Work Text:
Feelings are hard, okay.
But you want to know what’s even harder? Figuring out other people’s feelings.
Zoro hasn’t met much in life that couldn’t be fixed with sheer force of will. He does what he has to do to get where he wants to be. Period.
Feelings are different.
You can’t strongarm someone into friendship (unless you were Luffy, but he’s a freak), and the closest Zoro’s come to figuring out how to navigate the world of interpersonal relations is to A – avoid it altogether or B – sit and suffer until things sort themselves out.
It’s gotten him far enough in life. He has friends he needs both hands to count, who are only mildly in trouble with the law. (See: sit and suffer.) And he has a mildly off-putting father figure and an even freakier stepsister. (See: avoid.)
So while he’s not the best at navigating social spaces, he gets by. He’s fine. It’s fine.
Until a certain blond asshole waltzes into his life and Zoro is getting looks and elbow jabs every time they’re in the same room. From Sanji and from their mutual friends.
Because, yeah, Zoro might be harboring a small case of feelings for the guy but it’s not like he can do anything about it. No amount of fighting and shoving is going to change Sanji’s sexuality.
So endure it is.
It’s not like Zoro actually wants to like the guy anyway. He’d be just as happy if the feelings faded and he wasn’t saddled with an embarrassing crush on a guy whose suit lines are straighter than his eyebrows.
The thing is, Sanji is a menace. He flirts with anything that moves and fawns over women like he hasn’t seen one in years and is the last man on Earth. It’s a weird, post-apocalyptic fantasy world that Zoro wants no part of. (He’s kind of funny though, and his food is amazing. And he cares so much about the people around him that sometimes Zoro just wants to shake him.)
So yeah, Sanji stays, Zoro endures, and in the end they have a rivalry that masquerades as comradery. Or maybe the other way around.
All that leads up to Zoro sitting on the floor of Luffy’s apartment, not paying much attention as Sanji finally tumbles in the door. He’s busy trying to eat as much pizza as physically possible before it disappears into any one of the bottomless pits he calls friends, and isn’t really thinking when he hears Nami say, “Won’t you, Zoro?”
He grunts before he thinks better of it, swallows hard as he turns and sees Nami smirking behind him.
Sanji is looking at him in distaste from over her shoulder.
“You don’t even know what you’ve just agreed to, do you?” he asks.
Zoro scowls, but before he can say anything else, Sanji is dramatically throwing his coat across the back of a chair.
“Why couldn’t it be one of my sweet ladies who takes me in?” he shoots another look at Zoro, upper lip curled. “Instead, I’m stuck with the mosshead.”
Zoro grabs another slice of pizza. “Who says you’re stuck with me? Maybe I don’t want you either.”
He blocks the pillow that gets launched at his head.
“Why is someone stuck with Sanji?” Luffy asks, words wrapped around two slices of half-eaten pizza.
“Hey!”
Nami pats Sanji on the arm. “Because, Sanji’s building had a small fire that set off the sprinkler system, and everything needs a few days to dry out.”
“Oh,” Luffy grabs some leftover crust from Chopper’s plate. “He can stay here.”
Sanji’s eyes widen in barely concealed panic and Zoro snorts.
“Luffy,” Nami asks sweetly. “Where do you think Sanji would sleep?”
Luffy blinks. He lives in a cramped, one bedroom apartment. His couch is almost permanently occupied by a friend or relative drifting through town. (Why they ever choose to gather here Zoro will never know, except that Luffy is kind of the glue that keeps them all together, and they all might be worried that if they stop coming over the entire place will fill with takeout containers and crane game prizes.)
Sanji sighs. “I can get a hotel.”
That earns him a sharp smack on the arm. “Don’t waste money. You can stay with Zoro. He has room and he already said yes.”
Sanji turns to look at him again and Zoro makes a point to not look back, just shoveling in more pizza and punching Luffy in the arm when he tries to steal one of his wings.
“I could treat it as a vacation,” Sanji hedges. “Get a nice place, use the spa.”
Nami’s eyes narrow further, obviously doing mental calculations in her head. Zoro’s not even that good at math and even he knows that's not in the budget. With Sanji starting his restaurant, helping out his old man, upkeeping his same preppy, put together look and trying to keep them all fed with things that aren’t trans fats and sugars, he’s walking a tightrope that’s one vacation away from sending him into Nami-debt for life.
“You’re staying with Zoro,” she decides.
“Do I get a say in this?” Zoro asks, watching from the corner of his eye as Sanji swallows and shifts on his feet.
Nami is obviously watching him too. “No, shut up, I’ll take a few dollars off your debt.”
Sanji looks like he’s about to argue again when suddenly, Chopper sniffles and looks between them. “Why don’t you want to have a sleepover with Zoro?”
Sanji’s mouth snaps closed. Nami hides a laugh behind her hand.
Chopper gets up and pokes at Zoro’s shoulder. “Do you want to have a sleepover with Sanji?”
Zoro shrugs. “He can stayover if he wants. But I don’t want any complaints about my kitchen or how I fold my shirts.”
“As if you’ve folded a shirt in your life.”
Zoro shoots Sanji a look.
Chopper pokes him again. “Can I have a sleepover too?”
Zoro turns away from glaring at Sanji and softens. “Maybe some other time, kid. Ask Robin and Franky and I’ll see what I can do. For now, Sanji’s got the couch and with those giraffe legs there won’t be any space for you.” He ruffles his hair and Chopper grins, obviously pacified as he goes back to eating his pizza and leafing through one of the herbology books Robin gave him last Christmas.
And that’s that.
The conversation dies down, Sanji slouches down into one of the chairs and pouts while he eats his pizza, and Nami gives him a sympathetic pat on the cheek when he trails after Zoro at the end of the night.
-----
Things are…surprisingly normal after that.
Zoro wakes up in the morning to Sanji rifling around in the kitchen, complaining about the abysmal state of his fridge and the number of cups in the sink. (Sanji does that whenever he’s in Zoro’s apartment.)
He gets dressed with the door open and there’s a crash from out in the living room. He hears Sanji yell something about manners and chipped plates. There may or may not be a new stain on the carpet. (Typical fallout from having people over.)
He goes to work. He comes home. He takes a shower. He tries not to think about Sanji standing in that same shower just this morning.
There’s an extra couple bottles on the shelf next to his soap, and he takes a few seconds to wonder if the labels are different and if they’re specifically Sanji’s things before deciding that’s not a safe path to tread and people leave crap in his apartment all the time. No need to dwell. Nothing new.
He and Sanji bicker as always – about the laundry, about the floors, about the kitchen table. About Zoro forgetting to close the door…
This goes on for a few days and Zoro really doesn’t think too hard about it. Sanji will be gone soon and this will all be some strange dream to leave behind. He just has to shove it all to the back of his mind until then, in that same little box labeled Sanji that he largely refuses to open.
Except Sanji gets a call that it’s taking longer than expected for things to air out, something about humidity and previously untreated leaky pipes. He goes back to collect some things, and then Zoro’s got a suitcase in his living room and the once-empty drawers of his TV stand are filled with neatly folded socks and pressed slacks.
They go out to meet their friends on a Friday night and Nami slings an arm around his shoulders.
“So, how’s it going?”
Zoro shrugs, takes another drink, and says, “Fine.”
Inside, he feels his brain buzzing with something more than alcohol.
Sanji hip checks him and tell him to get another round for the table. Zoro shoves him back, but goes, pulls out his wallet just in time for Sanji to breeze up to his elbow and take some of the glasses for him, saying something about a proper gentleman serving the ladies before disappearing back into the crowd.
The bartender looks at him knowingly.
Zoro doesn’t know what she knows, but he knows he doesn't like it.
He flops back down at their table with a scowl. Half his new drink disappears in a single breath and Nami smacks him upside the head.
“That isn’t water you idiot, it costs money!”
“I paid for this round, witch!” Zoro curses back. “I can drink how I want.”
“Hmm,” she gets that same knowing look in her eye that’s got Zoro in a bad mood to begin with. “Feeling a little pent up lately?”
Zoro says nothing, feels his ears heat up because fuck, if she’s figured it out that means half the table knows and he really doesn’t want to be sober when Usopp gets drunk enough to start mentoring him on repressed feelings or, even worse, Franky tries to slip him some freaky sex device to ‘take the edge off’. He finishes the last of his drink and debates getting up for another.
Nami turns to Sanji and flutters her eyes. “Sanji, can I have your drink?”
Sanji turns, pulled from his conversation with Luffy and Usopp, and looks at Nami with a lovestruck expression. “Anything for you, my dear!” He’s stuck in the booth so he can’t properly twirl like Zoro knows he wants to, settles for a hand across his chest and a dramatic forward bow as he hands it across the table. His arm brushes across Zoro’s chest in the process.
“Here,” Nami says a moment later. She pushes her own drink toward Zoro and starts nursing Sanji’s instead. “And don’t give me that look, you wouldn’t drink whatever fruity monstrosity Sanji ordered anyway.”
Sanji gasps dramatically. “Nami is so beautiful when she’s mean!”
They ignore him.
God, why is he in love with an idiot?
Nami watches on in sympathy.
-----
It feels like there’s always something coming up. Pipe repairs, reflooring, repainting ceilings, testing the new alarm system, testing the new sprinkler system, something about faulty electrical wiring and then an infestation of snakes on the roof?
Zoro honestly stops keeping track. Or asking.
It’s been two months and Sanji is still sleeping on his couch.
(Things are still mostly normal.)
Zoro sleeps, goes to work, and listens to Sanji complain.
Except now he gets up earlier to have coffee with Sanji, goes to work with a lunchbox shoved in the bottom of his bag. Sanji complains about his old man, or his coworkers, or whatever customer has pissed him off that day.
He ignores increasingly frustrated and cryptic text messages from Nami.
She thinks he’s an idiot, apparently, but that’s nothing new and if there’s something she wants him to know that badly she can just tell him.
So he sends back meaningless cat memes that he knows annoy her and calls it a day.
Life goes on.
-----
The weather dips and Zoro starts picking Sanji up after work. It means staying at the dojo way later than he needs to, so he takes the extra time to train, starts teaching a late evening class to the few adults who show interest. Sanji hums along to the radio every night. Zoro has his favorite’s memorized, keeps them in a playlist for the days Sanji seems a little worn down.
Sanji makes him decorate for Christmas.
It’s not really his thing, but the smile on Sanji’s face when he drops tinsel on Zoro’s head and says, “Look, we don’t even need a tree!” makes every creepy Santa and unruly box of lights worth it.
He might be just a little gone. (He’s known this for a while.)
They’re all together on Christmas Eve to exchange presents, Luffy a menace with the wrapping paper and Chopper sitting on a veritable mountain of gifts because no one has any kind of self-restraint when it comes to the kid. Zoro gets a lot of booze, some gift cards, and he’s already cracked open a bottle when Sanji gets to his last gift.
From Nami.
Because the universe is a cruel mistress who wants him to suffer.
The box is small and Zoro’s trying to run through everything it could possibly be, but he’s not prepared for Sanji to pull out a houseplant, something with hard, pointed leaves that Nami claims needs very little care.
“You can practically not even know it’s there and it’ll still keep growing. So even if you’re completely oblivious, you can keep plants at the apartment. Brighten it up a little.”
Sanji flushes and stammers a thanks, quickly overcompensating a moment later by throwing his arms around her and claiming it’s the best gift he’s even been given, tied only with Robin’s gift he’d opened minutes before.
Zoro snorts.
The plant goes on the TV stand in the living room as soon as they’re home.
Sanji positions it just right, between a stack of recipe books and the container of grip-strength trainers Zoro uses while they watch TV.
Zoro shifts on his feet.
Because, the thing is, he’d gotten another present for Sanji.
The one he’d brought to Luffy’s was simple enough, a gift card to the fancy grocery store a few blocks down that Sanji buys all his weird ingredients at, a few of them get him that gift every year so he can splurge and do something fun without worrying so much about the price.
But, this year, Zoro had found something else and…for some reason, whenever he thought about Sanji opening it in front of the others it made something start crawling underneath his skin.
So he walks quietly to his room and pulls a small box out from underneath his bed while Sanji, like the weirdo he is, tells the plant he loves it and will take very good care of it from now on.
Zoro clears his throat and tosses the box at Sanji’s head as soon as he turns around.
Sanji stares at it, then up at Zoro. “You already gave me something.”
“I know. Just open it.”
So he does. He drops the box on the couch and holds the keychain that was inside up to the light. And it’s stupid, Zoro knows it is, but when the ad had come across his screen, he hadn’t been able to resist. He blames the algorithm, targeted advertising, and nothing else.
Sanji’s mouth opens and closes.
Zoro shifts awkwardly on his feet.
“If you don’t like it you don’t have to use it, I know it’s dumb.”
Sanji swipes the thing closer to his chest. “Shut up, stupid marimo. I’m using it.”
To prove his point, he pulls out his key ring and threads it through the metal, both of them listening to the clack of metal and plastic as everything settles into place.
The key to Zeff’s restaurant, Sanji’s restaurant, Sanji’s old apartment, and… Zoro’s.
Zoro had given him a key a few days in, once they figured out it was much more of a pain in the ass to work their schedules around each other than it was for Zoro to just run to the hardware store and have a key made. Still, it suddenly feels a lot heavier with the both of them standing here in the living room on Christmas day, more than a few months into this, with no clear end in sight.
Sanji’s fingers tighten on the keys.
“I didn’t get you anything else.”
Zoro shrugs. “Doesn’t matter.” Then, he smirks. “We’ll just consider it another win for me.”
“What!?” Sanji shouts. “As if, stupid marimo!” He kicks at Zoro until they’re rolling around on the ground, trying to avoid the coffee table.
The keys are forgotten on the couch, the plastic keychain and its little, colorful fish glowing in the soft lights from the tree.
-----
Nami sends him a very demanding text a few days later, threatens to up his debt by 500% if he doesn’t meet her right now immediately and he’s paying for her lunch for all the mental stress he’s put her through.
Zoro sends a meme of a singing cat.
But he goes. He pays for her lunch. And she tells him under no uncertain terms that one - he is being unreasonably dense and two - that if he doesn’t pull his head out of his ass soon, she’s going to remove it from his shoulders.
He can’t send memes in person, so he settles for glaring instead, crossing his arms and trying not to look at confused as he feels. (She obviously sees right through him, if the long-suffering sigh is anything to go by.)
“Zoro, I want you to go back to the apartment and just, look around. Really think about what you see.”
Zoro uncrosses his arms to rub at his forehead. “It’s my apartment, all I’m going to see is my apartment.”
“Uh huh,” Nami says. “And what are your plans for the rest of the day?”
“I don't know.” He doesn’t know what she’s getting at and is sure he’s not going to like it. “Sanji is probably going to fix dinner and then we’ll watch a movie or something since it’s his day off. I think he’s been wanting me to put up some shelf or something too, even though I keep telling him we’re not supposed to put holes in the walls.”
Nami stares.
Zoro stares back.
“Go home. Look around. Think about it.”
She flicks him on the forehead for good measure.
And Zoro might be stubborn, but he’s not a complete idiot and he knows that Nami usually has methods to her madness. So when he opens the door to the apartment he tries to be as deliberate as possible.
The door is normal. The lock is normal.
Sanji’s shoes are already by the door, on a little rack they’d ordered online a few weeks ago when it started getting wet and slushy outside. He adds his boots to the lineup and hangs his keys next to Sanji’s on the wall.
“I’m back.”
Sanji pokes his head out of the kitchen. “Hey, how’d it go?”
“Fine, I guess. I still don’t know what she’s being so weird about.”
“Don’t call Nami weird,” Sanji says, going back to whisking something in the kitchen. “I’m sure she has her reasons.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
He flops down on the couch and stares around the living room. Same couch. Same stained carpet – he knows because Sanji reminds him it’s ugly at least once a week. Same TV, same haphazard collection of games stacked in the corner.
Sanji’s pillow and sheets are by the TV stand, stashed in a plastic bag during the day because “you and your friends are filthy animals, god forbid they come tumbling in here and get their dirty socks all over where I put my face at night”.
That stupid plant is still there, obviously, and Sanji’s named it Little Moss, even though it isn’t moss at all.
He grunts in frustration and stands up again, walks the few steps to his room and stands in the doorway.
Same bed. Same pile of laundry on the floor. There’s a stack of clean clothes on his dresser too, because contrary to what some (Sanji) might say, Zoro does go to the laundromat and wash his clothes. In fact, there might be a few of Sanji’s socks in there too because they always manage to miss a few things when they first sort everything out.
His swords are in their places above his bed. His equipment is in its bag by the door.
He stomps into the bathroom next, the sound of Sanji’s whisking following him through the door.
There’s the toilet.
There’s the sink.
He slaps the shower curtain out of the way and glares at the tiled walls.
His soap and those fancy bottles of whatever stare back at him. Except, okay, Zoro will admit those fancy bottles seem to have multiplied. What began as two has turned into an entire family tree. Both shelves in the shower are filled, and some have spilled over onto the tub wall. Zoro doesn’t know what any of them are, but the bathroom always smells vaguely fruity when Sanji is done with his shower. Like oranges.
Is that what Nami’s been talking about? She does have a weird thing about oranges…
He sniffs a few of the bottles and snaps a picture of the one that seems to have the correct scent, sending it to Nami with a long line of question marks.
She sends back a simple ‘No, look harder’.
Frustrated and now feeling a bit trapped in his own apartment, Zoro goes back to his room and drops to the floor for push-ups. He’s made it to fifty and he still feels itchy and bothered, rips off his shirt and starts back at one. He makes it another fifty, then to one hundred, before he hears Sanji’s phone ping from the kitchen.
He hasn’t looked there yet.
Without bothering to wipe the sweat dripping down his back, he storms into the kitchen determined to find whatever it is Nami thinks he should be looking for. He slams open a few drawers, paws through some cupboards, and turns to start rooting through the fridge before he notices that Sanji is just standing there, staring.
Zoro braces for whatever is about to be unleashed, because yes, he has in fact just been sweating all over the kitchen and messing up Sanji’s meticulous organization system, all while Sanji himself is trying to cook their dinner. He’s pretty sure he’d smack himself if he wasn’t so sure Sanji was going to do it for him.
Except nothing happens.
Another beat of silence passes between them and then Zoro sees it. A single drop of blood, dripping down from Sanji’s nose toward his upper lip.
Sanji’s eyes are wide, his pupils blown, and his focus is decidedly lower than Zoro’s face.
“Uh.”
Zoro’s brain isn’t sure how to process what’s happening.
Because it can’t-
Sanji’s not-
Is he?
He runs a hand self-consciously across his chest and Sanji’s nosebleed drips dangerously towards his chin and the dress shirt underneath.
Zoro turns and quickly tosses him a towel.
And just like that the spell is broken. Sanji blinks, stares down at it, then tosses it back at Zoro’s face, pinches at his nose and waves frantically in Zoro’s direction.
“That’s one of the nice ones, you idiot. Get the old blue and black one!”
Zoro tosses it over and Sanji presses it over his nose, conveniently covering most of his face in the process.
Zoro stands there, watching, unsure if he’s supposed to say anything or if his little maybe-revelation is best kept to himself.
Except then Sanji’s phone pings again, and Sanji lets out a sigh, tossing the dishrag to the side and staring up at the ceiling instead.
“Marimo,” he says.
“Yeah?”
“Is there anything you’ve noticed, lately?”
“Um, maybe?” he hedges. “About the apartment?”
“Uh huh.”
“About us living together in the apartment?”
“Mhmm.”
He shifts and watches Sanji’s eyes drift over and catch on his chest.
“About you getting a nosebleed because I came into the kitchen shirtless?”
Sanji kicks at him halfheartedly, cheeks dusted pink and hand self-consciously dabbing beneath his nose. Because if there’s one thing everybody knows, it’s that Sanji only gets nosebleeds when he sees someone attractive. Up until this point Zoro had only ever seen it happen when boobs were involved, usually half spilling out of a shirt or pressed up to Sanji’s chest.
A slow smirk climbs across Zoro’s face.
Sanji mumbles ‘I’m going to regret this’ under his breath.
Zoro moves closer, grinning sharklike at the way Sanji backs into the counter. “You like me, don’t you?”
Sanji swats his arm.
“You do!” Zoro laughs, still in shock but also, fuck, he’s so happy. Sanji likes him. He wraps an arm around Sanji’s shoulders and looks at him in sympathy. “That’s so embarrassing. For you.”
Sanji bristles. “What do you mean, embarrassing? We live together, you moron! And you like me back!”
Zoro hums, looks out at the living room then back down to Sanji. “Guess that means we’ll need to move all your crap into the bedroom.” He thinks for a moment, then adds. “We’re not moving the TV stand though, that’s for the TV. We’ll get you something else to put your socks in.”
He watches all the emotions play out across Sanji’s face, the surprise, the faint flush to his cheeks, and then the indignation as he wriggles out from Zoro’s hold and picks up a spatula to wave in his direction.
“A dresser! It’s called a dresser, you plant-head, and you already have one if you’d just unearth it from the back of that blackhole you call a closet.”
Zoro grins.
Sanji likes him.
Sanji didn’t say anything about moving into his room. Into his bed.
They’re living together.
“Is that why you always yelled at me for changing with the door open?”
Sanji flushes even pinker and starts aggressively stirring something on the stove.
“Maybe I’ll make you sleep on the couch!”
“Maybe,” Zoro grins. “I’ll just push the couch into the bedroom if you do.”
Sanji bites his lip, thinks for a moment, then asks, “Will you put up that shelf?”
And Zoro's not sure where that came from, but...
“Yeah.”
“Over the TV like I wanted?”
“Yeah.”
He keeps stirring, shoulders settling as he reaches for the spice rack, sprinkling something green and flakey into the pan.
“Okay,” he says.
“Okay?”
“Yeah,” Sanji glances at him before looking back at the pan. “I’m about to a stopping point. We can do that and then I’ll move my stuff over after dinner.”
His phone pings.
“And you’d better text Nami, I think she was about ready to toss both of us into the streets.”
Zoro groans, draping himself over Sanji’s back because he’s allowed to do that now. “Why do I have to text her?”
“Because you’re the one who’s taken so long to figure everything out!”
Sanji’s cheeks are flushed again, but he doesn’t push Zoro away.
“Why didn’t anyone tell me!?”
“Why did you need to be told!?”
-----
Later, they’re both tucked under Zoro’s grey sheets, Sanji pressed up against his back with his cold toes leaching heat from Zoro’s calves.
There was, in fact, a dresser in the back of Zoro’s closet, its drawers filled mostly with dust and old receipts. Now, it’s filled with Sanji’s socks and pressed slacks. There are dress shirts hanging by Zoro’s competition gear.
Little Moss has been moved to the nightstand.
Zoro stares at it, touches one of its sturdy leaves as Sanji presses his face between his shoulder blades, one arm wrapped across Zoro’s chest to hold him close.
“Goodnight,” Zoro whispers. “I’m glad you’re here.”
Little Moss says nothing.
Sanji snores quietly behind him, normal as can be.