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Wow.
Zoro is the magnetic pull of a Grand Line island, and Sanji is the Log Pose on beautiful Nami’s delicate wrist. He stands there, tall and steady and stinky and sweaty, mossy hair stupid as always, wiping blood from his swords using his own dirty robe of all things.
He’s disgusting. He's beautiful. Sanji’s heart is going to explode out of his chest.
It’s different than Fishman Island’s ethereal mermaids, different from when he sees Robin in her swimsuit or Nami in her usual revealing outfits. His mouth is dry and his hands are sweating and he feels like every feeling he's ever had for a woman is magnified as he stares. At Zoro.
It’s admiration, it’s attraction, it’s frustration. Confusion, jealousy.
Love.
(He's felt it before, of course, but there's something about Zoro now that Sanji just can't ignore.)
“Hit your head too hard, shitcook?” Zoro demands, just as Sanji, in a moment of heightened emotional clarity—Zoro’s always looked good and he’s only come back more attractive since their time apart, since Sabaody, a wide hulking monster of muscles and tanned skin and secretive smirks—blurts, “You’re strong, Marimo!”
“What?” His sword is still drawn, blood not cleaned yet, sweat glistening on his forehead and his chest (oh, fuck, his massive pecs look amazing, Sanji wants to bury his face in them and lick) and it’s clear he’s ready to fight, thinks Sanji is mocking him. But Zoro’s earrings catch the sunlight, and Sanji has the overwhelming urge to run his fingers along the gold and make them chime, instead of sparring.
And instead of vocalizing that, or anything else because that would be the logical thing to do when it’s clear someone wants to fight because Sanji is an annoying failure of a crewmate, Sanji says, “You look so fucking good when you’re sweaty after a fight.”
A beat passes.
“Sanji?”
“Uhh. . . What?”
Realization smacks him. Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck why did he—
The look on Zoro's face can be described as the look Sanji would give to a bug squashed under his shoe. “The hell’re you going on about, Cook?”
“Uh. . .” The words replay in his head. He needs a cigarette. Fuck.
His cheeks burn in the way he knows means he’s blushing from his neck to his ears. He wants to melt into the floorboards as nothing more than dirty seawater. He wants to hide in the galley and drown himself in a pot of soup. He wants Zoro to stab him with Wado Ichimonji and use his pathetic remains as compost so at least he can find a way to be useful.
He was supposed to carry that secret to the grave. This is not how he wanted to admit to thinking Zoro is. . . decent looking.
Why is he saying this? Why can’t he stop himself?
Stop. Stop! Stop.
“I think I’d let you kill me if you kissed me right after.” He hears himself say. Every syllable. Soft. Almost reverent. Because Zoro’s strong and capable and loyal and perfect, and Sanji’s the pathetic lovesick moron in his shadow. I love you.
Zoro blinks. “The hell d’you say?”
Sanji steps back. “Forget it. Just. . . just forget it.” Please.
Zoro snorts, and it’s the worst sound Sanji’s ever heard. Fuck. Shit. Fuck. “Seriously? Pulling this desperate act now, moron?” The words are sharp like his swords. He’s strong so his swings for a weak opponent like stupid pathetic Sanji are nothing. “Since when do you want men, curlybrow? You drunk? Dying?”
Sanji opens his mouth, but what comes out isn’t defense. He can’t stop the words from spilling and it’s so embarrassing, he’s thankful Zoro never believes anything he says. “Since you fought Mihawk.”
“What.”
“You’re strong,” he mumbles, starting to ramble because the pressure on his heart feels like it’s going to burst if he doesn’t get these words out. “You’re always there when it counts.” Fuck fuck fuck, he needs to stop, he’s never said this out loud before and he can’t be saying this now, not when Zoro is sneering at him and Sanji’s chest feels like this twisted mess of emotion. But if he doesn’t say anything he’s going to burst and why would he hide how he feels anyway, love is about showing feelings and he needs to babble, “No matter what happens, you never hesitate. It’s nothing to you, just jumping in to keep the crew safe. You’re always the first one to protect us, and—”
“You got some nerve saying that shit when you’re lying on the deck because you can’t hit a woman.” Zoro's words are cutting, as they are when he and Sanji argue, but for some reason they hurt more than Sanji expects.
Well, they always hurt, but Sanji’s gotten used to projecting the kind of persona that Zoro can tolerate. No one wants weak, useless Sanji. Zoro prefers overconfident, annoying Sanji, even though he dislikes that Sanji as much as everyone else does.
“Oh.”
His heart pounds too hard and too fast and he thinks he hears it in his ears and it’s going to fall out of his stomach, somehow. He thinks he wants to vomit. He thinks he’s thinking too much. He's thinking—
“What is this, some kind of distraction? Think I’m gonna forget you falling over yourself to get hit by that pirate woman?”
Sanji’s chest tightens, the overwhelming feelings of embarrassment and hurt rushing through him, competing. Zoro’s harsh dismissal makes him feel smaller than ever, which is saying a lot considering he trained so much the past two years with the hopes of being equals and then returned and saw how much Zoro had grown.
(How the gap had widened.)
He doesn’t know how, in a world of so many people, Luffy’s crew managed to find the one kind of man who could represent everything Sanji wishes he could be. Two years apart where he worked and trained nonstop, and he was reminded of how inadequate he is. He’d bulked up as Zoro used to mock him for how lanky he was, but Zoro’s still double his size, a looming, beefy mosshead of a man.
“No, I. . .”
His body feels like it’s on fire, and his emotions are too much to handle. Shit, Germa would destroy him for this. Lock him away for his embarrassing shows of emotion, useless declarations since Zoro would never reciprocate anything like this. Why why why why—
Why did he say any of that? He’s always known what Zoro thinks of him and was fine pretending the attraction wasn’t there with the hopes of it just going away.
Fuck.
“Uh, Sanji?” Sanji jolts from his spiral, and Usopp offers him a small smile. He fidgets, uncomfortable about something. Good old Usopp, reliable, kind, long-nosed Usopp. “Are you okay?”
“Yes!” he squeaks, voice a higher pitch than he would like.
Sanji turns to look back at Zoro, who is not looking at him. The humiliation of Zoro's rejection makes it hard to breathe. Everyone saw it, too. They heard him. They hate him. Everyone knows he’s a failure, a pathetic lovesick mess who wants the Mosshead to hold him and fuck him and love him.
An impossibility.
Luffy laughs, loud and boisterous, breaking through the tension. “Sanji likes Zoro!”
“Why don’t you come with me to the infirmary?” Chopper scurries over, placing a small hoof on Sanji’s arm. “You were hit kind of hard.”
He feels like his thoughts are the steam of the bao buns he had been making, and his head is floating away. “Sure.” Chopper has to switch forms to help him stand, his legs shaking so hard it’s pathetic. He’s pathetic. He’s always been pathetic. “Yeah.”
Everyone on the crew is watching how pathetic he is, why is he like this why the hell—
“What is wrong with you?” Nami shouts at Zoro behind him. There’s a thumping sound. She must have hit him. “Can’t you see something’s wrong with Sanji?”
Wonderful, amazing, precious Nami-swan. Defending his honor like the angel she is! Sanji loves her.
But not as much as he loves Zoro.
“What d'you mean, witch? The idiot’s being his usual. . .”
He tries to ignore Zoro’s insults as he listens to Chopper’s voice, but his thoughts start turning and turning.
He needs to rationalize this, go through the facts, figure this out.
They’d been fighting pirates who thought the Straw Hats would be an easy target. His fingers make their way to his hair, and he tugs on the blond strands, grounding himself.
He and the Mosshead were tag-teaming some pirates when a beautiful lady with shining brown hair falling over very nice tits—not as bouncy as Nami’s or Robin’s, of course, but Sanji doesn’t discriminate; Zoro also has great pecs Sanji wouldn’t mind pressing his face into—joined the fray, and of course Sanji couldn’t attack her, he’s a gentleman.
Tits aside, Zoro had been frustrated, furious. (Because he knows Sanji’s a weak pretender more passionate about cooking than fighting—he fights because he has to, but if he could be in the kitchen all day instead, making people happy with his craft, his only skill, he’d do it—and Sanji was getting in the way again.) Sanji pulls at his roots, hair tangling between his fingers.
The woman hit him with a pink Devil Fruit blast when he and Zoro started arguing, and Zoro knocked her out after Sanji fell.
When he saw Zoro after, it was different. His feelings are the same as they've been for years, but his body was energized, buzzing with force, a need to let Zoro know everything he’s been hiding.
Okay. Facts.
But what kind of Devil Fruit would make him blurt out his feelings for Zoro? Why does his body feel so on edge?
He feels like he’s going to faint but he also feels like he’s floating. He’s so in love with Zoro it hurts. His hands are shaking as he digs through his pockets for his box of cigarettes, the long drag of nicotine not enough to keep him from wanting to vomit.
He’s numb as Chopper performs his examination. Can barely hear the explanation Chopper theorizes from the results of a blood draw.
Lowered inhibitions.
Dopamine and serotonin increases.
Tachycardia.
Lust.
The last one isn’t even medical, but Chopper says it anyway, like it isn’t something pathetic.
“We don’t know what that woman’s power was, but it’s safe to say you’re acting like you want to mate with Zoro.”
“I don’t even like the shitty swordsman!” His voice cracks. Liar liar liar. Chopper’s words replay, and Sanji feels warm. “Mate with him?”
Chopper gives him a dubious look. Fuck. Sanji can’t even say he doesn’t like Zoro without it sounding like a lie.
A love Devil Fruit? A sex Devil Fruit? A Devil Fruit with the purpose of humiliating Sanji?
It doesn’t feel like that's the truth of the Fruit. He feels like his emotions are amplified, like every horrible wonderful exciting feeling he’s had for Zoro—and has been trying to shut down for years—has bubbled up. And he has to let the words and feelings out or he’ll melt into a puddle at Zoro’s boots, and that wouldn’t be too bad, because at least Zoro would acknowledge him that way, even just to step on him like the mess he is.
He tugs on the ends of his hair, chewing on his cigarette.
He’s defective. He’s emotional. He’s a mess. A failure. He wasn’t supposed to have emotions at all, and now he’s a horrible amalgamation of emotions no one wants to see or hear from him.
Good thing his brothers can't see any of this. Zoro is going to hate him even more.
Sanji’s barely back to reality as the others begin to file in.
“There’s nothing physically wrong,” Chopper explains to the crew as they file into the infirmary. “The Devil Fruit power made Sanji love Zoro, though. He has increased neurotransmitter activity and his hormones are not at his baseline!”
At least there’s a medical explanation, Sanji supposes. He needs more cigarettes.
"I think his reactions are amplified based on how the neurotransmitter levels keep increasing," Chopper adds.
“Only the kinky cook would be stupid enough to fall in love from a Devil Fruit.” Zoro scowls at him from the corner, crossing his arms. He looks so strong.
Having some kind of justification for his feelings doesn’t make it any easier. It doesn’t feel like the right Devil Fruit power, and it doesn’t explain why his feelings make him react. Sanji can play this up, though.
(He’s good at pretending if it means the crew will be comfortable with the failure that he is.)
“You don’t even need the Stupid-Stupid Fruit, as braindead as you are,” Sanji snarks.
He can’t bring himself to look Zoro in the eye after the fiasco on deck, but his heart is racing so fast he feels like his words will explode from his mouth if he can’t let someone know how he feels. He might blurt out the wrong thing at any time. And everyone in the crew is just watching him, waiting for him to say something embarrassing. He’s wanted to flirt with Zoro for years and now he has an excuse, but he’s already fucked it up.
“Wouldn’t mind being braindead to avoid your twirly shit.”
"Now you know what it's like to have someone actually like you, Mossy. It should be flattering, getting real romance from someone like me."
(As though having Sanji's love could be anything but torture.)
"You'd think with your crazy woman-loving bullshit you'd have fallen for one of the girls."
Right. Even with his own feelings amplified, it doesn’t change how Zoro feels.
"No one needs a Devil Fruit to fall for our lovely ladies, you dumb brute, obviously."
He’s been keeping his feelings quiet because he knows how awful it has to be as the object of affection from someone like him. As the feelings begin to swell again, he starts feeling a bit light-headed. He doesn’t think this is a love spell, because he already loved Zoro, but maybe that’s why it’s so much worse? A Devil Fruit impacting feelings that are already there? Amplifying them?
He digs his teeth into his cigarette, breaking it in half and gnawing at his lower lip. He can’t say any of that. He won’t say it.
“So you’re in love with Zoro now?” Usopp stares at him. Sanji kicks him away, annoyed. "Is it because he was the first person you saw after getting hit?”
“Yes,” he whispers, heart pounding too hard. That’s not a bad explanation. He silently thanks Usopp for his contribution to the newest façade Sanji will have to act.
Loving Zoro is because of a Devil Fruit. Not because he's Zoro. Simple enough.
“It's not so unusual,” Robin says with a serene smile. “Opposites do attract.”
Beautiful Robin! She’s right!
“I looked at that dumb brute first because he was stinking up the deck!” He feels the flush on his face and knows he isn’t convincing anyone. Not when Zoro is smirking at him like that. “When’s the last time you bathed, stinky Moss?”
“Yeah?”
There’s a shine in his eye—oh, Sanji misses being able to look at both of his eyes, but now he looks so rugged and masculine and Sanji wants to ask him what happened, wants to sit on his lap and press their dicks together and be engulfed in his large, muscular arms and hear all his stories, understand more about the man he loves—that makes Sanji’s stomach turn. He tastes blood from his lip, he needs another cigarette.
“Yeah. . .”
Zoro smirks. Oh no.
“I thought I looked good?”
Sanji wants to protest. To insist that these feelings are horrible, that it should have been one of the lovely ladies that he fell in love with. But why would he say that when he loves Zoro? “You’re a mold infestation!” The words catch in his throat. You always look hot.
Usopp snickers, and Nami starts laughing.
“Nami-swan?” he whimpers.
“I always look hot?”
Oh fuck, he said that out loud.
"No!" Fuck. He groans. He’s so embarrassed. Nami must think so low of him. Zoro must hate him.
Zoro’s smirk is so intense, and there’s a fire in his expression that sends heat to Sanji’s face (and his dick). For a moment it doesn’t look like he hates Sanji, and Sanji can’t breathe. If Zoro looks at him like this more, he won’t survive. What can he do to make Zoro look at him like this more? He’ll do it.
“You like me sweaty, Shit Cook?”
He thinks of kissing Zoro, sweaty because he’s just worked out, the stupid stinky swordsman. He’d run his hands down Zoro’s muscles and press his lips against Zoro’s neck, and Zoro’s large hands would grip his ass and spread his. . .
Blood spurts from his nose.
“No way!”
“Did you just. . .”
“Sanji, no! Not again!” Chopper cries, already scampering for blood bags.
Sanji doesn’t even try to look at Zoro’s face. He knows there’s disgust there. Anger. Revulsion. Maybe even embarrassment. Why would he want stupid pathetic failure Sanji’s love?
He wants to cry. His stupid emotions are doing this, making him react and hurt people and make people feel repulsed being around him, more than they ever had before. His hands make their way to his hair, tugging tugging tugging, forcing him back to a reality he doesn’t want to be part of.
You’re on the Sunny. You’re not wearing a mask. Chopper is here. Your brothers are not. Nami is here. Robin is here. Zoro is here. Zoro hates you. Zoro—
“You’re not gonna confess or something, are you?”
Sanji yanks at his hair. I’m not in love with you. I’m not going to confess anything! I. . . Blood continues to drip from his nose. He’s pathetic. Stupid. An emotional mess failing everyone, as usual. “I’ll try."
Zoro frowns. “Cook. . .”
He can’t burden Zoro with these feelings. He won’t make more people feel obligated to put up with him when they already have so much to do, why should Zoro have to deal with Sanji like this when he’s already doing so much for the crew? He doesn’t need Sanji and his emotional baggage dragging him down like the useless sack of deadweight he is he’s a horrible stinking failure he needs to leave he needs to—
He needs—
He nee—
He—
H—
—
“. . .you should. . . stay away. . . Zoro. . .” Chopper’s voice sounds muffled, far away.
“Wha. . .” Sanji feels dizzy.
The infirmary is slow to come back into focus. It’s just him and Chopper now, the calm sway of the Sunny on the sea.
He narrows his eyes at Chopper as he jots notes on a clipboard. Sanji wonders what they say about him, how pathetic he must be. “What?” he manages, though his voice is raspy.
“Your reaction went beyond a love-at-first sight phenomenon.” Chopper looks thoughtful. “I think it manifested as a bad case of severe supraventricular tachycardia. You syncopized and—”
“Uh—”
“Your heart was beating so fast you passed out.” Chopper tries to smile, but he looks too serious even with his gentle tone. “Sanji. . .”
It’s a relief, not having Zoro there for Chopper’s explanation. He wants Zoro there, of course, wants those strong arms wrapped around him, the protection and dedication and stability of someone like Zoro.
He would love whole-heartedly, earnestly. He’s strong and devoted. He's loyal. He knows what he wants. The kind of man Sanji could only dream of.
But Sanji doesn’t think he can handle what his emotions are doing to him. Is this what it’s like for people who aren’t in denial of their feelings? Do they enjoy this?
"I think it's more than love-at-first sight. Your emotions are tied to your physical responses. You passed out because you were overwhelmed with love for Zoro!"
"Don't say that!" Sanji glances around the infirmary, relieved Zoro isn't there to hear this.
Is that what this Devil Fruit is doing to him?
"Based on your blood hormone levels, everything you feel is amplified," Chopper admits, "and stress hormones at the levels you experienced can be dangerous. Too much epinephrine and norepinephrine, for example, could stress your heart muscles and lead to a literal broken heart!"
Sanji resists the urge to tug at his hair, grimacing at the cut on his bottom lip from how hard he’s bitten it.
“The same way I recommended you not look at the mermaids on Fishman Island”—Sanji flushes at the memory, those perfect mermaids showing him more beauty than he could hope to see with his crew full of idiots, rugged Zoro with his new muscles and physique—“I need you to avoid exacerbating your condition and keep away from Zoro.”
“I’ve wanted an excuse to do that since I joined,” he jokes.
He can’t avoid Zoro, they almost always interact on the Sunny, through verbal sparring or physical fights, through extended periods of eye contact, through quiet moments next to each other without needing to talk.
If Sanji doesn’t have that anymore, it’s just. . . wrong.
“I’m serious.”
"Me too."
"Sanji. . ."
“Will do, Doctor,” he says with a little salute. It’s not going to happen. It’s about as likely as him quitting smoking. He won’t even try. But if he does avoid Zoro, maybe he would feel less humiliated. He wouldn’t say so many stupid things. He wouldn’t make Zoro hate him more.
“Thanks, Sanji!” He smiles at Chopper’s bashful reaction.
Sanji runs his tongue over his torn bottom lip. “Am I good to start on lunch?”
He is good to start on lunch, it seems, but his Devil Fruit-addled brain reminds him that when he loves someone he’s supposed to show that he loves them with acts of service. How else can he show his worth if not with physical gestures? Grand declarations? Favors upon favors? Sacrifice?
He’s always done this for Zoro in subtle ways—preparing protein shakes and important carbohydrate meals and vitamins for his training, cleaning his equipment when he knows Zoro isn’t paying attention, purchasing Zoro’s favorite sakes even though he knows Zoro doesn’t need more alcohol and the saved finances would make angelic perfect Nami so happy—but he feels like he needs to show it now, otherwise Zoro won’t know.
He has an excuse at least, to show Zoro his love and pretend it’s okay. Maybe Zoro will take pity on him and let him do these acts of kindness just to placate him. Zoro is that kind of person.
But would he do that for pathetic, annoying Sanji?
While lunch simmers on the stove, Sanji lovingly crafts Zoro’s favorite snack with his favorite fillings, and he pulls out one of Zoro’s preferred sake brands he sets aside for when he needs to bribe Zoro. He plates everything delicately, devotedly, making sure the tray shows some of his best work. Whether or not Zoro appreciates it doesn’t matter.
He doesn’t want Zoro to hate him more.
“The hell is wrong with me?” He buries his face in his hands.
Everything.
Everything is wrong.
He wants to tell Zoro to kiss him until he forgets his name. Like some pathetic prince with a crush and no impulse control. He wants to say he loves Zoro. Admit he’s wanted Zoro for years.
All the things he’s buried and beaten down and smoked over and distracted away. Years of wanting. Of almost-touching. Of listening to Zoro snore a room away and pretending he didn’t want to climb in beside him just to see if he’d stop having nightmares in Zoro’s wonderful arms.
He cooks, thoughts circling in his head like his cigarette smoke.
This is how Sanji loves, with bold gestures and acts of service. This Devil Fruit is helpful so he has an excuse to feel what it’s like to love Zoro openly.
(Maybe when it fades, he can get over his feelings.)
He knows what he said to Chopper, knows he should protect himself (and Zoro, who never needs protecting but deserves peace away from stupid Sanji). But he finds himself making his way to the part of the deck where Zoro likes to take his naps, because of how the sun keeps the area warm, and Zoro is warm-blooded, passionate, steadfast and true.
They don’t know how long the Devil Fruit will last or if there’s a way to break the curse it’s placed on him, but Sanji is an expert in regulating his emotions. Judge and his brothers didn’t torture him for years just for him to expose every feeling he ever has. He can be strong through this ordeal.
Sure, he’s already fucked up several times and made it clear he loves Zoro. But it’s okay, because Usopp gave him the perfect excuse.
He’s been hiding these feelings for years. He can, at the very least, act the way he would if he was in a relationship with Zoro. Maybe the pretending will make this ordeal less miserable.
(A relationship. . . with Zoro. . .)
He wouldn’t be blurting all his thoughts like this, like his emotions are going to explode out of him. No, he’d be his usual self, the one that Zoro can tolerate, but with gentler insults and more gifts and services and, and.
He can do that.
“Zoro. . .”
Sanji’s face flushes seeing Zoro sitting up and leaning against the railing, his eye shut, his face serene. He’s so beautiful, with long eyelashes and soft yet masculine features, a harsh jaw that Sanji wants to run his fingers along, full lips that Sanji wants to hear say something nice about him. Just once.
He wants to kiss Zoro.
He kneels so he’s at Zoro’s level, so they’re face to face.
“Mosshead!” Sanji’s heart skips a beat as Zoro cracks open his eye. The intensity of that steel gray makes him shiver. He knows how Zoro feels about him, and he knows he’s annoying, but it doesn’t stop his stupid traitorous voice from continuing, “Snack time!”
Zoro stares at him like he’s insane, and Sanji scrambles away, face burning.
“You poison them or something?”
He swallows the tight feeling at the back of his throat. Fuck, he never cared this much before. Every stupid reaction Zoro has hurts. More than usual, at least. Damn Devil Fruit. Chopper wasn't off in his diagnosis it seems.
“Find out,” he snarls, proud of his normal reaction, even though he’s swallowing bile.
“Sure.” He shrugs, then a smug smile begins to form on his lips. It’s dangerous and attractive and Sanji thinks his heart can’t support him anymore because Zoro doesn’t smile like that and not at him unless— “You made them special.”
Oh.
Heat blossoms on his cheeks, his heart racing. Yes, of course I did! You protected me in that fight because you were thinking of me, Marimo, why wouldn’t I? You’re Zoro!
“For me.”
“No!” Sanji shoves the plate into Zoro’s hands, face flaming. “This was just extra! You’re a brute with no functioning tastebuds and my quality food is wasted on a Neanderthal like you!”
“Maybe it’s because you’re a shit cook.”
“Maybe it’s because you’re a fucking moron.”
He bites his bottom lip hard, reopening where he’d been biting and bleeding earlier, wishing he’d thought to grab a smoke before doing this. He knows no one enjoys when he does this. Beautiful Nami takes advantage of him. Robin placates him like a toddler. That’s why he reacts this way for people where it won’t matter: women who would never love him, men he will never see again. But Zoro. . .
“Huh.” Zoro nods. “Thought you’d lost it.”
“I’m not going to say anything weird,” Sanji insists. “I’ll bite through my tongue before I say one more stupid thing because you're rubbing off on me. I’m competing with your singular brain cell to be the most stupid, and it’s not worth it.”
Zoro just shrugs. “Didn’t ask you to talk.”
Sanji turns away, cheeks burning. He bites his lip before he says the embarrassing words aloud, but Zoro hears them anyway, like he’s been hearing every embarrassing thing Sanji’s said since he was hit by the stupid Devil Fruit. He mumbles under his breath.
“Say it again,” Zoro says, arms crossed over that infuriating chest like he knows what it does to Sanji.
“No.”
“You already said it.”
Sanji groans and rubs his face, like it will force the heat of his flush away. “I was under duress.”
“You were under me in your imagination.”
“Shut up, you grasshead!”
“‘Your abs were carved by a vengeful god and I want to lick the sweat off of them,’” Zoro mocks, his stupid face looking pretty as his lips quirk into a stupid beautiful smile. Zoro’s smiles are so rare and Sanji can’t help but cherish every time they’re in his direction, even though none of them are ever directed at him. “That why you ‘like me sweaty’?”
Yes.
But he can’t stop talking. That’s the problem. His chest keeps heaving, his throat burns, and every time he opens his mouth, something humiliating falls out. Sanji is the humiliation of the Straw Hats. “You still need to shower more,” Sanji insists, nose twitching. Good. Okay. He’s doing— “You deserve it after working so hard.”
Fuck.
“Sorry.” He inhales. His eyes sting.
“Hey.” Zoro—the calm, dependable, unfaltering beast of a man Sanji fell in love with in the first place—sits up. He looks concerned, which makes Sanji’s heart hurt more. He wills his tears to keep from falling. His throat still feels like something’s lodged in it. Zoro doesn't even like Sanji and he's still so kind. Sanji doesn't deserve it. “It’s not a big deal, dumb lovecook.”
Except Sanji feels like the butt of the joke, when his words keep blurting out of him the same way they do with the beautiful women he admires, except that these feelings are real and have been burning him since before he even joined the Straw Hats. His feelings are manifesting with heart palpitations and heat so intense he feels like fainting. His fingers make it to the roots of his hair, and he tugs, grounding himself.
“Yeah?” His voice sounds detached, not like his own. It’s a huge fucking deal! He’s an emotional wreck blurting every loving and every perverted thought he has about Zoro for everyone to hear, even if it’s under the pretense of some kind of warped Devil Fruit power.
“Yeah.”
“I would make fun if it were you.”
“I can wait.” Zoro shrugs. “There’s enough to make fun of without this.”
“Hey—”
“So the Devil Fruit makes you treat me like one of your ladies. It’s stupid, but it’ll wear off and you’ll be back to bleeding over the girls in no time.” Zoro’s voice is both rough and steady. He’s always know what he wants and has always gone for it. "You don't even like men."
"Men are disgusting brutes like you! Women are angels!" He can't help the little shimmy of his hips at the thought of them. "But I like you."
"Cook. . ." Zoro’s expression is soft, not unkind, and Sanji’s heart sputters in his chest. He loves Zoro so much.
Where Sanji overthinks and spirals and self-deprecates, Zoro is the man who knows what he wants and what he means and says it. In one breath, he alleviates some of Sanji’s worries, and he makes Sanji feel good, like the world isn’t as heavy and horrible as it is. He’s stable and kind and wonderful. He makes Sanji want to say things he likes to hold to himself. He wants Zoro to hug him. He wants to hug Zoro and show how much he appreciates having someone like him around. He wants Zoro’s warmth and his love and—
Sanji smiles, playing with some of the hair that curls by his face. “I love you.”
I love you I love you I love you.
“Everything I said is true,” he says in a rush. “You’re an infuriating bastard. You’re arrogant, reckless, and you get on my nerves every damn day. But. . . you’re also strong. Reliable. You protect everyone without a second thought, and you never back down, no matter how hard things get. I love how strong you are, how you train so you’re at your best to protect us and go for your ambitions. You sacrificed so much at Thriller Bark but you never doubted yourself, and it’s amazing and—”
“Stop.” Sanji’s heart stops, as though Zoro’s command was for that. Chopper's diagnosis repeats in his head. “That’s not you talkin’, Cook.”
They stare at each other for what feels like too long. Then the words catch up to Sanji.
Oh. Shit.
Why did he say that? Why did he say that? Why did he say that? Why did he say that? Why did he say that? Why did he say that?
Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck—
"Curly." Zoro frowns. He isn’t making fun, at least, but he looks annoyed, almost pained.
Like Sanji confessing to him just made the horrible day even worse, and he would rather Sanji hadn’t said anything. Sanji can’t blame anyone for feeling that. It’s a fair assessment for anyone stuck with Sanji’s affections.
“Thought you weren’t gonna confess to me.” He grabs an onigiri from the plate, shoving the whole thing into his mouth like the hot, disgusting gorilla he is, glaring at the deck. His face is pink. He’s beautiful. He’s too loyal to the crew to reject Sanji. He’s honest enough to not lie, but the rejection is clear.
He makes a face like the onigiri isn’t good, even though Sanji worked hard on it so it should taste decent. Oh. Sanji’s mood plummets further.
Right. Sanji’s skill is his cooking, and Zoro’s never liked anything he’s made, anyway.
His eyes sting.
Sanji scrambles to stand, tugging at his hair. He won’t apologize—because even though he’s sorry Zoro has to deal with his feelings and has to know they exist now, he isn’t the type to apologize, let alone to Zoro—but he wants to erase the look on Zoro’s face from his memory.
“You don't even know what you're feeling now." Zoro’s mouth is a thin line, a frown, and Sanji knows what rejection is, he’s felt it before, he was raised as a failure, he knows. "You'll thank me when this is done.”
“I won't thank you. I know I love you, Zoro,” Sanji whispers.
“Curly—”
His heart is racing, he’s giddy with the feeling, of letting Zoro know. Finally. Finally. “I don’t care if it’s a Devil Fruit making me say it, but I know that I—”
“No,” Zoro interrupts, too fast, too eager to hurt him. His voice is so sharp. Sanji flinches. “I mean, come on. This is the Fruit talking. Right? You saw me first and now you’re stuck on me. It’ll wear off.”
Sanji’s heart lurches so hard he chokes. His heart breaks. It’s not going to wear off. The Fruit wants him to keep confessing until he dies.
No.
I love you I love you I love you.
I love you, Zoro.
“No,” he whispers.
“I can’t return those feelings, Curly.”
“I. . . I get it,” Sanji says, his voice a whisper. He’s fighting back tears, but the emotional overload makes it impossible for him to hide his pain. His heart feels like it's going to beat right out of his chest, it's so fast. “I should’ve known. . . It was stupid to think you’d feel the same.”
Zoro’s rejection proves that he’s never going to be good enough, not just for Zoro, but maybe for anyone.
He’ll still have feelings for Zoro, but maybe it’s time to move on. He needs to get used to the idea that Zoro’s kindness doesn’t mean love. It’s just who he is. He’s always known this. He doesn’t know why he forgot.
It doesn’t make it any less painful to be in love with someone who doesn’t return the feelings.
“Cook, it’s not that.”
Right. Zoro’s too kind. He wouldn’t let Sanji down cruelly, no matter how much he dislikes Sanji.
Zoro is gentle as he takes Sanji’s hand. Zoro’s hand is rough, scarred and dry and calloused. It feels wonderful. “When the Fruit wears off, talk.”
Talk about what? Sanji blinks, unsure if it’s a promise or a warning. Just listen to Chopper. No more harassing Zoro. Stop spending time with Zoro. Sanji’s such an idiot.
“Mean it,” Zoro says, quiet. His gaze is soft. “Talk to me.”
Sanji’s lips tremble into a smile, desperate and hopeful, heart pounding so desperately he doesn't think he can breathe. It’s not the confident smile he wears in the kitchen, but a fragile, desperate little thing borne from raw hope and aching vulnerability.
“I love you,” he says again, voice heavy with everything he wants Zoro to hear and know he means.
"Sure, Curly," Zoro says, placating. He thinks his heart is breaking.
I love you, he wants to say, but no one thinks it's true.