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“Hey cook? When’s your birthday?” Sanji stopped scrubbing the plate in his hand. He wasn’t expecting that question. At least not from Zoro of all people.
“I–” Sanji didn’t know how to reply. He didn’t know when his birthday was. It was why he tended to avoid talks of birthdays altogether. Instead of having to admit that, he could just lock himself away in the kitchen and cook until his feet were sore and his hands cramping from holding a knife for so long. “I–”
“ –Wait, hold on a sec. Lemme guess.” Suds covered Sanji’s entire forearm as he began to wash again. He didn’t know how he was going to respond, but he’d take the stall Zoro had given him. His time in the halls of Germa castle blotted out his memory and left gaping holes in mind. The truly fucked up shit? He remembered. The beatings, the dungeon, the mask? He remembered. But peaceful moments with his mom? His own damn birthday? Nothing.
“Well, don’t hurt yourself thinking.” Sanji passed the wet plate over for Zoro to dry. This was normal. He could do this. Zoro knocked against him with his hip in retaliation, and Sanji knocked back with enough force to cause a misstep.
“You’re funny.” Zoro said, dripping with sarcasm. Sanji could always appreciate the stupid moments like this, little quips to pass the time and fill the space.
“Why thank you! I know I am.” Sanji grabbed the next thing from the pile of dirty plates that birthday parties on the Sunny always caused. Black hole of a captain and all that. Zoro hummed in careful consideration, as if debating whether to retort or think about his guess. Seems he chose the latter. “So… what do you think? When’s my birthday, huh?”
“You seem like you were born in July.” Sanji couldn’t help but laugh. He didn’t know why. Probably the fact that he can’t tell Zoro if he’s right or wrong. “That far off?”
“I dunno.” Sanji laid it out as simple as he could. Zoro would ask questions. Zeff did. It didn’t matter anymore. He wasn’t in that cold castle, with sterile walls, and blank faces. He was at home on the Thousand Sunny, surrounded by the crew that had turned into more of his family than his friends, in the kitchen, washing dishes with Zoro as an aftermath of the mosshead’s birthday party. He was safe now.
“Hell you mean?” Zoro took the next dish from his hand to place on the drying rack. Sanji grabbed another mindlessly. There wasn’t any good way to start explaining this. “It’s your birthday. What day is it?”
“That’s the thing, marimo. I don’t know.” Sanji bit out. It came out more aggressive than he had hoped. Telling people about the man who saw him as worthless trash wasn’t at the top of the list when it came to conversation starters. “Sorry. But I don’t have a date for you. I know I’m about twenty-one and that’s about it.”
“How come?” Sanji paused. He knew he’d have to tell Zoro at some point in their conversation. If he wanted to avoid this, he should’ve shut the whole thing down five minutes ago before it even began. And maybe it wasn’t the worst thing. Somehow, Zoro was always…calming. That was the best way Sanji could describe it. Even in the midst of heated fights, petty arguments, and quarrelsome spars, there was always an air around Zoro – one that kept his overthinking to its own corner of his mind. Sanji didn’t know how to start explaining.
“You weren’t there, so you wouldn’t know.” Sanji opted to keep washing, focusing on the repetitive movement, the ticking of the clock’s second hand, the fading light from the sun setting that filtered through the porthole – anything to keep his attention off Zoro’s gaze that burned holes into his side. Meeting Zoro’s eye would make it worse anyways. Zoro wasn’t at Whole Cake Island, but Sanji wouldn’t be surprised if he already knew most of what happened through hushed whispers in Wano. “But I was originally born into Germa Kingdom as the third prince. Also known as the failure.”
“Failure?–”
“–Yup.” He fought the urge to pull at the roots of his hair. Judge wasn’t winning this time. Sanji would make it through saying everything without collapsing in fear. This was fine. This was Zoro. Zoro, who didn’t care as long as everyone was safe, who probably would put this whole thing behind him without a second thought. “Germa is a scientific kingdom. Judge even worked with Vegapunk and Caesar before… My ‘father’ tried creating superhuman soldiers. No emotions, skin like steel, hell, even powers.” The plate fell from Sanji’s hand, clattering loudly with the grease-crusted pans left to soak at the bottom. He huffed and felt Zoro bump into him to bring him to attention again.
“Keep going.” It wasn’t a demand. Just an encouragement. Sanji let out the breath caught in his throat. Right. He had to finish this. For himself, at the very least. “Stop when you need to.”
“Fuck, you’re good at that. Where was I?”
“Superhuman soldiers.”
“Right. My siblings and I were his ultimate project. Genetically modified in the womb to be his ideal soldiers. It worked. For all it was worth anyways.” Sanji took a cigarette out of his back pocket. A simple comfort, to have the butt wedged between his teeth left unlit. “Every experiment has an anomaly, a failure. And for Judge that was me. I was born normal. Human.”
“And they treated you like shit because of it?” Even if Zoro hadn’t known about anything beforehand, there was understanding laced in his words. Sanji suspected Zoro knew where this was going.
“Right on. Beat me, mocked me, locked me up – they even erased my existence. Threw an iron mask on my head.” Sanji laughed. Saying it out loud made everything sound so extreme. He was what? Six years old?
“That’s…” Sanji could hear the lack of words, the grasp at straws. Zoro never was good at words – the trauma dump wasn’t going to help.
“Yeah. It’s not like they tried to celebrate birthdays in the first place. My mom did but she died early. By the time I got out of there, I had already blocked everything out. When the people on the Orbit–”
“–The what?” Oh. Right. Zoro had no clue about the lead up to meeting Zeff. The time for TMI was left back when Sanji first opened his mouth. No harm to keep going. This was the more innocent part anyways.
“Was the ship that first took me in before meeting Zeff. They guessed I was about eight. I just agreed.”
“Ah.” Sanji smiled at Zoro’s simplicity. Blunt and a little harsh at times, but still listening.
“Lost track of the days, so yeah, now you know.” Sanji reached to his right for another plate before finding the pile gone. Finished along with Sanji’s story. He did it. It was done. Done with a lot less difficulty than he thought. Maybe Zoro’s presence helped. “No clue when my birthday is.”
“...Do you want mine?” For the first time during this whole interaction, Sanji looked up from the bubbly water in the sink and met Zoro’s gaze. He searched Zoro’s tone for any sort of sarcasm or irony. Nothing. Mosshead was being serious. Sanji laughed again. Not the dry, semi-deluded chuckle he let out earlier. A real laugh, sparked from confusion but happiness nonetheless.’’
“What? Did– did the moss you call hair infect your brain?” Sanji sent a flick of water in Zoro’s direction.
“You don’t have a birthday. So we have to give you one. And I’m not letting you be older than me, so any days before November 11th are off limits.” This was getting stupider by the minute. Sharp turn from what they were talking not four minutes before. Sanji liked it.
“And I’m not letting you be older than me marimo, so any days after are off limits too.”
“Guess there’s only one choice, huh? Well then if we’re agreed…” Zoro stepped away from his spot at Sanji’s left. He threw the towel over his shoulder and head to… the pantry?
“The hell are you doing in there, dumbass?! Get out before you ruin my organization.”
“Relax. I know what I’m doing.”
“No the F you don’t! I once saw you get lost on a straight path! Don’t make me kick you out, you green bilge rat!” Sanji couldn’t help but shriek in Zoro’s ear. He really didn’t want to know what Zoro was doing in there.
“Get your panties out of a twist. Here.” Zoro walked out of the pantry with a bottle of whiskey and threw it to Sanji with barely any warning. “There’s still a few minutes left in the day. So we’re gonna toast and celebrate your first birthday.”
“Gee thanks for the warning. That makes it sound like I’m only a year old.”
“With the way you’re pouting, you might as well be.” Two glasses were placed on the kitchen counter and Sanji filled them up accordingly. His first birthday, huh? Before this it never crossed his mind, something as trivial as that.
“Cheers. Happy birthday, curls.” Sanji clinked his glass against Zoro’s and let the alcohol burn his throat on the way down.
“Happy birthday moss. Though I’m sure you only let me have your birthday too so you could get an extra drink.” Who would’ve thought? He’d come so far from the scared little boy Reiju had taken pity on. No longer was he Vinsmoke Sanji, the failed experiment, useless waste of space, kid with no day to celebrate himself. Now he was ‘Black-Leg’, the chef of the Straw Hat pirates, with a bounty over a billion, whose birthday was now November 11th because of some late night dishes. He would take that. “Don’t birthdays usually include gifts? Wouldn’t be complete without them right?”
“I would…but you didn’t give anything to me, so no.”
“Yeah no, I cooked a whole feast with just your favorites because I hate you, obviously.” Sanji let them fall into their usual banter. Easy. Simple.
“You do that for everyone though.”
“Who’s the one pouting now? But fine, I’ll get you something next time we dock. What about me? What is the great Roronoa Zoro going to give me?”
“I’m pretty broke right no–”
“–More like in debt.–”
“–So how about a kiss?”