Archive of Our Own

Sanji stared at the blaring 3:09 AM that seemed to mock him. His clock served as the only light in his room, as he had been too afraid to turn on his lamp since Judge finally let him retreat to his room. 

Sanji didn’t know what to do. It seemed to be a common theme in his life lately. 

His phone buzzed. The sudden noise made him fumble, nearly sending it clattering to the floor. He caught it just in time, letting out a sigh of relief. The last thing he needed was to give Judge a reason to check in on him again.

The relief didn’t last. His chest tightened as he stared at the screen, bracing himself for the worst.

Only to see a notification from Monopoly GO! cheerfully announcing his free gift was ready in the shop. 

Sanji shut his eyes, exhaling. “Fucking mosshead,” he muttered, disgusted with himself for being so jumpy.

He unlocked his phone anyway, scrolling straight to his messages with Zoro.

Curls & mossy

2:32 AM

Curls: mossy

marimo 

mosshead

shitty swordsman

algae head

kelp for brains

cabbage

2:48 AM

Curls: jesus christ zoro

wake up please

i’m scared

it’s dark you know i hate the dark 

can you pick me up

i don’t wanna be here

please

2:52 AM

Curls: come on

you once said that if i ever needed help you would be there

and i need help

so wake up

2:53 AM

mossy: Where are you

Curls: thank fuck

home 

mossy: Coming

And that had been that. 

Sanji had been waiting for about fifteen minutes now, which was too long, when Zoro only lived five minutes away. Which meant he’d either gotten lost or fallen back asleep. Sanji hoped it was the former. 

If Zoro had fallen back asleep, then Sanji would have to deal with his stupid emotions on his own, which was something he didn’t want to do.

He supposed he could’ve called Usopp. Or Nami. They had cars, they’d come. But Sanji didn’t want them to see him like this, and if he was being truly honest, didn’t even want Zoro to see him like this—but out of everyone, Zoro felt like the safest bet. 

Zoro was something guaranteed and normal—something familiar. He was always around Sanji these days, the two of them hanging out with each other when the rest of the gang couldn’t. He also wasn’t the type to look down on Sanji, had always insisted that they were equals. The rest of the gang would’ve looked at him in pity or something akin to that. 

With Zoro, Sanji knew he was in good hands because Zoro knew him like the back of his hand and wouldn’t do anything to upset him, even unintentionally. 

His phone buzzed again. 

Curls & mossy

3:06 AM

mossy: Outside

Sanji nearly tripped over himself rushing to the window. He shoved it open and leaned out, breath fogging in the night air.

There Zoro was, slouched awkwardly in the driver’s seat, leaning over the console to stick his head out the window. His messy hair caught the glow of the streetlight, his face worried and sleepy.

Need help? Zoro mouthed. 

Sanji shook his head. His hands trembled as he gripped the edge of the window, then he began to climb down the side of the house—a routine he’d perfected on nights when a cigarette felt more necessary than sleep.

His sneaker scraped against the siding, his balance wavering for a second. His heart leapt into his throat, but he forced himself to calm down, inching downward until his feet hit solid ground. Relief flooded him so fast he almost laughed—he could’ve kissed the dirt, that’s how glad he was to be out.

When he looked up, Zoro was raising an eyebrow, jerking his chin as if to say hurry it up. It was such a familiar gesture, so stupidly normal, that Sanji felt a smile tug at his lips despite everything.

Zoro being an annoying idiot—that was one of the few guarantees in the world. He’d always find a way to annoy Sanji.

Sanji risked one last glance over his shoulder at the rectangle of his window before turning back and jogging across the lawn toward the car.

Zoro leaned back into place, shifting into the driver’s seat like he hadn’t just been craning his whole torso across the console, and reached across to pop the passenger door open. 

Sanji flopped into the passenger seat—his unofficial official spot. Whenever the whole gang piled into Zoro’s car, somehow Sanji always ended up there despite their constant bickering. Nami claimed it was to keep their fighting from interrupting conversations in the back, but Sanji had a feeling she knew more than she let on.

He sighed, closing his eyes as he leaned back in his seat. The car was comfortable, another normal thing that Sanji was used to. 

It smelled of Zoro—his stupid cologne that he’d only started wearing because Sanji kept complaining about how he always reeked. Sanji hadn’t expected him to actually do anything about it, but after Zoro visited the dojo, lo and behold, Zoro no longer stank. Instead, he carried the scent of wood and spices. And, of course, the faint tang of sword oil that clung to his blades.

Sanji had gotten addicted to the smell pathetically fast. 

“Can we get out of here?” Sanji whispered, his voice hoarse. “Please?” 

A hesitant touch to his arm made him open his eyes. 

Zoro was leaning over the console again, squinting his eyes, trying to get a better look at Sanji in the dark.

“You okay, curls?” he asked around a yawn.

Sanji laughed lightly, which made Zoro instinctively squeeze his arm. 

Fuck was the only thing in Sanji’s head as pain spiked, and a hiss slipped out before he could stop it.

Zoro froze. His hand lingered for half a second, then pulled back like he’d touched a hot stove. His eyes narrowed in the dark.

Sanji was shaking his head before Zoro even said anything. Not like it stopped Zoro. 

“What was that?” Zoro asked, voice sharper now—as if he hadn’t been falling asleep ten seconds ago. 

Sanji stubbornly kept quiet. It wasn’t like Zoro couldn’t put it together. It was obvious, really. He’d called Zoro in the dead of night to pick him up from his house because he was scared. Normal people didn’t get scared in their own homes.

Zoro sighed, leaning back into his seat. “Fine, don’t tell me.” 

Sanji drew in a shaky breath and turned his gaze out the window.

But despite saying fine, Zoro still hadn’t started the car. He sat there, waiting—for what, Sanji didn’t know, but it wasn’t something he was willing to give.

Sanji’s eyes drifted back to the house, and the sight twisted his stomach. It reminded him exactly why he’d desperately texted Zoro in the first place. He didn’t want to be here—at all.

His breathing quickened. His fingers tapped against the armrest, restless. His knees bounced up and down, jittery, his whole body vibrating with the pressure of everything he was holding back. He felt like he was going to explode. 

He could feel it building, the breakdown he’d been pressing down ever since Judge finally let him go. He had been hoping he could keep it contained until… he wasn’t actually sure when he was hoping to breakdown. Never—unrealistically. Alone—somewhere far away from Judge—realistically. 

Just when he thought he was actually going to explode, Zoro happened. 

He placed his hand onto Sanji’s knee, squeezing. He let it rest for a second before pulling back, but it had done the job for Sanji.

It was like everything paused. His tapping stopped, his bouncing legs stilled, and his chest loosened just enough for him to take a real breath.

Sanji blinked at him, dazed.

Zoro didn’t say anything. He just leaned back, rummaged one-handed through the glove compartment, and tossed something into Sanji’s lap.

A cigarette pack.

Sanji frowned, confused. “I didn’t—didn’t leave these in here.”

“You didn’t,” Zoro mumbled, eyes on the dashboard as though it suddenly needed his full attention. His hand slipped back to the wheel, fingers drumming once before going still. “…Bought ‘em. Long time ago.”

Sanji stared at him, the confusion only deepening. “You don’t smoke.”

“Not for me,” Zoro finally glanced over, just a flick of his eyes before looking away again. “Figured you’d need one sometime. Kept ‘em here. Just in case.”

Oh. Right. He forgot Zoro could be cute sometimes. 

Sanji couldn’t stop the smile tugging at his mouth as he slid a cigarette from the pack. “You absolute idiot,” he whispered, almost giddy.

“What?” Zoro said, snapping his head to Sanji. “Is it the wrong ones?” 

Sanji’s smile only widened, soft and fond all at once. “Quite the opposite. These are my favorites—and they’re never in stock around here. How the hell did you…?”

“Drove to the next town over,” Zoro said, glancing outside the window as if he couldn’t keep eye contact with Sanji whilst speaking. 

And Sanji could understand the feeling because he had to look away too. He could already feel the heat rushing to his cheeks, knowing he was probably red like a tomato right now. 

Zoro and him had been on the edge of… something for a while now.  It was obvious in the way they interacted with each other, the way their bickering had taken a softer edge, the way they lingered around waiting for the other if they got left behind by the group, the way it was hard to make eye contact these days, the way Zoro showed up to pick up Sanji just because he had asked. 

It was all a little too much for Sanji sometimes. 

There was a good portion of his life where Sanji was convinced he was cursed. Everything good that was his was taken from him one by one. 

His mom. Cooking. Zeff at one point. Judge almost took him away from Luffy and everyone. Judge would most definitely take him away from Zoro if he knew what Sanji thought of him.

“Curls?” Zoro prompted when Sanji hadn’t said something for a while. 

Sanji startled, jostling the cigarette he was holding onto almost reverently. “Drive, mossy,” Sanji whispered, not wanting to raise his voice for some reason. “I wanna open the window if I smoke. And I am not opening the window here.” 

Zoro nodded, turning the key, letting the low hum of the car wash over them. 

“Anywhere you wanna go?” he asked, cracking his knuckles before placing them on the steering wheel. 

Sanji stared at Zoro’s calloused hands—How much time and effort had it taken for those callouses to show up? How many times had Zoro gotten up after being defeated? Did no one take care of Zoro’s hands like Sanji did his own? How would they feel against Sanji’s? Did Zoro realize the importance of his hands?—for a few seconds before realizing what Zoro asked.

“Anywhere?”

Zoro exhaled, gripping the steering wheel tighter. “Yeah, anywhere.” 

Sanji huffed, his eyes softening when the gesture made Zoro loosen his grip. 

He idly wondered if Zoro had noticed that he did that too—if Zoro had watched how Sanji immediately felt calmer in his car, if he had acknowledged that his touch helped Sanji break through whatever thoughts he was having. 

He wondered if Zoro noticed the way Sanji would press against him just to feel something real. He wondered if Zoro noticed that Sanji would headbump him just to stare at his brown eyes sometimes. He wondered if Zoro knew that Sanji thought the world of him—that if ever noticed that Sanji knew that Zoro did think the world of him. 

It was odd. The way the two of them had fallen together—that somehow, in the middle of all their fighting, they had stumbled into something so raw that sometimes it felt like it was burning Sanji from the inside. 

Did Zoro burn too?

Sanji raised an eyebrow. “What if I said I wanted to go to the Grand Canyon right now?”

Zoro raised one right back. “Then I’d start driving there,” he said, in that blunt, brazen way only he could.

Sanji shook his head, unable to understand what he’d done to earn Zoro’s loyalty. Whatever it was, he was grateful for it. “You can’t possibly mean that, mossy.”

“I would do it,” Zoro said matter-of-factly. “You know I would.”

A shiver ran through Sanji, and he wasn’t sure if it was from the cold or from Zoro’s words.

Zoro noticed and leaned over the console again—but this time to dig around in the back seat instead of reaching for Sanji.

Sanji couldn’t help but be a little disappointed over that.

While Zoro shifted through things, Sanji let his gaze linger on his back. He was wearing that old blue tank top Nami had bought him ages ago. Sanji had wondered where it had gone; he hadn’t seen it around in months. Apparently, it had been demoted to a sleep shirt.

Sanji’s chest ached at the realization. Zoro really had bolted out of his house without hesitation—without even changing into something warmer despite the slight chill of the night.

The fucker really did care about him. 

Sanji let out a sigh and rested his forehead against Zoro’s back.

Zoro froze for a beat. “You okay, curls?”

Sanji gave a small laugh. “You already asked me that, marimo.”

“And you never answered,” Zoro shot back, resuming his search.

Sanji closed his eyes, inhaling the faint smell of sweat, steel, and cologne. The fabric was soft against his skin. “I don’t ever wanna go back home, mossy,” he whispered, voice breaking. “It was awful. He… I never thought—fuck, I don’t even know what I thought.”

Zoro hummed, the vibration feeling nice against Sanji’s forehead. “Then don’t.” 

Sanji scoffed, lifting his head off of Zoro’s back as he realized that Zoro wasn’t shuffling things around anymore. “It’s not that easy, mosshead. This is my family we’re talking about.” 

Zoro settled back into his seat with a hoodie in his hand. “That’s not your family, curls,” he said, shaking his head. “You know better than that.” 

Sanji kept his mouth shut, not knowing what to say to that. He hated the way that Zoro spoke so confidently—like he believed in every word that he said. 

Maybe that’s why Zoro didn’t speak as often, because when he did, he wanted his words to count. 

His thoughts were cut short when the hoodie smacked him in the face. 

“What the fuck, asshole?” 

“You were shiverin’,” Zoro said simply. “Wear it.”

Or maybe he was just part caveman and didn’t know how to articulate things like everyone else.

“Fuck you,” Sanji muttered, tugging the hoodie on anyway. “Shitty swordsman—you wouldn’t know nice if it smacked you in the face.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever you say, cook.” 

The fabric swallowed Sanji, warm and oversized. The scent hit him harder than it ever did in the car—probably because Zoro was always wearing this hoodie. It was overwhelmingly Zoro, like being wrapped in him, like a big hug he didn’t have to ask for. It was nice.

Against his will, Sanji found himself burrowing deeper into it.

Zoro noticed, one eyebrow ticking up, but he kept his mouth shut.

Heat crept into Sanji’s cheeks. “Thanks,” he murmured, hoarse.

Zoro gave a single nod, then turned toward the wheel, hand settling on the gearshift. “So. Decided where you wanna go yet?”

Sanji had almost forgotten why he’d texted Zoro in the first place. His gaze drifted back to the window, to the looming shape of his house. The anxiety returned in a rush, prickling at his skin.

What if Judge had seen the car? Written down the plates? What if he found Zoro and hurt him?

He couldn’t let that happen.

Zoro was good. Zoro was nice. Zoro was loyal. He didn’t deserve this. 

Sanji didn’t deserve him.

Sanji’s hands shot to his hair, tugging hard, desperate for something to ground him. It was a nervous tic of his. 

He barely registered a hand closing around his wrist, gentle but insistent, trying to pull him back. Instinctively, he pushed against it. 

The pulling was something that was safe—it was familiar. Something he could control.

“Curls, come on,” a voice cut through the haze. It was low and urgent, trembling at the edges. It was enough to drag Sanji’s eyes open, though he hadn’t even realized they’d been shut.

Zoro’s face was close, really fucking close, his brow drawn tight in something that looked dangerously like fear.

“Sanji, please.”

Sanji exhaled suddenly, coughing a little at the release. Zoro’s hand was on his back in an instant, rubbing up and down in steady strokes.

“Fuck,” Zoro muttered, his voice still trembling. “That was terrifying.”

 “Sorry,” Sanji croaked. “I’m so sorry.”

“Not your fault,” Zoro cut him off immediately, sharply. “Don’t apologize for that.”

Sanji stayed quiet, focusing on pulling in slow breaths.

Zoro’s hand slid up from his back to the nape of his neck, giving the faintest squeeze. “I’m getting you out of here, curls. I promise,” he whispered, fervent. 

Sanji didn’t deserve this man.

“Can we…” Sanji’s voice cracked under the weight of panic. “Can we go to your place?”

“Yeah. Of course.” Zoro gave another squeeze before pulling his hand back.

Sanji instantly missed the warmth, wishing he’d left it there.

They drove in silence for a while, Sanji content just watching Zoro take wrong turn after wrong turn. It was soothing in its own way, every mistake meant they were getting farther from his house.

It was also another thing that was familiar—Zoro being hopeless with directions despite living in this town his whole life.

By the sixth wrong turn, Sanji finally turned toward him, realization dawning from earlier. “You called me by my name,” he accused.

Zoro frowned, his eyebrow piercing catching the glow of the streetlight. “Look, curls, I know you just had a moment, and this probably isn’t nice of me to say, but are you sure you’re not losin’ it? I call you by your name all the time.”

Sanji’s jaw dropped. “Are you fucking stupid? Actually brain dead? Do you genuinely have kelp for brains?”

Zoro only looked more baffled. “I’m sorry?” he said cautiously. “I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about, cook. I call you by your name all the time.”

Sanji groaned, burying his head in his hands. “You’re a lost fucking cause.”

That snapped Zoro’s patience. “You’re not even fuckin’ tellin’ me what I did wrong, shit cook. Maybe you’re the brain-dead one here.”

Sanji shot him a look, the urge to slam his head against the steering wheel almost overwhelming. “Jesus fucking Christ.”

“At least tell me—”

“Zoro.” Sanji said it quietly but firmly, letting the name sit heavy between them.

The car went silent for a beat before Zoro let out a sheepish, “Oh.”

“Yeah,” Sanji hummed. “You’re supposed to turn left here, by the way.”

Zoro scowled, switching the blinker from right to left. “I knew that.”

“It was… nice, though,” Sanji said, awkwardly.

“What was?” Zoro asked, cheeks already tinged pink. Zoro wasn’t the type to blush easily, so Sanji had always loved being the one who could fluster him, whether through a fight or… whatever this was.

“You saying my name,” Sanji muttered purposefully under his breath.

“What?”

Sanji only smirked, deciding to unfairly tease him. “I always knew you were fucking deaf.”

Zoro exhaled sharply. “That’s not fair, and you know it.”

Sanji supposed he could give Zoro a break. He did come to pick up Sanji in the middle of the night with little to no explanation. 

“Fine, fine.” Sanji relented, quieter now. “I said… I liked it when you called me that.”

Zoro’s blush deepened instantly, blooming across his face. “I hate you.”

Sanji’s smirk softened to a smile. “I don’t think you do.”

The car fell into a lull after that, Sanji only speaking when Zoro inevitably made another wrong turn—which was often, frankly.

Zoro confused him. He was the dumbest person alive, but then you’d see him in school and realize he was actually smart. Despite sleeping through most classes, he pulled straight A’s like it was nothing.

Sanji had been floored the first time he’d found out.

He was a caveman—until he said things that made you reevaluate your place in the world. Until somehow, by his belief alone, he made you believe in yourself.

Sanji was always striving to be the version of himself that Zoro seemed to see.

Out of the corner of his eye, Zoro glanced at him. “Curls, you still haven’t lit the cigarette.”

Sanji blinked, realizing he’d forgotten all about the pack between his panic attack and Zoro. “It’s alright,” he said softly, not really feeling up to smoking anymore. “I’ll save it for later.”

“You sure?” Zoro asked. “I don’t mind if you smoke.”

Sanji laughed. “But you do. You always make a face when I light up next to you.”

“I still stay,” Zoro grumbled.

Like an idiot, Sanji thought fondly. 

Zoro was the only one who ever stuck around when Sanji got particularly needy for a cigarette. The rest of their gang hated the smell, always pushing him to quit. Zoro wanted him to stop, too—Sanji knew that, but he never walked away. He always stayed. Like an idiot.

Zoro grunted and suddenly extended his hand toward him.

“What’s this?” Sanji asked, even though he already knew.

“You know what it is,” Zoro said, sounding inexplicably annoyed—which pissed Sanji off because he was acting all high and mighty when Sanji had just asked him a genuine question. “Just take my hand already.”

Well, he did just force him to use his words when Zoro hated doing that.  

For that, and only that, who was Sanji to deny him? 

Idly, he thought he was probably the number one person qualified to deny Zoro anything, but he was touch-starved, and Zoro was offering his hand. 

He could just blame it on the sleep deprivation and the literal bruises on him if Zoro freaked out in the morning about what he did. 

He laced his fingers with Zoro’s, marveling at how naturally they fit. A smile tugged at his lips, and heat rushed to his face when Zoro began tracing slow circles across the back of his hand with his thumb.

Zoro held him with such gentle care, such reverence, that Sanji just knew—he was thinking about how important Sanji’s hands were. Maybe Zoro wouldn’t freak out, and Sanji could hold his hand even after tonight. 

(If he was being honest with himself, the only person who was most likely to freak out was himself. And, he was probably the reason why nothing had been done about this thing between them. Because Sanji had a habit of getting too into his head about what would happen if Judge found out about Zoro. 

And Zoro was a smart man who could tell that Sanji had issues and was waiting for him to make the first move. So that was the real question, wasn’t it? Would Sanji make the first move?

Well, this would only be a problem if Sanji was being honest with himself. Luckily enough, he wasn’t.) 

“Last left turn, mossy,” Sanji mumbled around a yawn.

Zoro hummed, squeezing his hand. “Sleepy?” 

“A little,” Sanji admitted. “I’ve had a long day.”

Zoro nodded slowly. “Wanna talk about it?”

Sanji stayed quiet as Zoro pulled the car into a spot and killed the engine. His hand slipped away for only a moment—just long enough to turn the key—before it was right back where it had been, warm and steady against Sanji’s.

The silence stretched, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. Zoro didn’t push. He just sat there, waiting, like he already understood Sanji needed a few seconds to untangle his thoughts.

It made Sanji feel less scared to speak. 

“I know… I don’t really talk about these things,” Sanji started, his breath catching. “It’s always been so complicated, and—I don’t know. I used to think if I just pretended it didn’t exist, then it wouldn’t. That it would stop being real if I ignored it hard enough.”

Zoro shifted, turning his whole body toward him instead of just his head, giving Sanji his full attention.

For a long moment, he didn’t say anything. His brows furrowed, like he was trying to think out every word before it left his mouth carefully.

“Curls,” he said finally, voice low. “You don’t have to pretend with me.”

Sanji swallowed, staring down at their joined hands. Zoro’s thumb was still moving in slow circles, steady and patient.

“I don’t know why you chose me out of everyone,” Zoro admitted with a wry smile. “Everyone knows that I‘m the worst at this. With words and shit.” 

“You’re not,” Sanji said, cutting him off. “You’re really not, mossy.” 

Zoro raised an eyebrow. “You sure you’re not the one with kelp for brains, curls?” 

Sanji laughed, rolling his eyes. “Asshole,” he said fondly. 

Zoro cracked a smile at that, but his hand squeezed Sanji’s a little tighter. “I’m serious. I wanna be there for you, Sanji.” His voice was steady as his gaze locked onto Sanji’s. Even if it hadn’t been for the intensity of his stare, the use of his actual name would’ve caught Sanji’s attention anyway.

“You’re incorrigible, you know that?” Sanji said, horrified that his voice was a little wet. “And I fucking hate you so much. But, fuck, I didn’t even think about texting anyone else, you know? I had already sent the text to you before I realized what I’d done.”

Zoro leaned forward, placing his free hand on Sanji’s cheek. Sanji closed his eyes and pressed his face harder into the touch; he rarely ever got touched this gently.

Zoro obliged, rubbing his thumb back and forth across Sanji’s cheek. “I was terrified the whole car ride,” he admitted, his voice low. “All I could think about was how you’d show up to school dead on your fuckin’ feet with dark circles under your eyes—and how I never said anythin’.”

He untangled their fingers and brought that hand up to cup the other side of Sanji’s face. “You’re so unselfish, always givin’ and givin’. And I thought, well, I’ll let him keep givin’ if it makes him happy. But—you’re tellin’ me you never told anyone about this?”

Sanji opened his eyes, tears welling in the corners. “Zeff knows,” he said, voice weak. “I’m pretty sure you knew. And, fuck, Luffy probably figured it out.”

Zoro looked devastated. His eyebrows furrowed, his expression twisted like he was in physical pain just from seeing Sanji cry. Somehow, he still looked devilishly handsome; the streetlight caught on his gold earrings, making him look like he was glowing.

His little angel. 

And, shit, Sanji was in so deep. Who was he kidding with his stupid bullshit of not making the first move? He was totally going to make the first move tonight, whether he wanted to or not. 

“Sanji…” Zoro’s voice cracked. “I thought you talked about it with Luffy. Not that he figured it out. That’s the only reason I left you alone about it—because I thought you didn’t wanna talk about it with me.”

Sanji shook his head as much as he could in Zoro’s grip. “Zoro, don’t you get it yet?” he said wryly. “You’re the only person I would talk about this with.”

“Shit, fuck,” Zoro muttered, practically climbing over as his hands shifted to Sanji’s waist, squeezing tight. “Fuck you for saying things like that.” His voice was muffled, his breath hot, pressed into Sanji’s neck.

It took Sanji a second to register what exactly was happening, but when he did, his hands came around Zoro, holding him just as tight. His throat closed up, his chest cracked open. “He said I looked too much like my mom,” Sanji choked, the words tumbling out with his tears. “That she was dead and he didn’t need reminders of her—and to get my act together.”

Zoro’s grip turned fierce, grounding. His hand dragged up and down Sanji’s back in rough, steady strokes. “I’ll fuckin’ kill him, curls,” he growled, voice shaking with rage. “Say the word and I’ll do it.”

Sanji let out a broken laugh that sounded more like a sob. “You always know what to say. I knew you wouldn’t pity me.”

Zoro pulled back just enough to see Sanji’s face. His eyes were burning, sharp even in the dim glow of the streetlight. “Sanji,” he said, voice steady but strained. “Has he hurt you before?”

Sanji’s breath hitched. He turned his face away, but Zoro’s hands stayed firm on his waist, grounding him in place. “…When I was a kid,” Sanji admitted finally, his voice low, almost ashamed. “He used to hit me. But he stopped. For years, he stopped.”

Zoro let out a breath slowly, physically calming himself down. “What changed?” he asked, voice clipped. 

Sanji knew that was the face Zoro made when he was annoyed but didn't want to show it. He felt kind of touched knowing he was this upset on his behalf. 

Sanji swallowed, his grip tightening on Zoro’s tank top. “He… He caught me cooking,” he said softly, the words not wanting to come out of him. “My mom used to have this song she would sing when she would cook. You know—before… before she was too bedridden to do anything.”

Zoro’s face softened. He brought one of his hands to Sanji’s face to wipe the tears that had fallen while Sanji was talking. 

“Thanks,” Sanji whispered before clearing his voice. “I miss her all the time but—well, today… She died eleven years ago today. Or yesterday, now, I guess. I was feeling nostalgic and wanted to cook her favorite meal.”

“I’m sure it was a wonderful meal, cook,” Zoro whispered, matching his low tone. 

Sanji smiled slightly, the smile not reaching his eyes. “I’m sure it would’ve been. Judge caught me making the meal and singing her song. He was horribly drunk—always gets super drunk on her death anniversary. I should've known better.” 

Zoro’s hands tightened, but Sanji kept going, the words not stopping once they started coming. “I shouldn’t have been in the kitchen. Should’ve kept an eye out. Should’ve stayed out of his way. I was just—” he broke off, shaking his head furiously. “Fuck, I was careless.”

Zoro’s expression twisted, somewhere between fury and heartbreak. He lifted a hand to Sanji’s jaw again, forcing him to meet his eyes. “Sanji. Don’t you dare blame yourself for that bastard’s shit.” He took another calming breath before speaking. “You were cookin’. You were singin’. That’s not a crime. You’re allowed to do that. And he doesn’t get to take that from you.” 

Well, shit. He was going to do something stupid now.

“I’m disgustingly in love with you,” Sanji said, not really having any control over the words coming out of his mouth. 

There was that first move that Zoro and him had been waiting on. 

Zoro’s eyes widened, then softened into something warm. His eyes crinkled at the corners the way they did when he was especially pleased about something. Like when Sanji brought him onigiri and claimed it was because he’d made too much—though they both knew Sanji never wasted an ingredient. Or when he slipped Zoro the good sake from the Baratie. Or when Zoro started nodding off and Sanji always, without fail, offered him his shoulder.

“You mean that, curls?” Zoro asked, smiling with his teeth. 

Sanji rolled his eyes, lips curling into a smile. He doesn’t know why he tried to deny himself of this for so long. “Oh, fuck you, Zoro,” he said fondly. “Of course I mean it, dumbass.”

Zoro let out a laugh, low and rough. He leaned in until their foreheads pressed together, his breath mingling with Sanji’s. “Good,” he murmured, voice hoarse. “Because I’m disgustingly in love with you, too.” 

Sanji lifted his hand and pressed it against Zoro’s cheek. His thumb brushed over the scar near Zoro’s eye—the one that had almost taken it out. He couldn’t help but think about all the times he’d wanted to do this, to trace that line back and forth, to do anything that might take some of Zoro’s pain away.

The days after the accident had been terrifying. Sanji had spent every free hour planted beside Zoro’s hospital bed, refusing to leave, even when he was told to.

“I had a feeling,” Sanji whispered, unwilling to break the bubble they’d built around themselves.

Zoro huffed softly. “Oh, yeah? Pretty egotistical of you, love cook.”

“Says the motherfucker who only ever falls asleep on my shoulder, waits for me after school even when I’ve got club, offers to pick me up and drop me off in your car but doesn’t do it for anyone else, calls me every damn day when I’m stuck visiting family abro—”

Zoro’s laugh cut through, loud and bright, the kind that always went straight to Sanji’s chest. “Okay, okay. I get it, curls. I’m pretty gone on you.”

Just as Zoro said that, he squeezed a particularly sore rib, making Sanji hiss in pain. “Fuck,” he muttered.

Zoro let go of him right away, staring at him with wide eyes. “Shit, I’m sorry. How bad is it?”

Sanji raised an eyebrow at Zoro, smiling dryly. “He basically used me as his personal punching bag.”

Zoro’s eyes darkened, his fists trembling where he held them tight. “You’re not going back there,” he said, blunt and sharp.

“Well, no shit, mosshead,” Sanji replied. “The whole point of this car ride was so I could sleep at your place.”

Zoro shook his head. “No, I mean you’re not going back there. Ever.”

Sanji opened and closed his mouth before sighing. “We can think about that in the morning. How about that, algae brain?” 

Zoro looked like he was about to argue, but caught the look on Sanji’s face and relented. “Fine. Whatever. As long as you don’t run away from the conversation—”

“Hey!”

“—in the mornin’, I’m fine with that,” Zoro continued as if Sanji hadn’t said anything. “Now, I’m gonna take you to my room and help you with your injuries, because you probably didn’t even do anything about them.”

“I was too busy sitting in the dark panicking,” Sanji mumbled, a little miffed at being read so easily.

Zoro’s hand moved to straighten the collar of Sanji’s hoodie, lingering there. “I’m sorry you had to wait that long for me,” he whispered, before leaning in and pressing a chaste kiss to Sanji’s lips.

Sanji was pretty sure he blacked out for a few seconds because when he opened his eyes, Zoro was already out of the car and moving to open Sanji’s door.

“What the fuck?” Sanji whispered to himself. 

Zoro opened Sanji’s door, a smug smile on his face. “You gonna stay there forever?”

Sanji’s jaw dropped. “Oh, fuck you, mosshead,” he said, laughing as he lunged at Zoro.

Zoro caught him easily, his own laugh rumbling out. “You know,” he teased, holding Sanji steady. “When I used to imagine our first kiss, I never thought you’d just blank out like that.”

Sanji blinked, stunned. “You used to imagine our first kiss?”

Zoro scoffed, tilting his head like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Like you didn’t.”

Sanji huffed, his cheeks warm. “It would’ve been after our first date,” he confessed, voice softer now. “I’d drop you off at home. Perona and Mihawk would be staring through the window, judging the whole thing. I’d be so nervous my hands would be sweaty, but you wouldn’t say anything—because you can be nice like that sometimes.”

He paused, almost embarrassed, then went on. “I’d lean in and somehow mess it up. Probably kiss your cheek instead. We’d laugh about it, then try again. And it would’ve been… perfect.”

Zoro just stared at him like Sanji was the only thing worth looking at. Like Sanji was the thing that was perfect. His voice was quiet when he finally spoke. “We can still do that,” he said. “We can do that a million times over.”

Sanji smiled softly, his chest aching in a way that almost made him forget about his bruised ribs. “Okay,” he whispered. “I’d like that.”

For a few long seconds, they just held each other’s gaze. Then Sanji shivered, the movement breaking the spell.

Zoro snorted. “Of course you’re still cold, even in that big hoodie.”

Sanji scoffed. “It’s not my fault you’re a literal heater and I’m not.”

“Sounds like you’re jealous, cook.”

“Fuck you. Why would I ever be jealous of you?” 

Zoro kissed him again. 

When Sanji finally came back to himself, Zoro was laughing, shoulders shaking. “I didn’t realize you were that easy, curls.”

“Shut up,” Sanji hissed, shoving at his chest. He turned on his heel, heading for Zoro’s front door, cheeks burning. Zoro trailed after him, still chuckling.

“You’re gonna wake the whole neighborhood at this point,” Sanji muttered.

Zoro smirked, completely unbothered. “Nami is never gonna let this go. Hope you know that.”

“And you’re fine with that?” Sanji asked as Zoro stepped forward to unlock the door.

“Fine with Nami making fun of you?” Zoro asked, brows furrowed.

He turned the key and pushed the door open, gesturing for Sanji to go in first.

“No,” Sanji clarified, hesitating in the doorway. His voice dipped lower, quieter. “I mean… fine with Nami and everyone knowing?”

Zoro paused, his hand still on the doorframe. He looked at Sanji like the answer should’ve been obvious from the start.

“Yeah,” he said finally, in his ‘I’m only entertaining this because I know you get weird about this stuff’ tone that he used way too often with Sanji. “I’m fine with that.”

The tension left Sanji’s body in an instant; he felt like he could breathe again. “Sorry,” he mumbled, his shoulders sagging. “You know how I get sometimes. I just… needed to know.”

Zoro smirked, leaning in to ruffle Sanji’s hair. “Wouldn’t be Sanji if you weren’t neurotic.” 

Sanji swatted at his hand, heat blooming in his chest despite the jab. “Bastard,” he muttered, though it came out softer than he intended.

Zoro rolled his eyes and caught Sanji’s hand, tugging him toward the stairs. “You’d think dating you would make you a little less dramatic,” he muttered under his breath, quiet enough that Sanji might’ve missed it, but just loud enough that he probably wanted him to hear.

Sanji hated him. Though he was pretty sure his heart was beating uncontrollably, and that his hands were sweaty. His body was betraying him. 

Fucking mosshead. What the hell did he even mean by dating him?

Holy shit. He was dating Roronoa Zoro. 

The boy he’d had a crush on for at least a year now—probably longer, if Sanji was willing to sit with a few uncomfortable truths about himself. And, at this point, he probably should, seeing where he was. 

He was going to pass out. And it was going to be entirely Roronoa Zoro’s fault.

Zoro let go of his hand to open his bedroom door and flick on the overhead light.

Sanji immediately hissed, throwing a hand over his eyes.

“Migraine?” Zoro asked, already turning off the light.

“I don’t know,” Sanji admitted, lowering his hand. “Probably, knowing my luck.”

Zoro hummed and switched on the warm glow of his bedside lamp instead. It wasn’t too bright that Sanji felt the immediate need to recoil, and it was also bright enough that Sanji didn’t feel like he was going to die. 

Sue him. He was seventeen and still scared of the dark, which was a totally plausible fear. 

Zoro maneuvered him toward the bed, pressing on his shoulders until Sanji sat.

“Okay,” Zoro said with a single nod. “Take off the hoodie and the shirt so I can help. I’m gonna grab the med kit and Chopper’s salve from the bathroom.”

Sanji gave him a lazy thumbs up and flopped onto the mattress, sighing. He was exhausted—he wanted to sleep immediately—but he knew he’d regret it later if he didn’t deal with his injuries first.

At least Zoro was willing to play nurse. If he’d been alone tonight, he probably wouldn’t have bothered cleaning up at all. He’d just toss and turn, sore and restless, failing to fall asleep.

Sanji took off the hoodie, being careful about his left shoulder and ribs, reluctantly. He told himself that it was okay by reminding himself he was in Zoro’s bed right now, which also smelled like him. He also reminded himself that he was now dating Zoro and could cuddle him when sleeping tonight.

He peeled off his shirt next, hissing when fabric pulled at half-dried blood, tearing away from his skin.

For the first time since Judge had beaten him bloody, Sanji looked at himself. And the sight hit him like a train.

His stomach was a mess of bruises, deep purples, and sickly yellows blooming everywhere. His skin was raw and inflamed. He’d always bruised easily, and now it was written all over him.

Sanji sighed, closed his eyes, and leaned back against the sheets. He could take a nap. Just a quick one. No one would have to know.

Except he heard footsteps, and when he cracked his eyes open, Zoro was staring at him like he’d just walked in on a crime scene.

“Don’t,” Sanji whispered, squeezing his eyes shut again. He pressed his face into Zoro’s pillow, inhaling deep, trying to erase that horrified look from his mind.

This was why he hated people knowing. Even Zoro. He knew logically that Zoro would never pity him, but being seen like this, at his rawest, still hurt. He’d thought years of Judge’s fists would’ve made him numb to it.

But Sanji hadn’t. He was Judge’s little failure—and it was probably going to haunt him until he died.

The bed dipped under Zoro’s weight. He sighed before talking slowly, “Sanji, you know—you know, I would never look at you like that, right? I’m just worried about you, that’s all. This is… fuck, curls. This is bad.” 

Sanji whined softly into the pillow, feeling worn out and exhausted in so many ways. 

“I know,” Zoro said, his voice sounding like he was in pain too. And Sanji could relate—he remembered the mess he’d been after Zoro’s accident, the way he felt like he was falling apart just from seeing Zoro in that hospital bed.

Zoro shifted closer, brushing Sanji’s hair out of his face before pressing a tender kiss between his eyebrows. “Just relax,” he murmured. “I’ll take care of you.”

Sanji opened his eyes and tilted his head, just enough to look at Zoro properly. His heart panged at the sight. Zoro hadn’t gone too far and was staring at him—his gaze felt heavy in a good way. 

Zoro raised an eyebrow when Sanji stayed quiet.

Sanji let out a soft huff. “I trust you, mossy. More than I should.”

“I won’t break that trust, curls,” Zoro said, not breaking eye contact.

Sanji’s lips curved into a smile, his chest aching like it might explode. “I know.”

And before he could second-guess himself, Sanji reached out, tugged him closer, and pressed their mouths together. 

When they finally pulled apart, Sanji kept his forehead pressed against Zoro’s. His voice came out breathless. “I can’t believe I went this long without kissing you.”

Zoro’s grin spread wide, a truly shit-eating grin if Sanji had to say anything about it. “Forget Nami never letting you live it down. I’m never gonna let you forget this.”

Sanji rolled his eyes, though the corner of his mouth twitched upward. “Yes, yes, kick a man while he’s down. Dog on the injured person.”

That wiped the grin clean off Zoro’s face. Guilt flickered there instead. “Shit. Sorry. I should’ve dealt with your injuries first.”

Sanji smirked faintly. “The moss has a moral compass. Who would’ve thought?”

“Oh, fuck you, curls. God forbid someone wants to take care of their boyfriend.”

Sanji’s smile grew wider, teeth flashing. “Boyfriend?” he repeated, fully intent on teasing him.

Color crept up Zoro’s cheeks. “Fuck you,” he muttered, turning his face away.

Before Sanji could push him further, Zoro’s expression sobered. It turned into something more serious. “Okay. If anything hurts, you tell me. I’m gonna bandage you up now.”

Sanji let his eyes fall shut again, his body sinking deeper into the mattress. “Trust you, moss.”

That was how they spent the next few minutes: Zoro quietly, carefully tending to him. Sanji didn’t open his eyes once, but he heard the faint crinkle of wrappers, smelled the sharp bite of antiseptic, and felt the steady press of Zoro’s calloused hands against his skin. He tried his hardest not to move, only letting out a hiss when Zoro brushed too close to a sore rib.

“All done,” Zoro murmured at last, leaning down to press a kiss to the final bandaged spot, which happened to be his stomach.

Sanji’s eyes fluttered open, pulling him out of the half-doze he’d fallen into. His voice was hoarse when he whispered, “Thanks.”

Zoro hummed, glancing at him to throw him a quick smile. He quietly cleaned up as Sanji sat up straight, groaning a little at the pain. 

He pressed a hand lightly over the bandages Zoro had just placed, a burst of warmth blooming in his chest. Zoro had done this for him—not because Sanji asked, not because anyone expected it, but because he wanted to.

Sanji swallowed against the lump in his throat, trying hard not to feel guilty for needing so much from him. He knew it would take time to move past that—another thing Judge had stolen from him.

Zoro tossed him a shirt and a pair of sleep pants. “Here. Your shirt’s got blood on it, so I threw it in the laundry. And I figured you wouldn’t want to sleep in your pants.”

“I’m gonna go grab you a cup of water and some painkillers,” Zoro said once he finished cleaning up. “Need anything else?”

Sanji leaned back against Zoro’s bed, smiling softly. “You,” he teased.

Zoro snorted, rolling his eyes. “You can have me. Let me get the stuff first.”

Sanji hummed, feeling ridiculously lucky. “I love you.”

“Love you, too,” Zoro mumbled, avoiding eye contact, and left the room quickly.

Sanji laughed softly, realizing that while he blanked with kisses, Zoro blanked with words. He changed into the clothes Zoro had left, the familiar scent of him enveloping Sanji. Just to be safe, he pulled the hoodie back on, too.

Still feeling a little cold, Sanji walked to the closet he knew held Zoro’s blankets. He picked one at random and crawled back into bed, wrapping it around himself.

Zoro must’ve taken longer than expected, because Sanji had fallen asleep by the time he returned.

He woke to Zoro gently shaking him awake. “Hey,” Zoro whispered.

Sanji blinked, still half-asleep and confused. “Wah?”

Zoro huffed lightly. “Sorry, curls. Just wanted you to take a painkiller before you knock out for good.”

Sanji blinked at the glass of water Zoro was holding out, then at the pill resting in his palm. He groaned, pushing himself upright. “What took you so long?”

Zoro handed him the pill. “Bumped into Mihawk.” 

Sanji had already swallowed the pill and was sipping water, so he couldn’t speak; instead, he raised an eyebrow.

Zoro, fluent in Sanji-speak, understood the question. “That’s why it took me so long to get to you,” he said, voice low. “Mihawk caught me sneaking out and demanded to know where I was going. He stayed up waiting for us because he wanted to make sure you were okay, that’s all.”

“It took you fifteen minutes to get to me,” Sanji said slowly, his fingers gripping the glass. “I thought you spent the whole time driving.”

Zoro looked sheepish as he took the glass from Sanji and set it down on the nightstand. “I didn’t get lost once, curls. It took me ten minutes to calm Mihawk down.”

Sanji’s jaw dropped. “You’re shitting me, bastard. You have to be. What do you mean you didn’t get lost?”

Zoro shrugged, gently pushing Sanji back onto the bed, letting the mattress dip under his weight. “You needed me.”

“You utter fucking asshole,” Sanji muttered, pressing his face into the crook of Zoro’s neck. His cheek pressed against the warmth of Zoro’s skin, and he felt Zoro’s steady heartbeat under his ear. “I fucking hate you.”

Zoro chuckled, the vibration running through Sanji’s body as he wrapped an arm around his waist. “Go to sleep, Sanji,” he murmured, tucking the blanket around them. The soft brush of Zoro’s thumb against his side made Sanji relax despite himself.

Sanji’s eyes fluttered closed against his will. He wanted to ask Zoro more about his conversation with Mihawk. Wanted to voice his worries about Judge. Wanted to tell Zoro to run and hide because Sanji wasn’t allowed to have nice things. Wanted to tell Zoro that he had loved him for years now and it wasn’t something new. 

Instead, his breathing slowed, matching the rhythm of Zoro’s. “Will you be there in the morning?” he mumbled, voice heavy with exhaustion.

“‘Course I will,” Zoro said, pressing a kiss to the top of Sanji’s head.

Sanji was asleep before Zoro even finished his sentence.