why there was strawberry lemonade on the table, the best glassware involved. That was why there were pastries in the morning, cinnamon rolls and egg tarts and lots of sugar, folded napkins, placemats with lace. He liked the delighted looks. The impressed ones. He liked to watch Robin, making tiny birds out of his napkins. She had given him one to place on his bedside table. He thought that very nice of her. He liked to watch Usopp, building houses out of silverware. He had poked him, made him look at the finished tower of forks and knives. He thought that very sweet of him. He liked to watch Luffy, dancing on the deck with the rest of them. No music, just peals of laughter. He thought that there was no one else who could get them all to dance like that, in that sort of heat.
Actually, when Sanji had been very young, he’d been taught to avoid fights. He’d then somehow decided to instigate whatever he could when he had gotten away and almost drowned and became a dish boy for someone who shouldn’t have saved him. He wasn’t mean for no reason. He just wasn’t one to take it lying down. There was a thrilling aspect to an argument that he admittedly didn’t see as a healthy way of coping with issues - but he always backed down when he was wrong. He tried not to be an asshole (It just came naturally, Zoro would say). Almost always.
Zoro was different, today. Luffy had almost drowned - like, really drowned. Could’ve been dead. Like, actually dead. They had been all caught up in the fight, somehow, had been a few seconds too late for the aftermath to be comfortable. Luffy had been fine, laughed it off, coughed up some sea water, and everyone seemed overall satisfied with his recovery. Except Zoro, who was still tense, irritated, searching for a longer battle that he hadn’t been given with the random marines that had attacked them at dawn. Sanji empathized with that, at least.
“Here you go, Nami,” said Sanji, as kindly as he could, setting a crepe onto the table in front of her. She looked up from her coffee and newspaper. It was early afternoon, the air just starting to heat up, to hum, stretching out its fingers towards their section of the Grand Line.
“Thanks,” said Nami, glancing again at the crepe. “Oh, you made a little face with the chocolate. I love that.”
Sanji beamed. “Yeah?”
“Get a room,” growled Zoro from the other end of the table, eyes closed, vein in his forehead moving. Sanji cocked his head at him.
“Doubt we’ll be doing that,” mumbled Nami. Sanji hummed, agreeing despite himself- they’d had a conversation, a few weeks back, and Nami had made it clear she wasn’t into him that way. Or into men at all, really.
“Sanji sure seems to think so.” Zoro picked at his fingernails.
Sanji puffed out some smoke, eyes narrowed. “You jealous, asshole?”
Zoro twitched. It wasn’t a graceful thing. “I just think it’s fucking weird that you give her special treatment.”
“I cook nice things for Robin,” Sanji replied, annoyed. “And Chopper.”
Zoro scowled at him. “Sure.”
Sanji opened his mouth and closed it. “Mind your fucking business.”
“Don’t tell me what to do.” Zoro put his feet on the table.
Sanji felt anger rising up within him, sudden and unexpected. He felt his hands flex, looking to grab what, he didn’t know. “You want a nice little treat like the rest of ‘em, Zoro? You want me to fawn all over you? Is that it?”
Zoro just looked at him.
“I’m not going to make you special meals or whatever the fuck when you treat me like shit and start these fucking- these fucking arguments. When you don’t even talk to me these days. What the fuck is wrong with you?” Sanji kicked the table. It was loud. Luffy, Usopp, and Chopper looked over from outside the kitchen door in unison. “Of course Nami doesn’t like me like that. I’m being goddamn nice. Whatever. Fuck you.” He wanted to kick the table again. “I fucking hate you, you know that?”
Zoro got up slowly, walked over to him.
“You touch me and I’ll kill you,” said Sanji, voice low and serious. He could feel all of their crewmates watching them.
Zoro was silent for a moment too long. If he wanted, he could have taken out his sword then, stabbed Sanji in the chest. Anything he wanted.
Sanji huffed.
Zoro met his eyes. “Make me a nice dinner, Sanji.”
Sanji scowled at him.
“Please.” Zoro reached over and Sanji frowned- but Zoro was simply reaching for something in Sanji’s shirt pocket. Sanji hadn’t put anything in his shirt pocket.
Zoro handed it to him. It was white, cute. Sanji frowned at it, too.
Zoro exhaled. “This didn’t happen. In real life. Not like that.”
“Nope.” Sanji popped the p and watched Zoro’s hand wrap around another of the same flower peeking out of his collar.
“And you…” Zoro seemed unsure of what to say, and wasn’t that strange, Sanji thought. “This is a moonflower.”
“How do you know that?” Sanji stared at him.
“I know things,” said Zoro defensively, a little red.
“No, you don’t.” Sanji pulled another one out of his sleeves near his wrists.
Zoro muttered some names at him, sourly. The ship around them was frozen in time, Nami’s face lacking expression, Usopp leaning over to whisper something to Chopper outside, the steam from the kettle on the stove unmoving. Sanji watched Zoro watch a bellflower bloom near his feet.
“I wonder what we look like in the real world right now.” Sanji tossed his cigarette on the ground. Zoro gave him a look of disapproval. “Like, are we asleep or something? The old guy didn’t seem like a psychopath or anything. He’s probably trying to teach us a lesson or something. Old people like doing that.”
“Yeah,” said Zoro thoughtfully. “The crew will look for us, at least.”
“If time is even moving at all out there.” Sanji slid him a bitter look. Simple wheatgrass was popping up in between the flowers.
“I would like it, you know,” said Zoro.
Sanji blinked at him curiously. “Like what?”
“A nice dinner.”
Sanji closed his eyes. He didn’t want to look at him. “Oh.” He felt Zoro give him an awkward pat on the arm. Very romantic. “Sure. That can be arranged.”
—
In this world, Sanji was still a dish boy and Zoro was still a bounty hunter, and although this wasn’t the right way of things, Sanji did not know it was so, and neither did Zoro. And so in this world, they knew each other. And this made sense as things made sense in all dreams: it didn’t. But Sanji didn’t know it was so, so he washed the dishes.
“Figures I’d meet you here,” grumbled Sanji, glaring at a silent Zoro, sitting on the barstool farthest from him. “Why is it so fucking empty? Where are all the beautiful people?”
“What, am I not pretty enough for you?” Zoro bared his teeth at Sanji in more of a growl than a smile. “And it’s always empty this time of night.”
“You’re a regular, then.” Sanji waved for the bartender to serve him whatever, he didn’t care. It seemed the swordsman had drunk most of his large bottle of whiskey, but he didn’t seem worse for the wear. Sanji had to admire that. He was a lightweight. He liked water and orange juice. Sue him.
“Nah,” said Zoro peacefully.
Sanji waited for additional information. It wasn’t given. “You must be fun at parties,” he muttered, swirling around his glass, enjoying the visuals of the moment more than the idea of drinking the alcohol itself. The ice clinked around happily. He gave it a sore look.
Zoro laughed at him. It was a surprise of a sound in this bar, full of empty space and the sounds of some sort of shell that was playing music. The bartender had gone to check on the kitchen or something, it seemed. They were alone.
Zoro noticed Sanji looking at the shell thing. “Weird, right?”
“Yeah.”
“You wanna dance?”
Sanji looked around the room. “Oh, with me.” He sighed, irritated. “Quit it already.”
“I’m not joking, dish boy.” Sanji pursed his lips. Zoro got up, looking more merry than Sanji had ever seen him. Not like he’d seen him often. He only came through this town every once in a while. Who knew why. Sanji remembered him, though. The fierce shape of his face. The bloodstains on his white shirt, once. His sleeves rolled up to reveal toned muscles. He’d seen him fight, once. Three swords. Sanji found it ridiculous.
Zoro had seen him watching and had winked at him, sword in his mouth. Sanji had helped him beat the guy to a pulp. Sanji usually didn’t get involved. He didn’t know why he’d gotten involved.
“All right,” said Sanji warily. He shoved down a gulp of his drink and stood up, brushing his shirt off stiffly. “A waltz, huh.”
Zoro only grinned at him, reaching for his hand and pulling him toward himself.
A minute or two went by. “You don’t know how to dance, do you,” said Sanji flatly. “Stupid.”
“Nah,” said Zoro, attempting to twirl Sanji around but stepping on his toes in the process.
Sanji sniggered. “Okay, wow, come here. We’ll just-“ He embraced Zoro, leaning his head against his shoulder. He could feel each rise and fall of his chest.
“Sure,” said Zoro, breathlessly. “Yeah.”
Sanji didn’t say anything. He had realized this was an awfully intimate position he had placed them both in. Zoro put his hand on Sanji’s waist. The breeze shook a lantern near the doorway.
“Is this how you’re supposed to dance?” Zoro’s voice was so soft. Sanji was looking at Zoro’s hands, running the pads of his fingers over his palm, his knuckles. They swayed back and forth. Sanji wasn’t sure if there was even music playing anymore or if his mind was making it up.
“I wouldn’t know,” said Sanji, eyes closed. “I don’t know how to dance, either.” He felt Zoro jump a bit, suddenly, but his hands were unmoving.
Sanji steadily opened an eyelid; flowers were suddenly appearing from nothing wherever they stepped. He blushed, but neither of them moved.
“Sweetpea,” said Zoro solemnly, nodding ever so slightly at a pink flower rising with the others.
“God, you’re weird,” Sanji said, feeling like he wanted to cry.
Zoro looked at him, not unkindly. “I know it’s not very macho of me, cook-“
“Who cares about what’s macho?” Sanji didn’t want Zoro to see his expression. It would be too much for them. “Fucking stupid bullshit anyway.”
Zoro pressed a kiss to the right of Sanji’s Adam’s apple. Sanji felt it in every part of his body, shocked in every bone he had. There were storms that were kinder than this. Tsunamis that were less overwhelming.
“Never really realized you were such a baby,” said Zoro, and Sanji pinched him, but they didn’t wake up, they didn’t wake up, they were in the dream. Next. Next.
—
The ship was completely different from the Going Merry, and the Grand Line was much less kind, here, but Sanji didn’t know it was so, and in fact didn’t know where he was, really, so he simply bandaged Zoro up like Chopper had told him to. There were dolphins swimming in the sky. There were angels swimming in the sea. They looked like his mother.
Sanji grit his teeth as he dabbed at the blood with a clean rag. Zoro didn’t seem bothered by it, only watched him thoughtfully.
“Don’t worry. It’s fine, cook,” said Zoro dully, watching Sanji frown at all the red.
“I’m not worried, you ass.” Sanji wiped at Zoro’s thigh. “It’s just gross.”
“Sure,” said Zoro. “You could never be a doctor.”
“Good thing I don’t want to be a doctor, then,” said an exasperated Sanji. The bandages had stuck together.
Zoro rolled his eyes. “Hurry it up.”
“What, you think I’m going slow for the fun of it?” Sanji hissed. “Ungrateful.”
“I can do this myself, actually. Dunno why you’re here.”
Sanji wasn’t sure, either. “You can’t reach this part of your back. That’s what Chopper said.”
“Whatever,” mumbled Zoro, poking at a bandage on his arm. Sanji could picture Chopper swatting his hand away, but Sanji wasn’t Chopper.
“Can’t let the kid down,” said Sanji under his breath before he could stop himself. Zoro watched him deliberately, cautiously, like he was a caged animal. Sanji glowered at him. He wanted to break something.
A few more minutes passed without consequence. Zoro sighed and looked at Sanji. “Bedtime soon.”
Sanji took a quick look outside before returning to Zoro’s leg. “It’s late, yeah.”
Zoro bounced his leg up and down, seemingly unconsciously, until Sanji made a sound of irritation and he stopped. Sanji looked at him, and felt like- felt like something was off. He had a moment where he thought he saw something out of the corner of his eye, but he didn’t, there was nothing there. Only the cloudless night. Only the creak of the wood of the ship.
Zoro scratched at his arm again. “You-“ he began, but Sanji was already saying something.
“You talk in your sleep, huh,” said Sanji, meeting his eyes.
Zoro stared. “Usopp told you. Or…Luffy?”
“No. I heard you last night when I went for a smoke.” He ripped one of the bandages by accident. Zoro chortled at him, in an only-for-his-own-benefit sort of way. “No one’s going to judge you, shithead.”
“It’s just private,” said Zoro cagily.
“What is,” asked Sanji easily, wrapping the last of the gauze.
“I don’t like not having control over what I say.” Zoro seemed so tired. “It’s just private,” he said again.
“I get it, I get it,” said Sanji, and he could tell Zoro wanted the conversation to end now. But he felt there was something else he wanted to say, so he sat next to Zoro on the cot, frowning. Zoro watched him find the words, looking displeased but not leaving, either. “You said my name, though.”
Zoro jerked like he actually was going to leave, but still didn’t, running a hand across his face. He didn’t say anything for so long that Sanji started to think that they were done speaking for the night.
“So I dream of you, so what,” said Zoro, voice rough. “Doesn’t mean anything, does it, Sanji?”
“I don’t know,” said Sanji, carefully, taken aback by the use of his name, “seems like it does when you’re acting like… this.”
Zoro said nothing.
“I’ve had pretty bad dreams,” said Sanji thoughtfully, after too many moments had passed with Zoro still saying nothing. "Ones I actually can remember." He studied the rectangular shape of the window, which was all wrong. The Going Merry had circular ones. There were daffodils coming out of it, anyway. “These aren’t those.”
Sanji watched Zoro shake his head a few times, maybe to himself, rip a rose off a growing stem. Sanji watched one of Zoro’s fingers bleed a tiny bit. A paper cut would bring more pain. But he couldn’t look away. Couldn’t.
“We were all meant to meet.” Zoro said this with such certainty that Sanji felt himself nod. “But you and me-” he said, and he cut himself off there.
“You and me,” repeated Sanji. He let out a deep breath. The moon watched them, inquisitive. He, though, watched the bead of blood grow slightly larger. “Want me to bandage that up for you, mosshead?”
A beat. “No,” said Zoro stupidly, barking out a laugh. He seemed undone, unsure like Sanji had never seen him. Sanji supposed he probably looked like that, too.
“Here,” said Sanji, taking Zoro’s hand and licking the blood straight off of his finger.
“That’s disgusting,” said Zoro, staring at him.
“You’re disgusting,” retorted Sanji, grinning, and Zoro made a face. But there were still flowers. Who knows what the night wanted them to do with itself.
—
It was a day involving nothing at all.
These were the days they forgot. In between islands, fights, adventures, tears, there was nothing, really. There was the ship and the crew and the seagulls that Usopp protested against because he was afraid they’d shit on him while he was fixing the deck.
“If they do, I’ll kick their asses,” said Luffy soberly. Chopper clapped his hands.
“Perhaps that isn’t the best idea,” tried Robin as Usopp thanked Luffy for the loyalty, eyes welling up. Sanji couldn’t bear any of them.
“Marimo,” said Sanji, whacking the ground with his foot just for the fun of it. “Since you’re not doing anything you can help me in the kitchen.”
“I am doing something,” said Zoro, not opening his eyes. “I’m sleeping.” He crossed his legs. “And you’re plenty strong enough to do whatever it is you need help with alone.”
Sanji’s eyes shot daggers at him, but he couldn’t see it. “It’s a two-person job. In the storage area.”
“Pfft.”
“Go help him, Zoro,” said Luffy, voice cheerful but pointed. Nami was rolling her eyes behind her sunglasses, Sanji could feel it. He waved at her.
Zoro peered at Sanji through hooded eyes. “Fine.”
When they got to the crates of dried fruit and canned beans, Sanji just went to sit on one, flicking his lighter on. Well, here goes.
Zoro made a noise like he knew. “Two-person job. Right.”
“There is no job. Obviously. I came here to seduce you.” Sanji looked up at him, a tiny fire between his teeth. He laughed a little.
Zoro didn’t move for a few moments. “I see.”
Silence. “And what makes you so sure that I would want to be,” Zoro swirled the word around in his mouth, seemingly, “seduced?”
Sanji smiled around his cigarette. “It was a gamble.”
Zoro stretched a bit, baring his neck. Sanji looked on hungrily. He’d grown up hungry. He’d grown up wanting so much and also not wanting to want anything at all. He’d learned to keep it in. Stomach growling. He was supposed to make the food, not eat it.
He was hungry.
Zoro let him look. “Is it boredom?”
Sanji licked his lips. “No.”
“Good,” said Zoro, grabbing Sanji by the tie and pushing his tongue in.
Sanji knew this was not the real world at this point, but it felt good. Zoro, in his lap, pushing against him, it felt good.
“We could have-“ Zoro panted. “All this.”
“And more,” Sanji said, delighted. “Fuck, Zoro.”
“Yeah.” Zoro was biting Sanji’s bottom lip. Sanji whined. “God.”
“Uh huh,” said Sanji, too eager, he knew, but he had nothing to lose (he had everything to lose). “Pull my hair, you fucker.”
Zoro complied, and Sanji groaned. Zoro watched, pupils wide. “I don’t know what I like,” he said.
“I’ll figure it out,” said Sanji, hands all over Zoro’s chest, arms, thighs. He was allowed to do this. Fuck the snapdragons, the daisies. He was on fire.
Sanji took Zoro’s cock in his hand through his pants. Zoro inhaled sharply. “Is there something you think about? When you- you know.”
“What do you mean,” breathed Zoro, moving against Sanji’s hand. Sanji had no idea what he was doing, but he didn’t mind the uncertainty.
“When you jack off,” clarified Sanji, and Zoro shuddered, forehead against Sanji’s shoulder. “What do you think about? That might help.”
“Ah,” said Zoro, as Sanji gripped him tighter, and sure, Sanji could do more of that.
“You don’t have to tell me,” said Sanji, and Zoro shook his head, red as hell.
“You have nice legs” was all he said, and Sanji gave him an incredulous look. “Ha,” he said in reply. “Thanks, babe.” Zoro cursed at him, angry and without control, Sanji thought. Sanji switched their positions, got in Zoro’s lap, wrapped himself around him. Zoro kissed his chest, now exposed just a bit because Zoro had unbuttoned the top of it. Zoro spit into his hand, reached into Sanji’s pants to rub his cock. It was clumsy, they were both so clumsy, but Sanji had never felt this much sensation in his life. Every touch from Zoro on any part of his skin had the weight of lifetimes- it was embarrassing, thrilling. Sanji moaned.
“We can have-“ Zoro said, grinding against his hand, still, “all this.”
“You said that.” But Sanji was pleased.
“I just- we could’ve been fucking this whole time.” Zoro seemed delirious.
Sanji kissed him again and laughed into his mouth. “Someone’s horny.”
“Shut,” croaked out Zoro, “up.”
“Make me,” sighed Sanji, watching a sprig of lavender come out of Zoro’s heart.
—
“I think we’re just going to be in this dream world from now on.” Sanji watched the dirt road they were walking on twist and turn in spirals like it was a living thing.
“Can you control it?” Zoro dragged his sword across the ground behind him. It was made of clouds now.
“Don’t think so.” Sanji blew a stray hair from his eyes. Tried to change the surroundings with his mind. Nothing. “This is progress, right?” Zoro shrugged. “The crew will find us. C’est la vie, babe.”
“Don’t talk like that,” grumbled Zoro.
“What do you mean, my darling?” Sanji turned to look at Zoro, walking backwards and leering.
Zoro flushed. “Sanji.”
Sanji cackled at him. “Dearest. Sweetie. My love.”
Zoro sheathed his sword just to cross his arms. “I hate that I like you.”
Another guffaw. “But do you like-like me?”
“We’re not even going to address it? This thing between us?”
“What is there to address? Besides, you’re the one who’s being vague about it, sweetheart.” Sanji picked a forget-me-not from the side of the path, getting on one knee. “Oh, Zoro, when you put that sword in your mouth, I get all-“
“Ugh,” said Zoro, walking past and refusing to look at him. “This has got to be a fucking cosmic joke.”
Sanji sauntered up with him, putting his hands in his pockets. There were trees, now, old and grand and shaking branches at them, hello, how’s it going. “It is unfortunate.” Zoro seemed to be keeping himself from smiling.
“Oh,” said Sanji suddenly, squinting into the distance. “We’re back in that forest.” The bluebells growing out of the ground seemed to nod in the wind. He stepped on a few by accident.
Zoro’s eyebrows had formed part of an irked expression. “It was an old person lesson thing.”
“The lesson was for us to fuck?” Sanji peered at Zoro. Zoro swatted at him.
“Hi, old man.” Sanji walked up to him, he was sitting on the side of the road like before, braiding flowers together or whatever. He got in his face, studied him.
“That’s rude,” said the man. He seemed unbothered.
“Are we out of the fucking dream world?” Zoro had his sword up to his throat.
“Yes, yes,” said the man, tone bored. He looped two more stems together.
“If we’re not, we’ll come and kill you,” said Sanji. Zoro nodded seriously.
“You kids are funny.” The man spared them a glance. The wind rustled through the trees, twinkling through the leaves that were there and yet to come.
“What, nothing else to say?” Sanji frowned at him. Zoro moved to leave.
The man held out a flower for him to look at. “No, not really.”
Zoro turned back to look. “Witch hazel.” He glared at the old man. “That’s way too on the nose.”
“I still cannot believe you know the names of all these flowers,” said Sanji, but they weren’t there anymore, of course.
—
They woke up in a meadow.
Luffy was shaking them, not delicately. Usopp sounded like he was crying. Like Romeo and Juliet, he was saying. They’re dead.
“Who’s Romeo in this situation?” Sanji sat up, fistful of grass.
“Sanji!” Chopper leaped up into the air, and Sanji let him hug him. Nami heaved out a sigh.
“I’m awake, stop shoving me around.” Zoro pushed Luffy off of him. He yelped.
Robin smiled. “Our captain arrived back at the ship alone. We got worried and found you soon after.”
“Luffy went looking for food. I guess.” Nami had her sunglasses lifted up onto the top of her head, peeved.
“I found a peach tree. Sanji can make us pie,” said Luffy, probably thinking his voice was authoritative.
“Sure,” said Sanji, lying back down to stare into the sun. Nami snickered.
“You’re going to go blind,” said Chopper, frantically trying to cover Sanji’s view with his hands.
“I like peach pie,” said Zoro out of nowhere. They all went silent.
Sanji smiled. Closed his eyes. “Peach pie it is, love.”