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It was an odd kind of feeling that arose in Sanji’s chest when he stared at the swordsman, who looked out mindlessly at the sea and exhaled into the dark air around him. He felt something protective and hot every time their eyes met in the kind of way that was only ever filled with malice. Well, to Zoro he showed malice. To Sanji it was warm. It was breathy and light, with hints of citrus and mint as it passed through his body. It was weird and made the cook grab ahold of his collar to steady himself as his feet had a mind of their own.
Zoro’s silence and company was unlike anything the blonde had ever felt before. Simply standing beside him, saying nothing and letting the space between them fade, was … calming. Somehow. In some weird and odd, yet beautiful and delicate way, Zoro was calming. His ragged breaths after each sigh were intoxicating to listen to as the waves crashed against one another. He was infectious, like a disease Sanji couldn’t shake. He was addicting, too; addicting like the drug he stuck between his lips and lit almost every hour.
He knew the swordsman was aware of his presence. He was aware the other man could sense him staring and standing there in the dark moonlight, letting it wash over Sanji’s skin and soak deep into his pores. The light was kind of orange. Maybe it was the lanterns strung across the ship, or maybe it was the fact there was nothing there but the moon, but Zoro was glowing. His tan skin radiated against the black ocean. His green hair softly contrasted the waves and when his head turned, Sanji could tell his eyes would stand out too.
They were black in this light, but in the sunlight they were brown. A kind of light brown that was warm and inviting. But they could be sharp. They could cut into skin just as his blades did, just as his words could. They could narrow and glare daggers into Sanji’s soul. But now they were lazy and inviting, glancing at the blonde and almost smiling.
“What are you doing up, cook?” Zoro barked, letting his arms hang over the edge of the ship and his bodyweight rested along with it. His movements were tired but calculated.
“I could ask you the same thing,” Sanji felt his steps advance forward, even though his brain told him not to. He fell into the place beside Zoro to his right, leaning away to stare at the stars. They glittered against the water and littered the sky in small white dots he could barely make out. Here it was dark. Here it was peaceful. It was nothing like in the cities, where you could barely make out a twinkle.
“Couldn’t sleep,” he shrugged, turning his head away, “I told Usopp I’d take watch for him. Might as well do something, right?”
“Mhm,” Sanji hummed in response, “You’ll probably sleep all day, huh moss?” He turned his head to look where Zoro’s eyes were staring. He was staring at some barrels that were covered in the dark shadows from the ship.
Zoro turned his head back at the cook, letting his eyes widen slightly at his face. He hadn’t expected to see that face so close, so inviting… so warm…
He swallowed and looked up, squinting his eyes to the moon, “Probably. You should get to bed, curly brow.”
“I just finished inventory. I was gonna smoke then,” Sanji exhaled and reached for his back pocket. It was almost second nature how he could light himself a cigarette without even looking. Without even blinking an eye. He placed the cigarette between his lips and continued, “Then maybe I’ll consider getting ready for bed.”
Zoro let his head fall to look back at the world before them. The line where the sky and the ocean met was blurred, almost nonexistent if it wasn’t for the gentle reflection of the moon lapping at the dark blue. But it wasn’t very blue, was it? It was blacker. A deep soul-sucking black that pulled at their senses and made the ship behind them fade away. There was nothing more than darkness that surrounded the two of them, with bits of stars and with the moon poking through.
There was a faint clicking between the two of them, before an orange light enveloped the space between. The warmth from the cigarette’s initial lighting grazed against Zoro’s skin and made his arm shift. Then it was quiet and peaceful. Nothing more than his breaths and Sanji’s exhales to fill the gaps.
Zoro was more addicting than the stick of nicotine Sanji forced deeper in his lungs. Zoro’s simple breaths were enough to calm him further than that thing he inhaled. So much so, the chef half debated throwing it out and letting himself get high off of the swordsman. This warmth, this heat, this beautiful kind of safeness he felt with no one other than Zoro was hard to pinpoint. It was friendship, it had to be. It wasn’t like he could feel more for that brute than he thought, and it wasn’t like the brute felt more than hunger and anger.
Well… He felt compassion.
Zoro was compassionate and it warmed Sanji’s heart. He was a gentle giant to Chopper, and he was kind, even if it was in the kind of quiet way no one could see upon first glance. Zoro had the kind of depth that once you found it, you couldn’t stop falling down the cavern of his person. Each step you took, each fall from the ledge, it took you closer and closer to his core. Then only at his core could you achieve… this.
Silence and complete ease.
“You don’t have to stay here, you know,” Zoro broke the silence with his rough voice. He glanced over at the blonde and they made eye contact.
The cigarette hung from Sanji’s bottom lip as his blue eyes stared, “I’m just smoking.”
His brow slightly furrowed against his eye, “You don’t have to do that here.”
“You don’t want me to do it here?” Sanji tilted his head to the side and pulled the wrapped nicotine from his lips and flicked the ash down toward the sea. It hissed against the waves that melted together and dissolved within seconds.
“I didn’t say that,” Zoro frowned.
“So, you want me to smoke here,” a smile pulled at Sanji’s lips.
It took a minute before Zoro registered the teasing tone in the cook’s voice; his rigid posture relaxed, and he groaned, “Shut up.” Sanji couldn’t help but smile at his defeat.
But Zoro was right. As much as he would like to baby the small cigarette between his lips until it was nothing more than ash, Sanji had to be up early to prepare breakfast for the crew. He had things to do. He couldn’t stay and relish in the warmth that radiated off Zoro’s body, and he couldn’t close his eyes to imagine what would happen if they…
“You’re right, though,” Sanji tossed his cigarette overboard and wiped his hand against his black pant leg, “I should go to bed.” He turned his body and began to walk to the stairs, motioning with his hand, “I’ll make sure to have something prepared for you in the morning Mo-”
Then it happened.
It wasn’t dramatic, at least, It wasn’t to Sanji. He lost his footing on the second step of the stairs and felt his body tumble. He attempted to grab the railing for support, but his hand missed and he felt himself begin to fall. The blonde was prepared to fall and ask chopper to tend to his wounds in the morning as he would any minor injury. But then…
A hand grabbed the collar of his shirt and pulled him back. His body slammed against the stairs and within a flash of a second, he was leaning against the steps as if he had slid down. It was uncomfortable to feel the steps stabbing into his back, and it was uncomfortable to feel the hand gripping his shirt so tightly. It was stifling. It was choking. It was Zoro.
Sanji let out a groan and looked up, “Moss what the fuc…k…” His voice trailed off as his eyes looked upward.
Zoro was paler than he had ever been before. A white tinge was dusted across the apples of his cheeks, and a deep purple permeated the hollows of his face. Under his eyes were darker. His eyes were wide and almost glassy, as if the world could have shattered within an instant. His world almost slipped, and he held Sanji as if he was the one thing he couldn’t lose.
Zoro was scared. Well, he had to be. Zoro was scared in the way a mother would be if her child ran into traffic. It was a protective instinct he let out without thinking, without warning, trying to prevent harm before it could destroy Sanji’s fragile body.
He wasn’t looking at Sanji at that moment, no, he was staring into the eyes of someone he once knew. It was obvious from the tremble in his eyebrow and the quiver of his lip. Almost as if the swordsman was transported back to a time that he wished so badly he didn’t have to relive.
Zoro could hear her shriek, and he could see her body. Zoro could hear his childlike screams, his pleas, his cries … all on that fateful day.
“Zoro…?” Sanji lifted his left hand and put it atop of Zoro’s that clutched his shirt. It was a soft touch that was foreign to the other man, especially from him of all people. It brought the green-haired man out of his daze within seconds. His eyes snapped to Sanji’s in recollection, and he jerked his hand away, as if he was burned by the touch alone.
“Watch your step, cook,” he muttered coldly. Zoro turned on his heel and slunk back to the railing, clutching his white sword tightly as he did so. He pressed it against his side and cradled it as if it was the one that had fallen, not Sanji. Slowly his fingers ran up the side and down all to repeat the movement again. Almost like petting a kitten.
That wasn’t Zoro. That wasn’t anything close to the Zoro he knew. That was a scared child who just stared death in the eyes and begged it to reverse its powers.
“Zoro,” Sanji stood and dusted off his pants. He took a step forward then another one, until he found himself behind the swordsman.
“I don’t want to hear it. Just go to bed,” Zoro grumbled and leaned against the side of the railing with his front facing the ocean.
“What the hell was that?” It came out too harsh, but Sanji couldn’t help the words that followed, “What the hell was that?”
“What?” He jerked his head back, eyes narrowed in frustration.
“Why did you save me? I would’ve just fallen on my ass,” the cook spoke with a kind of venom he tried so hard to suppress. The kind of malice he wanted to throw to the side so he could just ask ‘are you okay?’
It was silent for a moment, “I don’t have to answer you.”
“No, I have the right to know,” he stepped forward and grabbed Zoro’s right shoulder, turning him to face the cook, “Why did you save me? It was just one flight of stairs. It wasn’t like I was going to die .”
He should have stopped there.
Zoro’s face drained of its color. It was deathly cold, paler than anything Sanji had ever seen, and devoid of anything that gave the other man any indication Zoro was human. He was incurably angry. His teeth clenched and his hand grabbed his white cased sword, pulling it closer to his side.
“Don’t say that,” he barked back, “Don’t fucking say that. Just because I saved your ass means nothing, okay??” Zoro took a step forward, “I just did it. I saved you because I save everyone,” he took another step into Sanji’s space, “I’m supposed to be the world's greatest swordsman!” Another step, “I save people. I can save everyone. I could save you ,” another step, “I could save Luffy ,” another step, until they were practically touching, “I could- I could have… I c…” His steps faltered and his eyes were pooling with unshed tears.
Sanji needed to stop there.
“You could have what ?” He whispered through gritted teeth, “News flash, you can’t save everyone.”
“I know,” he croaked.
“So then why do you say that? Why are you hellbent on saving everyone when you know you can’t?” He raised his eyebrows.
“I.. I just..”
“You what? You just what ?!” Sanji’s voice raised.
This was when he needed to stop.
But he didn’t.
“You just… what? What can’t you say? What are you so scared of saying that stops you from being a rational adult and communicating as to why you saved me like I was going to die ?”
Sanji expected yelling. He had expected screaming. He had even expected a fight to break out. Something angry caused by his… his idiocy. He knew it was so utterly shitty of him to scream instead of approaching this as rationally as he wanted to. The man knew it would be better to say anything other than these horrible words, but when he opened his mouth, that was all that came out.
Sanji hadn’t expected to see Zoro cry. Sanji never expected to see the tears begin to roll down his cheeks and to hear a choked sob escape his lips. Zoro pressed his lips together and tried to pull away, but Sanji’s mind finally took control of his limbs. Finally, for once, he did something right. He grabbed onto the swordsman’s wrist and held him in place, held him there to watch the tears spill against tan skin.
In the dark yellow light, with the moon shining behind Zoro’s body, he looked like an angel. An angel Sanji just broke down until he was crying-- no, until he was about to sob.
“Let go of me,” he croaked, jerking his wrist. Zoro didn’t use half of enough energy as he should have, and Sanij remained in control.
“I’m sorry,” Sanji breathed out quickly, “I didn’t- I didn’t mean to say any of that. I’m sorry, Zoro.”
“Just forget it,” he tried to pull back again, but Sanji tightened his grip.
“No, please,” the cook tugged on Zoro’s wrist, “I didn’t mean to make you cry.”
“I’m not,” he frowned and tried to pull away for the third time that night, “Let me go already, cook.”
Sanji used two hands, clutching onto Zoro’s wrist and tugging again, “Zoro. What happened…” he exhaled, “What the hell I said was… It was shitty of me. I was being,” he looked to the side, “Being a- a real dick.”
“You’re forgiven,” Zoro used his spare hand to wipe under his eyes and laugh weakly, “Now let go.”
“No. Clearly you need comfort, or at least something like that,” Sanji looked back at Zoro and awkwardly smiled. It was weird to be this… friendly. It was weird because it was Zoro. Zoro wasn’t the emotional type who needed comforting. He never needed someone to hold him close and tell him it would be okay. He never needed someone to run their hands through his hair and whisper sweet nothings. But now… It was different.
“I’d rather kill myself,” his voice cracked, and another tear rolled down his cheek, betraying his words within an instant.
“Can you at least sit with me? I need to apologize better,” Sanji tugged on Zoro’s wrist again, then again, then a few more times until he pulled a small laugh from the swordsman.
It was quiet for a moment as he debated, “I’ll humor you.”
The two men sat down against the railing, letting their backs rest freely against it. Sanji never let go of Zoro’s wrist, sitting to his right and keeping his eyes straight ahead at the ship before them. He knew Zoro wasn’t the emotional type, but he knew if he had gotten Zoro to the point of crying it was bad . He didn’t want to pry. He wanted to make up for whatever he had done, however he could.
It was silent as Zoro let out quiet breaths, something akin to small sobs. He let Sanji hold onto his wrist with both hands, he let Sanji keep his hand rested neatly on the cook's leg, and he let the minutes pass them by. He didn’t need to say what he was feeling to be understood. He didn’t need to have Sanji whisper those sweet nothings to know he was being comforted. Their joint presence was enough to soothe the ache burning inside his chest.
Zoro could feel that day as fresh as when it had occurred. He could feel the pain inside his chest as if it had happened the day before. A large laceration cut down his chest and split him apart through the inside out. It ached as if he was actively bleeding out and throbbing. It burned as if he was sobbing as hard as he did that day. He wanted to sob and curl up into a ball. He wanted to hold himself close, hold Wado and run his fingers down the hilt until he was better again. Maybe then he would be okay. And maybe she would finally rest.
He sniffed and looked at Sanji, who was busy staring off at the floor, “You would’ve liked her.”
Their eyes met. Black against a light blue, as Sanji replied, “Her?”
He looked away and inhaled, “My best friend. She was a total bitch,” he let out a laugh, “But she was a hell of a swordsman.” His spare hand itched at his swords as it held his stomach close. Sanji could see him almost squirm as he spoke. They were brief sentences to keep himself from crying too much, but they held a weight Zoro didn’t know they did.
Sanji knew exactly what happened now.
He squeezed Zoro’s wrist, slowly letting his fingers pry Zoro’s hand apart from its close fist state. There he ran his digits across the swordsman’s knuckles, a soft and soothing motion he continued to repeat for a few more minutes.
“She would be proud,” he whispered, finally interlacing their hands and using his spare hand to cover Zoro’s, almost sandwiching it with a warm touch.
Zoro glanced down at Sanji and sniffed, “How?”
“That you save people,” he replied, looking away to another more interesting corner, “She’d be proud you’ve dedicated yourself to saving others.”
“But didn’t you sa--” Zoro began but he was cut off with a wave of Sanji’s hand.
“Doesn’t matter what I said . It matters what I’m saying . I’m saying, she’s proud you’re saving others.” When you couldn’t save her . It was unspoken and hung in the air like a sword dangling down above Zoro’s head. He knew as he swallowed and averted his gaze, letting another tear roll down his cheek and catch on his jaw.
It was silent after that. All Sanji could hear were small sniffs and subtle breaths from Zoro as he tried to keep quiet. The air had shifted, and it was calm, it was quiet, it was comforting. It was the kind of silence that was comfortable. As it always was. As if nothing had happened.
“You know why I’m becoming the world’s greatest swordsman?” Zoro inquired.
“Why?” Sanji raised his head and gazed back at Zoro.
“Because of her.”