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The tree was the only part of the Christmas decorations that was up, and complete. And they had Zoro to thank for that. It was the one part of the ordeal he was tasked with, whilst Sanji puttered around to do everything else, knowing Zoro didn’t care one way or another, but caring very much, himself, where the boughs went and if they were level atop the doorways.
December was always an ordeal and a half. Between Chopper’s birthday and Christmas and… you know - it was a recipe for disaster wherever Sanji got his hands on the holiday. He loved it. Or he at least claimed he did, year in and year out. But as sure as Luffy would stay up to wait for Santa, and as sure as Usopp would claim he heard silver bells just to wind their Monkey up just as he’d been dropping off to sleep (the bastard), no Christmas season was had without Sanji sleeping most of January away. When they were unlucky, he’d be down and feverish for days on end, but even when they were luckier, Sanji would still need to call out sick (some combination of Zoro and Zeff were always there to make him) when the low blood sugar or the routine exhaustion made Baratie shifts a damn impossibility.
This year… Zoro wasn’t even pretending to hold his breath. He’d had a glimpse of this back in March when they’d moved into their flat. It wasn’t big enough to host the Christmas parties Sanji always insisted on. Hell, they can fit everyone in the living room only if at least three people are sitting in other people’s laps. Before this, Zoro would’ve sworn there was no match made in hell more than Sanji and Christmas, but Sanji and Christmas, plus a flat where he’d have no choice but to brush elbows with other people as he’s cooking…? Was Zoro dreading this December? Oh, abso-fucking-lutely. Sanji might complain but it was an act of self-preservation when he kept adding booze to their shopping lists. It was the only way he’d get some sleep, with all the ranting that Sanji was destined to fall into (and the only way Sanji would get some sleep. Zoro wasn’t above spiking his drinks. He’d only ever stop when Sanji stopped putting some bloody party over his own shut eye.)
Which is all a long-winded way to say that as if Sanji needed more things to stress about, aside from fitting the Christmas dinner in the smallest apartment in existence, then hoo boy! Did he get more things to stress about! Does it really matter whether red baubles go in the potpourri bowl over silver? Not to Zoro, or anyone sane. But to Sanji? Good lord, the whiskey in the cupboard was already calling his name and it wasn’t even 10am.
He tried to be supportive, he really did, tried to supply Sanji with as many cups of tea as he could, if only so the cook would stop walking for thirty seconds, but the curly-eyebrowed ass would be testing the patience of a saint, and Zoro sure as hell wasn’t one of those.
The look Sanji gave the first time he tried to suggest that the orientation of the tealight holders was enough for him to wise up. Another time? Hell yeah, Zoro would tap that. But in December? In Zoro’s dreams.
And it was unfortunate too, because Sanji loved mulled wine and Christmas markets and German markets but he treated them as rewards for getting everything else done. He didn’t even consider the fact that he looked adorable in ugly sweaters and Zoro just enjoyed being a personal heater so Sanji would hang off him for once (as opposed to the usual of the other way around). But there was so much to be done (apparently) that Zoro highly doubted they’d get to do any of that this year, and wasn’t that a terrible shame?
Against the cook’s own insistence, he was out like a light within five minutes of them putting White Christmas on. Zoro didn’t need to look over when Sanji’s breathing softened and the tension in him began to leak out, but he did, because Sanji + relaxed was a rarity this time of year. With the cook asleep and unable to read his thoughts, Zoro couldn’t help but wish for a way to take the stress away. Didn’t Sanji deserve to enjoy Christmas, too? And as much as he claimed he did, Zoro allowed himself this bit of selfishness.
The cook stirred like he really had heard, mumbling against Zoro’s skin and he swore he heard a mention of cake somewhere in there. Quick to cut that train of thought right off, Zoro brushed his hand through the soft, blond hair, tucking away the strands that had been tickling the cook’s nose.
“Sleep, Curly,” he insisted to the comatose blond, “Fuck’s sake, you’ve done enough today.”
-----
Snow.
Something answered Zoro’s wish. Fucking hell, something really did.
And of all the things, it was snow. Several inches thick, far too thick for anyone to get through without driving a plow. In the back of his head, Zoro supposed he had never specified how but the look on Sanji’s face made this feel so much more like a curse than a blessing.
The cook was already muttering to himself, a nervous quiver in his brow, it being the first thing Zoro had noticed when Sanji shook him awake with a panicked voice. Something, something, about how to deliver Christmas dinner, about how Luffy was going to burn his house down, about how it was Christmas Eve and Sanji had promised to bake Chopper the best cake ever.
“Cook-...” Because God, Zoro had to at least try.
Sanji whirled around, with glassy eyes and hands fisted into his pants’ fabric.
“He’s going to be so disappointed-”
“Curly, it’s the weather, you can’t do shit about the weather,” he tried to reason.
“Do you think it will melt?” Sanji asked, a touch too breathless for Zoro’s liking. Melt? Eventually, but not in time for today, or, by the looks of it tomorrow.
“Fuck…”
His silence must’ve said something similar, because the cook just about deflated onto the sofa. And Zoro felt like such an asshole. Was that hypocritical? Telling Sanji he shouldn’t have to stress because he can’t control when it snows, whilst Zoro’s worried he wished this crisis into existence?
Maybe… but it was also early… and Sanji needed breakfast, or at the very least coffee. And that, Zoro could do. A basic do, but still a do. A helping of eggs on toast, some black coffee later, and he returned to the living room to find Sanji in the same place, just with his head in his hands and his eyes marbling.
“Sanji.” He aborted, settling down, himself on the footstool in front of the blond. “Eat.”
And Sanji did, of course he did. He would even if it was crap, but Zoro was sure he couldn’t taste a thing, what with the way his eyes kept shifting this way and that.
“The weather, Zoro,” the cook eventually whispered. “The fucking weather… how did I not think to check the forecast?”
“You mean aside from the twenty-two million other things you’ve been juggling?” A stab at brevity, or a lapse into the familiar, either way Zoro didn’t need Sanji’s input to know it wasn’t the time. Sanji still sniffled, anyway. This sucked...
“This is serious, Zoro. It’s his birthday, and I didn’t think to check and make sure we’d be able to make it. He’s going to be devastated.” He was spiraling.
“No, he’s going to understand,” Zoro tried again, reaching over, and grabbing Sanji’s hand to squeeze it. “Maybe we sound like a broken record, but it’s snow, Sanji, he’s not going to blame us for being snowed in.” The cook just sniffled again, unconvinced. “Look, we can still call him to explain and wish him a good birthday, and we can reschedule physically meeting up.”
It was anyone’s guess as to whether any of that got through the brain fog, when Sanji shifted forwards close enough to flop and lean against Zoro. He wasn’t crying… but the exhaustion that Zoro hated so was there. The kind that made him want to take the cook by the shoulders and shake him and ask if it was really worth putting himself through this year after year after year.
“I’m such an asshole…”
And it was laughable how much that word felt like a dagger to Zoro.
“An asshole?” He asked, had to ask, halfway to incredulous. “Curly, forgive my French, but are you fucking kidding me?”
“You’re an asshole in the way you shove your cold feet on me every morning,” Zoro sighed, winding an arm around Sanji. “But in this? Cook, all you ever do is give to people. You are so selfless that if you make yourself sick, that’s just an eventuality, that just happens, instead of taking it as a sign to maybe slow down. No one’s going to be upset if you can’t wait on them hand and foot because you physically cannot leave the house.”
His piece said, they went into a silence only broken by Sanji taking deep breaths every now and then. Each one, Zoro ran his hand up and down the cook’s back as they stared out at the accursed snow.
“That wasn’t French…” Sanji eventually muttered.
He sounded better, clearer, and when Zoro looked, he seemed tentatively calm.
“Well,” Zoro started, pausing long enough to kiss Sanji’s head, wary of the cook still feeling fragile. “Maybe if you were a better teacher, but soo le voo, or whatever.”
Sanji snorted and sat up, evidently just so he could poke Zoro in the cheek and smirk at him, “C'est la vie, moron.”
“That’s what I said.”
“Is it hell what you said.” The cook laughed, and Zoro wasn’t far behind. It was then that it occurred to him just how long he’d gone without hearing Sanji laugh, and suddenly the snow was blessed again.
“You're sweet, Moss,” Sanji sighed as he sobered up. “I know I worry you, but I like having a part in making people happy.”
“And you don't think you do that, anyway? Every day?”
“I think you might be a little biased there.”
“I'm not.”
“But thank you. How about I make something special for-” Sanji blinked when a sigh came about unbidden through Zoro. “What?”
Flushing, Zoro only kept eye contact through force of will as he shrugged, “I- You just got out of having to do that, Cook, and you're still trying to look after other people?”
“Not other people. You.” The blond frowned, barely this side of wary over offended.
“You do enough, Cook, I don’t need anything else,” he tried to stress. “Is it really so bad to have a day where you don’t have to wait on someone?”
Sanji pouted at that, huffing a “But-” that Zoro was too slow in smothering with a kiss. The cook squeaked into the notion before ultimately melting, glaring when they pulled away but there was no denying the red flushed across his cheeks. “Bastard.”
“Aye, that I am,” Zoro agreed, “but it’s Christmas Eve. The turkey’s been cooked, and we’ll call Chopper later on,” he leaned in to chase up the kiss with another. “But for now, it’s still early, so why don’t we go back to sleep?”
“You know I won’t be able to sleep.” Sanji hummed.
Zoro shrugged, leaning forwards to rest his head on the cook’s shoulder. “So stay with me. Make yourself some tea, get a book, and cuddle with me.”
“While that’s an adorable mental image-”
“Just give me this.” Zoro sighed.
“... Alright, fine.” Sanji groaned, as though the smile wasn’t audible in his voice.
“Thank you.”
“Spoiled rotten moss.”
“Your spoiled rotten moss.”
“My ugly-ass, piece of mould.”