Chapter Text
A few weeks later, Sanji felt like himself again. Back to ruling the kitchen. Back to being sharp, charming, untouchable.
He was sprawled across his couch, still in his work clothes, exhaustion clinging to him after a long shift at the restaurant.
His phone rang. He groaned, rolling onto his side and answering without looking.
“COME OUT! TIME TO PARTY! IT’S FRIDAYYYYY!” Nami screeched through the speaker, clearly already drunk.
Sanji squinted at the clock.
…It was technically Saturday.
He sat up anyway.
“I’ll be down in ten.”
He hung up before she could say anything else, changed into a simple white button-up—half-buttoned, sleeves lazily rolled—and headed downstairs with a cigarette between his lips.
Nami’s car was already waiting. He climbed into the backseat, Usopp behind the wheel.
“Hey guys,” Usopp said cheerfully. “Where to?”
Nami twisted around, sunglasses still on despite the night, a bottle of liquor in her hand. “A rave.”
Sanji groaned. “Again?!”
“Yes! And this time I brought Usopp!” She jabbed a thumb at the driver. “Just in case you decide to ditch me for dick again!”
Sanji’s eyes widened as he slapped a hand over her mouth.
Usopp burst out laughing. “OHHHH—now this I need to hear!”
“No you don’t,” Sanji snapped. “Just drive!”
Nami laughed wickedly as Usopp pulled away.
~
The rave was chaos incarnate.
Lights flashed violently, bass shaking the walls, people dancing on tables like the world might end tomorrow. Nami immediately made a beeline for the bar. Sanji followed out of habit more than desire.
“Shots,” Nami declared, hopping onto a stool.
The bartender lined them up. “Here you go.”
“Thanks,” Sanji said, lifting his gaze— —and froze.
Green hair. Sharp eyes. Familiar in a way that made his stomach drop.
“Zoro, right?” Sanji asked.
Zoro blinked. “Huh?” “Yeah,” he said slowly. “That’s me.”
He studied Sanji closely, like he was waiting for something. “…Have we met before? Besides through Franky?” Zoro asked. Clearly aware of where else he knew Sanji from.
Sanji tilted his head, thinking. “No. I’d remember.” He smiled casually. “As far as I know, this is our second time meeting.”
A vein popped in Zoro’s forehead.
This asshole doesn’t remember a damn thing.
Sanji and Nami tossed back their shots, laughing. Zoro watched them from behind the bar, irritation simmering low in his chest.
He approached again, wiping the counter.
“Anything else?”
“I’m good,” Sanji said, finishing his last shot. “Thanks.”
“You don’t seem like the rave type.” Zoro added.
Sanji chuckled. “I’m not. I just follow my friends sometimes. What about you? You don’t seem like the bartender type.”
Zoro clicked his tongue. “Really? I think it suits me.”
Nami slammed her hand on the bar.
“SHOTS! Four more! No—eight! Four for Sanji! Sanji pays!”
Sanji sighed. “Two more. She thinks she’s a heavyweight.”
Zoro smirked. He poured the shots, sliding one toward Sanji—and poured one for himself. Their eyes met as they drank at the same time. Silence settled between them, thick and uncomfortable.
“So,” Zoro said finally, “you really don’t remember?”
Sanji frowned. “Okay, clearly I missed something. Just say it. What don’t I remember?”
Zoro leaned in, voice low enough that no one else could hear.
“Us.”
Sanji’s heart slammed violently against his ribs.
“W—WHAT?!” He stepped back. “What do you mean us?!”
Zoro’s lips curled into a slow, infuriating smirk. He lifted one hand into a loose circle—then pushed a finger through it.
Sanji’s stomach dropped.
The memory hit him all at once.
The hotel room.
The warmth.
The green hair. He straightened his shirt quickly, clearing his throat. “You have the wrong guy. I’d remember sleeping with someone like you.”
“Oh, but you did,” Zoro said calmly.
Sanji swallowed hard.
“That night,” Zoro continued, wiping the counter like they were discussing the weather, “you wouldn’t stop talking.”
He stepped closer.
“And moaning.”
“I—I DID NOT!”
“You did.” Zoro kept going, enjoying this far too much.
“Very loudly. But hey—big night, lots of drinks. Maybe you’re just embarrassed.”
Sanji’s face burned. “You’re disgusting, you moss-head!”
“Ohhh,” Usopp snickered beside them. Clearly eavesdropping. “He already has a nickname.”
Sanji glared at Usopp and shot Zoro a furious glare. “You’re lying.”
Zoro leaned forward again, voice dropping rough and dangerous.
“Want details? Because I was sober. I remember everything.”
Sanji’s pulse roared in his ears.
“You can glare all you want,” Zoro said quietly, “doesn’t change the fact that you crawled into my lap first.”
Usopp spit his drink.
“I DID NOT—!”
Sanji stood too fast. The alcohol hit him all at once and he stumbled—only for Zoro to grab his wrist.
They froze.
Sanji’s breath came fast, cheeks flushed, chest rising sharply. For one unbearable second, neither of them moved.
“Careful,” Zoro murmured. “Don’t want to give people something to talk about.”
Sanji yanked his hand away.
“I hate you.”
Zoro chuckled. “No you don’t, Curly.”
“Cur—! Never mind!” Sanji snapped, dragging a uselessly drunk Nami away and ignoring Usopp’s wide-eyed curiosity.
Zoro watched him disappear into the crowd, smirking to himself.
Yeah. He definitely won’t forget me now.
-
The ride home was miserable.
Nami was slumped against the window, whining incoherently about how she “was just getting started,” while Usopp drove with the patience of a saint. Sanji sat rigid in the backseat, staring straight ahead like if he didn’t move, think, or breathe, the night might retroactively undo itself.
It didn’t.
Unfortunately.
By the time they stumbled into Sanji’s apartment, he barely registered how they got inside. Shoes were kicked off somewhere. Someone knocked over a chair. At some point, Nami collapsed on the couch.
Sanji made it to the bathroom on pure muscle memory alone.
The shower water was scalding.
He let it hit his face directly, hands gripping the tile as if it could physically hold him together.
“Nope,” he muttered. “No. Absolutely not.”
Green hair.
That voice.
Those words.
You crawled into my lap first.
Sanji groaned, pressing his forehead to the wall.
“Why—why is my brain like this?”
The memories kept surfacing in flashes. Too vague to be useful, too vivid to ignore. Heat pooled in his chest, embarrassment burning so fiercely it felt physical.
When he finally made it to bed, he collapsed face-first into the mattress without even bothering to pull the covers up.
He stared at the ceiling.
Then groaned again.
Then grabbed the pillow beside him and slammed it over his face.
“GO AWAY.”
The pillow absorbed the sound. Sanji kicked one leg out dramatically.
“GO. AWAY. GO AWAY. GO—”
He rolled onto his side, muffling his voice further.
“Why is he HOT. Why is he ANNOYING. Why does he TALK.”
He flipped onto his back, pillow still pressed firmly over his face.
“I don’t flirt with bartenders. I don’t forget sleeping with strangers. I don’t—”
He paused.
“…Do I?”
He let out a long, defeated whine.
“This is the worst thing that has ever happened to me.”
He rolled again, tangled himself halfway in the blanket, then froze.
“…Okay. Second worst.”
The pillow slowly slid down to his chest.
He stared at the ceiling, eyes wide, mortified all over again.
“I am never drinking again.”
The universe, somewhere, laughed.
Sanji shut his eyes tight.
Sleep took him anyway.