Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Sanji sometimes wondered when his life truly went downhill.

His life had always been a fucking rollercoaster, going through thick and thin to survive throughout his life considering who his blood family were. However, it always came back up, like after those months of starvation with Zeff, he finally had a father figure and a happy home and a warm plate of food to eat each night. He could explore his talent and passion for cooking, his generosity and kind heart nurtured and kept alive by his deceased mother. It allowed him to feel free for the first time, for his life to matter and bring an actual use to those around him.

It made him feel useful. He loved the Baratie, he loved cooking and all those stupid ass chefs at that place, and not that he’d admit it, but he loved Zeff too.

However, the next fall, sacrificing Sanji to be nothing more than a slave via arranged marriage to one of the Big Mum daughters when he was twenty four and she was nineteen. He hated everything about the circumstances, how he was nothing much more than a pawn to his family, to be tossed away but resurfaced at any moment they so chose. He hated his freedom being stripped away, his livelihood and father figure now under the threat of being burnt to a crisp and never seeing daylight again.

It was all he had, the people in and passion in his life that brought him joy, being torn away from him because Sanji’s life always rolled in ups and downs.

He should have known better, that the fucking Vinsmokes were never truly done with him no matter how much they preached he was dead.

He hated the slimy smiles and taunting laughter of the Big Mum family, the way they watched him scutter like a bug. Pudding was no better, but he understood she was just a pawn to her mother’s game, so he felt some empathy towards her. She wanted him dead for the sake of proving herself useful, and he wanted to be free from the shackles and refused to be wed to her. He held no affection or love for her whatsoever, he actually despised the principle of an arranged marriage, and he felt like he had a knife to his throat the entire process.

To know that if he protested he’d be nothing but a dead body, but if he didn’t he would be stuck in a loveless marriage dictated by his diabolical father where he would hate himself everyday. He didn’t want to be married, he held no romantic love for anyone, he just wanted to be free and live his life.

The next up was the conversation he and Pudding had away from the prying eyes and ears of their families, the first and only moment of being able to transparently see each other for their true personalities. He and Pudding in a tragic way were cut from the same cloth, easily disposable to their family but both at some point wishing at every turn to be useful. Sanji had squashed that need for pleading approval from his blood family many, many years ago and he made sure it would never resurface when he took his final stand to break off the engagement against both families' will.

He had no self preservation or hope for himself to try and convince her to break off the engagement, but his resignation when speaking on his life and family ties may have been what tied her empathy over. Either that, or the fact that Pudding herself did not want to be stuck in a marriage where they both clearly held no love for each other, and would continue to hold no love for each other. What made her break the engagement off, what allowed him to survive by the skin of his teeth after all he had to endure.

And so, Vinsmoke Sanji was once again tossed away and dead to the world as he had been, back to normality for him. He didn’t escape fully unscathed, scientists haunting the corners of his vision after having left and pinprick sensations of needles sometimes coming to him unbidden when his mind strayed. However, he was free once more, and hopefully finally for good this time away from the malicious hands of Vinsmoke Judge and his little troops of despair. Twenty four and free, the first thing he did was run back into his real fathers arms in the Baratie after he had been missing for nearly three weeks. Back in the safety of the Baratie, everything seemed to mellow and melt off his shoulders, and the chefs cried for his safety, and his father with teary eyes reprimanded him for his carelessness.

Regardless, life went back to normal.

Except it didn’t. Sanji should have known that those Vinsmoke bastards would use their underground reach and ties to try and make his life as much of a living hell as possible.

His apartment when he finally went back? Utterly destroyed beyond comprehension, photos shattered and torn, furniture toppled and marred beyond repair. He had to start fresh, but taking a deep breath with closed eyes in his doorway at the carnage, he was ready to start anew. He could live with Zeff in his apartment above the Baratie for now, just temporarily while he got back on his feet. Zeff was more than happy to let him, in his own complaining and gruff way that they were both used too, but Sanji couldn’t dare be a burden.

Still, Sanji itched for that freedom, skin rubbing raw at the fact that he was being even more of a burden to Zeff than he had ever wanted. He needed to stand on his own two feet, needed to have his own space and not rely too heavily on those who had already sacrificed so much for him to live. He already couldn’t pay back the debt to Zeff for all that he had done, he didn’t need more added to the pile or it would be ever insurmountable.

Starting anew was beyond difficult, when every person selling a property whether it be apartment or home or whatever was bribed to let him never even fucking enter. He was running out of options . Luckily the Baratie couldn’t be touched, and the Vinsmokes must have deemed the employees of the Baratie as mere flies that were too much work even acknowledging to try to ruin their lives. Sanji was already too much of a stretch for them, anyone associated with him was one step too far out of what they could give a fuck about caring about.

Either that or Reiju had intervened, something Sanji will never know and will bitterly have to swallow in hopes of having some redemption for the one family member he didn’t completely hate.

His luck turned, however, when he met an enigmatic redheaded woman with smiles and dollar signs in her eyes. Nami had been a blessing, clearly desperate to lease out an old apartment she owned and willing to give it to whoever first gave her the price she offered. Sanji had been so high strung and fed up with having his independence stripped that he offered her double what she had asked, and he could see the way she lit up like Christmas lights.

He also ignored the way she seemed to be moments away from fight or flight whenever she so much as looked at him, the barely refrained disgust in her eyes whenever they laid upon him. How once her eyes had so much as glanced at him, she shut herself off from even getting to know him. In spite of that, she seemed more than eager for him to live at her rented out-shoddy apartment, and Sanji was never one to take a blessing for granted. Plus, he always had a soft spot for gorgeous women like Nami, so he decided to push any of that residual anxiety and stress from the past few months away and took the leap into a new place.

Nami had been nothing but sweet and generous the entire time he had met her, he was simply seeing things that his haunted mind could not get past.

His old man, when finally coming by to see his new place, seemed less than pleased. He seemed downright borderline abrasive when he had seen the way Nami interacted with him, the way she seemed too insistent for him to live there. Still, when Sanji spewed at him in desperation that this was all he could get, that it was driving him crazy that he couldn’t have that shred of independence for his own, Zeff held his tongue and let it lie.

All he had said was that his home was always open, and that as much as Sanji annoyed the shit out of him, he would never begrudge the company of his son.

Sanji tried not to cry too much as he moved a box or two of what little furniture and belongings he had into the new place, he and Zeff getting about decorating it with old and ratty furniture the other chefs had been willing to give Sanji. Over the weeks leading up to getting the keys to the place, he and Zeff had gone around town and looked at semi decent furniture that had been left on the verges of homes to be eventually dumped. It helped Sanji not have to spend costs, and enabled him to take unwanted items off other peoples hands.

It took a whole day, and many weeks prior to gathering and restoring the furniture, for his apartment to feel like a home. Fully functional, furnished and ready for him to finally live in. He had cooked Zeff a heartwarming dinner as a thank you, had hugged him tightly with tears in his eyes at the door when Zeff was about to leave, and then he was all alone in the place and pacing around for a light and a cigarette.

It was finally on that upswing, that luck at finding a place and Nami’s generosity being something Sanji would not take for granted. He could finally recover from the shitshow that had been his life, detangle himself and his mind away from the lecherous thorns and constricting vines that were the Vinsmoke name.

He had thought so, had hoped so, had held onto hope that this upswing would last.

It didn’t. It never did.

At first, he had thought someone was breaking into his place at night. Possible in the search of money, but never the intent to harm. His bedroom window, always shut tight and locked with the curtains drawn, would be mysteriously jutted open just an inch occasionally on mornings with more freezing and biting frosty wind. Items and clutter in his kitchen would oftentimes be moved, although not to a terrible amount, just clearly having been adjusted to be more to the left or right. If Sanji wasn’t too pedantic about his kitchen and utensils, he likely wouldn’t have even noticed.

However, nothing was ever stolen or broken, nothing swiped for the sake of making some quick cash. It was beyond bizarre, but Sanji decided to not put too much thought to it unless he threw his mind into endless circles of stress.

While it was extremely fucking weird, and Sanji would tell anyone else to run for the hills, Sanji decided to swallow it down and make excuses for the strangeness. He must have opened the window while half asleep, that was why he couldn’t remember it clearly! He must have knocked some of his utensils when he came home, utterly exhausted from work and not having the mind to notice at the time.

It wasn’t soon until the true paranoia started.

Floorboards creaking and croaking despite Sanji not moving, sometimes when he would be sitting on the couch, other times when he would be in a completely different room to where the sound came from. The wood was old, the walls were not thick, it was likely the winter weather. Phantom shivers and a sudden frozenness as if he had been dunked into an ice bath. The insulation must be worse than I thought, I just need to wear more layers! I’ve never been particularly good at the cold, that’s definitely it. The bathroom lights flickering and oftentimes flicked off when he was in the middle of a shower. The power probably gets a bit stuck, it’s not a huge inconvenience! Although… It is annoying that it keeps happening only when I’m in the middle of something.

He was getting increasingly paranoid and antsy, but once again, it was all nothing more than trivial inconveniences. Nothing spiteful or malevolent, it was almost like harmful pranks . Maybe Nami was just wanting to freak me out? Nah, the beautiful Nami would never do such a thing! Either way, while Sanji’s increasing stress and paranoia was slowly building to be more than he could handle, he always insisted on silencing the coincidences due to the harmless nature.

It really started getting seriously harmful after a particularly bad night where the evidence could no longer be ignored.

Nothing suspicious had happened upon his arrival home from a lengthy shift at work. Zeff had started to notice his frayed ends, the way he would become slightly jumpy and quicker to anger than usual. He had tried to corner Sanji to open up about what the hell had made him act like that, but Sanji had quickly diverted his attention and left after his shift finished before he could be questioned again.

Upon arrival home, everything had been as it was the day before. As he whipped up something quick in the kitchen to eat, he noticed with calming nerves that nothing had been disturbed at all. As he sat and ate, having the old shoddy television that had more than two strange coloured lines through it as white noise, the tension in his body slowly loosened at noticing there were no strange creaking or noises. Everything was normal, so normal it was strange, but Sanji paid no mind as he felt the exhaustion of being on edge all the time wash over him and he yawned.

Quickly washing up any utensils used and switching off the television, he got himself ready for bed in the bathroom. As he showered, he noticed no flickering or lights randomly turning off. As he brushed his teeth, he didn’t find that the tap would randomly start dripping or that he could sometimes catch something in the mirror in the corner of his eye. Fresh and ready for bed, he stepped back into the bedroom and checked the window, ensuring it was fully closed and locked. With the winter storming through he felt that he would freeze with the shitty insulation if the window was kept open all night.

Still, no form of tampering at all so far, so turning off all the lights, he rugged up under his many layers of bedsheets and finally bunkered down for the night. Without any form of unexpected noise, it was easy to let the fatigue and wariness win over and slip into sleep…

All he could recall was his nightmare coming in vibrant but sickening flashes, voices distorted like he had been dunked into a mess of an existence.

“Vinsmoke, just like the rest of them,” a voice, so familiar and usually filled with a distinct gruff but proudness when it came to him, was completely devoid of any. Sanji tried to reach out in the direction of the voice, but he felt as if his limbs had been strapped to the floor, as if something was weighing him down.

Weaker… Growing weaker…

A flash of a picture, only a millisecond before it disappeared back to the darkness. His mind caught up to bright smiles and a group of people held close. It was such a joyous expression, and yet one of their faces seemed to be completely scribbled out of Sanji’s vision.

“Where did I go wrong, Sanji?” A melodious voice of his childhood, the one voice of that time that was to bring stark happy memories, seemed to sob out to him. His limbs had grown to be dead weight now, completely numb and insensate. He had no choice but to listen to her heartbreaking weeping, that question asked out to him in hopes of an answer. 

“What?” He weakly attempted to call, but it was breathy and almost nonexistent in its strength. His vocal chords had a scratched quality, almost as if the noise was being squeezed out of him. 

Voice… Fading away…

A flash of green and bright laughter that seem to come from the chest, low and unexpected and breathy.

“I killed myself for you. I died because I tried to save you! So why…” The voice was cacophonous, a multitude of curses and shrieks of regret that Sanji was unable to sift through.

Consciousness… Dimming…

Three flashes of steel quickly flashing by in quick succession, the brightness of an iris like a clouded sky dimming, the splatter of blood upon the creaky floorboards.

Curled eyebrows, static flashes of colours that Sanji could unconsciously recall in his worst nightmares.

A straw hat, a scar under an eye, a smile bigger than the world and unruly black hair. Someone, distantly, Sanji feels he recognises from somewhere, but his mind keeps slipping away from him.

“ Why are you still a Vinsmoke. ”

He wasn’t a Vinsmoke. He wanted to deny it, to those cursing him with such a name. Such a tainted existence that he was born into, but not one he ever would have chosen. He was Sanji , not a Vinsmoke.

To them he was nothing more than the dirt they stood on.

“Scum.”

He wasn’t like them!

To them he was, and always will be, the failure. He had been warned that time and time again, had been hurt until it finally soaked into his existence that he would always be a failure.

“ Scum.”

He would never be anything like them, he would never do anything to be so cruel. He would always feel an ocean of emotion while they all felt less than abysmal nothingness.

For them, he truly was dead now that he no longer proved any usefulness.

There were only three Vinsmoke sons.

The third had died many, many years ago.

“ SCUM. ”

“ No ,” he tried to voice, and yet nothing but a puff of air escaped his lungs. Not a word, not even a sound, his voice having disappeared from him. Stripped of his autonomy, as if he was to cease existing in this realm. Frantically, he shook his head as tears started to form in his eyes. But nothing would fall as his body grew beyond frozen, his lungs cried out for the sustenance of air.

He couldn’t breathe.

He had no ability to scrabble his arms to his throat, to try and turn to his side and forcefully heave in and breathe.

He couldn’t breathe.

Faintly, standing above him as if Sanji’s sight were fading away, he could see a figure. A shock of green hair, three swords of blinding steel. Skin a tone that did not speak of health and life. One eye was like the cloudy sky on a spring day, piercing and demanding attention. Splatters of blood, on the side of their face covering the closed eye, and an echo of the red substance dripping onto the floor below them.

Splatters of blood coating the shirt over his torso as if they had been bathed in it.

The figure stared, haunted and otherworldly, as it reached out a hand to Sanji.

It was not a helping hand. It was not a gesture of kindness.

It was one to finish what it had started.

HE COULDN’T BREATHE.

As if electrocuted, Sanji jumped straight out of his bed with a scream torn straight from his lungs. It was visceral and filled with horror as he fell off the side of the bed and smacked straight into the unforgiving wooden floorboards. Curling up on his sure to be bruising side, Sanji swore he saw what appeared to be a haunted figure glaring down at him, the one like a flashbang in his vision before he had awoken. He wheezed and shook as he tried to regain all that missing air in his lungs greedily, covering himself fully with the blankets to try and hide away from the world.

“Shit, fuck ,” he croaked out mindlessly, a delirious but breathless laughter escaping him in short gasps as his lungs still screamed and his breathing was rattled. He almost wanted to laugh at how ridiculous this all was, how terrified he was, and yet he lacked the energy from how fucking freezing he was. Despite being swaddled in blankets upon blankets, he felt as if he had been laying in the snow for the past two hours.

When his eyes flickered and squinted towards the window, he saw it locked and closed innocently, clearly not the cause.

Reaching up a slowly defrosting hand to his neck, he poked and prodded and winced at the tenderness of the skin there. Deciding that tonight was a night he would simply sacrifice sleep for, lest he get another one of those terrible night terrors, he held onto the blankets like a cape as he stepped into the kitchen to heat up some coffee. Eyes with worsening bags underneath gave a quick glance to the clock ticking away, and noted down that it was close to 4am.

Nursing his boiling hot coffee against his still barely warm skin, he threw himself into some recipe work and thought up new culinary ideas for the Baratie to make the time go faster. He didn’t spare a look at the clock, even as the sun rose through the windows. He didn’t bother to eat something as his stomach rumbled in protest, the nausea instead granting him to smoke almost the entire pack of cigarettes he had to calm his nerves.

He wanted to ridicule himself for being so rattled by something that wasn’t even real.

It was seriously getting ridiculous, what was wrong with him?

He got ready for the day, not caring if he were early to his shift at the Baratie. His old man would scold him but would let him in regardless. It was his second home, he would not begrudge that. Layering himself up in clothes appropriate for the frosty weather, Sanji let his apartment door fall closed with a lock and decided the walk to work that he usually would whine and complain about might be a nice change. Might wake him up out of whatever funk his brain was in, dispel those thoughts creeping in that was spelling out danger .

He had nearly convinced himself of normality by the time he got to the Baratie, but that had quickly dined and dashed the moment Zeff had opened the door. He had opened the door with that exasperated face that clearly said he knew it was Sanji, but his face grew to this expression he had never seen before when the door fully opened. It was a mix between shock and a form of sickening concern, something that was hardly ever so candidly expressed by his father figure.

Before Sanji could question what weird shit he had accidentally eaten this morning to make him act so strange, Zeff had asked, “what the fuck happened to you?! Who the fuck did that to you!” He looked irate and irrational, arms flying out and grabbing onto Sanji’s shoulders as if in fear Sanji would turn tail and run.

“What?” Sanji could only mutter out, bewildered, seriously wondering if his old man had hit his head on one of the cabinets in the kitchen by accident.

“Your neck, Sanji. The bruises look like you’d been strangled to death if I didn’t know any better ! ”

His blood froze in his veins, the memories of the night floating in the back of his head and yet just out of reach. “ What. ” It was not a question but a statement filled with a boat load of trepidation. At his reaction, Zeff hauled him in and pushed him into the bathroom towards the mirror. He stood by the door of the bathroom, as if a guard to block it, absolutely fuming the more his mind processed whatever Sanji seemed to be missing.

In his attempt to get ready, Sanji had completely missed checking his appearance in the mirror. He severely wished he hadn’t though, as his eyes widened like saucers at what he saw. Around his neck were mottled and marred bruises, clearly fresh and purplish red around the entire front of his neck. When he turned it this way and tried to see how far the extensive bruising went, he noticed with a growing alarm that they almost seemed to follow the pattern of…

Handprints.

Sanji needed a fucking cigarette or he was going to throw up what nonexistent food he has in his stomach straight on the bathroom floor.

“What the fuck happened.”

“Fuck, I need to make a phone call.” When Zeff only hardened his expression, that ever present concern swimming around in the blue of his eyes, Sanji shook his head. He knew it was insane to insist on a phone call, and a part of Sanji himself was telling him seriously, is this the most important thing to do first? And yet… He had to get the fuck away from that apartment, and the first thing out of courtesy to do was to inform Nami he was no longer living there. So, Sanji pleaded, even if he knew it wasn’t rational or fair to ask of Zeff as a clearly concerned parent.  “ Please. I promise, I’ll tell you everything, I just… I need to call Nami.”

“That fucking apartment,” Zeff growled under his breath like a curse, like it was the sole cause of this entire calamity. It was comical in a seriously unfunny way how correct he was, but Sanji only gave him a grim smile that must have spelt something out to him. Zeff frowned at him for a bit but eventually stepped away from the door so Sanji could lock it and be by himself while he made the call.

With that precious privacy, Sanji whirled up his near dead phone and instantly rang Nami. He was still trying to process everything in his mind, and yet this seemed like the first logical thing in his head to do. Cut the danger off at the source, get rid of the apartment even if it meant paying money to her without actually living there. He didn’t care anymore, and had lost the capacity too.

“Sanji?” Nami’s voice called on the other end, almost a little confused. “Why’re you calling?” He had seen her be polite to other people when they had met up a few times to discuss the apartment, but never towards him. He never let it hurt him too much, and yet, it was just another block to that tumbling tower of anxiety that made Sanji decide to go through with this conversation.

“Sorry, Nami, dear. I, well… Unfortunately, I can’t live in that apartment anymore.”

“ What. ” Her words were flat, but he could hear the barely contained fury. He assumed it was due to his sudden bailing, that it must be hard to get a new tenant. Not that she had been harsh and cold to him the moment he had stepped into her vicinity and life by being her current tenant.

“I found a new place to stay, but I have to move now to get it,” Sanji lied smoothly, but his mind was frantic with roiling stress. “I’ll come collect all my stuff later tonight and I’ll pay out the rest of my rent for the next six months, or until you get someone new in. I’m seriously sorry about this,” he kept ranting, unable to help himself for the sake of needing to please. The fact that he may have hurt the gorgeous Nami fractured his heart and pride a little, but it was worth it for the sake of his safety and sanity at this point. He didn’t know what the fuck was wrong with that apartment, or if someone was living in the walls or something, but he had no patience left to endure it.

Nami had been silent the entire time he was explaining himself, but it soon extended to when he had even stopped. It got to the point Sanji actually had to check the call was still connected, fearful that she had hung up a while ago in rage. However, all she responded to his words was a very hostile, “ you fucking coward, ” and the phone call instantly died just like the apology on the tip of his tongue.

If he had a mere moment of energy for contemplation, he would have thought, coward? That’s a strange thing to say… But he had none of that, so instead he pocketed his phone and left the bathroom to the impatient presence of Zeff to explain the absurdity of the past few weeks. He knew he sounded a little insane, and Zeff at first had looked at him like he’d hit his head too hard and was having hallucinations induced by a concussion, but as time went by and Sanji’s insistent fear progressed, Zeff slowly accepted his answer.

“You’re staying here until either that shit sorts itself out, or you get a new place. No fucking arguments about it this time, you hear me?” A small flame of brattiness dwindled in the wind, wanting to argue back for the sake of their usual dynamic. But Sanji was only tired and resigned, so he accepted it and let himself be ushered up to his old room to procure a scarf to try to hide the marring on his neck from the rest of the chefs and possible guests. For safe measure, Sanji had even wrapped a few bandages around the area for the sake of protection, but that was as far as he was willing to even entertain the wound on his neck.

Frankly, he’d rather just forget any of this madness even happened.

He knew it was bad when the other chefs finally arrived and no one even threw some teasing or ribbing at him. Instead they all shared nervous smiles and barely withheld worry at the bandages peeking out from underneath the scarf as he moved this way and that in the dance of the kitchen. No one said a word, but he could tell Patty and Carne were itching at the chance to try and interrogate him into spilling what happened. Zeff’s mood, as well as Sanji’s clear lack of sleep, must have stopped them for the time being.

Sanji was fine with that, happy even. He loved his work in the kitchen, could throw himself into it with perfection and grace and pretend that nothing ever happened. He could ignore the itchiness of the abrasive bandages rubbing up against the sweatiness of his neck. He could ignore, possibly even thank the heat of the kitchen that made him feel like he was being boiled alive. It was a nice change from feeling like he was frozen and five feet under, so he decided to appreciate it while he could.

Like this, the day went by easily and uninterrupted.

That was, until, one of the servers nervously entered and told them that a table was requesting Sanji specifically.

When Zeff had told them to request someone else, the server only became more nervous and said they insisted that they looked like they weren’t going to leave until they saw Sanji. He saw the way everyone became tense, a few cracking their knuckles as if preparing for a fight, and Zeff looked beyond murderous at the idea.

Sanji knew it wasn’t worth it, that if it wasn’t the Vinsmokes then it would be perfectly fine. And he knew damn well it wouldn’t be them, that they wouldn’t dare be seen with him in broad daylight when they could just get to him in many other ways. “It’s fine, mind escorting me to the table?” Zeff had angry words about to spew, but Sanji just cattishly claimed he could fend for himself, and if any shithead tried to harm him Sanji would not be the one nursing wounds at the end of it.

With Zeff begrudgingly acquiescing, Sanji followed the server diligently to a table hidden in a corner booth. It was the most private booth they had in the Baratie, and oftentimes it would be booked out for at least a week in advance. However, with the day he had been having, he had a harder time believing that this was just a coincidence . This thought only became more apparent when he saw who was sitting there waiting for his arrival. When he laid eyes on the two currently waiting for him, now arriving at the table and turning to him in turn, the server bid goodbye and skittered away like a fearful animal.

On one end was a beautiful woman with lengthy and shiny black hair, blue eyes striking and her previous smile giving way to a more neutral but mysterious expression. He couldn’t glean much from her, clearly guarding her thoughts and opinions of him in shrouds of mystery, but faintly, oh so faintly, he feels that he may have briefly seen this woman somewhere.

His throat suddenly felt sensitive, but Sanji refrained from touching.

On the other was a man with unruly black hair that was haphazardly covered up with a straw hat despite being inside an establishment and no longer being outside. Underneath one eye was a distinctly unique but familiar scar, and before he had turned to Sanji, his smile seemed to be bigger than the whole world…

The marks on his throat felt like they were burning , and Sanji nearly wanted to back away at the all too familiar appearance of someone he had no recollection of meeting before. He had no choice when two pairs of eyes were now on him to stay rooted to his spot, letting himself fall back on years of customer service smiles and niceties as a shield from his emotions.

“Good afternoon, is there anything I can help you both with today?” Sanji parrotted out like a mantra, giving the beautiful woman a lovely smile and even a little wink, turning to the man and forcing his smile to not slip with his growing nerves. He distinctly felt like a mouse amongst vultures, as if he was being analysed under precise microscopes and he had been dissected, as if he were the sole actor with a spotlight straight on him on a stage to a critical audience.

“Are you…” the man seemed to pause, a distinctively off pitch humming noise coming out of his mouth as he pinched his chin in a comical display of thinking. It was a ginormous turn from the tone of the day that Sanji felt like he had just gotten backhanded. If he didn’t know any better, he’d apologise and talk to the server that they may have brought him to the wrong table and be a little frustrated about the wasted time. However, he knew this had to be the right table based on the two figures sitting down, he just had no clue why they had called him, or who they even were.

“ Sanji , Luffy,” The woman had interrupted to spare everyone the waste of time, but she had definitely let his silly behaviour go on longer than necessary if her smile was anything to go by. Sanji gave a little nod and a short bow in acknowledgment of the name, Luffy oohing and aahing a bit at finally recognising his name.

“You’re a chef? Wow, can you make me some meat? I’m reaaaaaally hungry!” Sanji could only blink in surprise, his sluggish mind catching up as his hand unconsciously reached up to the scarf at his neck to adjust it. Noticing his movement and the way the woman’s observant eyes narrowed slightly at the presence of the bandages being revealed, his hand dropped limp and he smiled at the man named Luffy.

“I can, any requests? I’m actually the sous chef here,” Sanji corrected Luffy, who clearly did not come here knowing Sanji was a chef. Clearly, he came here to see Sanji for some other reason, and Sanji was growing weary of all these games and abnormalities in his life lately. Luffy’s eyes lit up like the sun at the information and the promise of food, a little bit of drool disgustingly slipping from the corner of his mouth as he eyed Sanji in delight.

“I’ll eat anything!” Luffy cheered, clearly enthused at having food made specially for him. Sanji felt a weary but genuine smile break through his face, unable to help himself but be soothed a little by the honest enthusiasm for his cooking. He couldn't help it, his cooking and cooking for others held a soft spot for him. Even if he knew Luffy being here was not a coincidence, and he had some sort of ties to the event of last night, he couldn’t turn someone hungry away no matter who they were.

“Apologies, Sous Chef, but I must inform you that Luffy has an endless appetite. If you cook him something, I recommend making a much larger portion than you would for any other guest,” the woman warned with a very light tone, cupping her cheek in a palm with a strange sort of smile directed towards him. The way she stared at him, it was almost as if she could see straight through him. As if he were a piece of glass or the beautiful clear sea, transparent to the core for her blue, blue eyes to observe to her heart's content.

“I’m sorry, dear. I don’t seem to have caught your name?” He asked politely, ignoring the way Luffy was cheering childishly and causing some of the patrons nearby to turn to him with a wrinkled nose and eyebrows of judgement.

“Apologies, my name is Robin. It’s nice to meet you,” she dipped her head slightly to be polite, but it seemed for the sake of formalities. Sanji could not blame her for that, considering it felt like everyone currently held him in caution. Distantly, Sanji’s cautious brain wondered if that were even her real name or an alias, but his perception somehow convinced himself she was being honest.

“Likewise, dear. I’ll get some of the finest food out for the both of you if you don’t mind a short wait,” he said with another bow, making a swift exit to the kitchen while rolling up his sleeves further in preparation. When he entered the kitchen, the doors smacking against the walls in protest, everyone turned to him with a tense silence as if expecting to have some form of an emotional outburst. Instead, with a determination bringing a sense of tranquillity inside, he stepped into his own world and ignored everyone as he procured meat after meat to marinade and cook.

He didn’t know why but he felt like he had to prove himself, that this would be one of the most important dishes he cooked in his lifetime. So he threw himself into the task of cooking up the best dishes he could create with vigour, the ghostly exhaustion hanging off of him like a curse slowly being absolved away like it had been struck by acid. Everyone seemed to step around him or out of his way as he became enraptured with the work, as dishes upon dishes were piled up to be served to the two esteemed guests.

Soon enough, Sanji armed with plates on plates of different kinds of foods entered back into the dinning room and placed them on the table with the two peculiar guests. It was almost hilarious to see with every plate Sanji set down, Luffy seemed to inhale them before the next one would be placed down for him to enjoy. The woman, Robin, seemed to thank him and enjoy the food at a much more humane and regular pace. Sanji couldn’t help himself but watch with a sort of morbid fascination at the way the food on the plates disappeared in the blink of an eye as they slowly stacked up and up completely empty.

It didn’t take very long, but eventually all the plates were completely decimated besides a few crumbs or a smear of sauce, with Luffy sitting back and patting his tummy with a big and joyous grin on his face. “Sanji makes the best food! Isn’t that the best food you’ve ever had, Robin?”

“It was delightful,” she responded lightly, a smile that was actually a little sweet was directed at him, and he could only blush a little and smile back brightly at the acknowledgement of his skills.

“I’m pleased to hear so…” Sanji trailed off awkwardly, now no longer able to hide behind the role of chef but now lingering in the hopes that the reason they had come here would be shortly answered. Robin, astute as he had noticed over the time being in her presence, had clearly sat up tall in preparation for this conversation at having seen his clear change in tone. Luffy, however, did not seem to catch the same drift, instead still prattling on about Sanji promising he’ll cook for him again, that it was amazing food.

That was, until, his eyes pinpointed on the bandages that were much more noticeable by the scarf being dislodged through the movements of his passionate cooking and placing down the plates. “How did you get that.” It was like night and day, the way Luffy switched from bright like the sun to serious and blunt, it was disconcerting and made Sanji take an aborted step back. It wasn’t phrased like a question, either, more like a command, and Sanji felt the need to obey and answer.

“Huh? I-” Sanji once again brought an aborted hand up to his neck, catching himself once more and instead the hand landed in his hair. He gave it a fierce tug to dispel the sudden migraine coming on, the stabbing pain in his head and the way his throat felt like it was closing up once again. He let out a short laugh, nothing more than a quick breath, before he regained his composure at being asked such an audacious question. “I had a bit of a hard night last night. Nothing to worry about.” He could feel the intensity behind their eyes, the way they were trying to keep him in place like a man on the stand.

He was never one to cave to the pressure of others, or expectations placed upon him.

“Sorry, but I should get back to the kitchen. I’m glad you enjoyed the meal, consider it on the house,” Sanji thanked quickly, tacking the last part on in the hopes they would just leave without a fuss. He should have known better that he couldn’t get away, a mouse in the maws of wolves, and he was stopped in his tracks with the words that left Robin’s mouth.

“Apologies, Sanji, but we’re actually here on the behalf of Nami. We were hoping that we could ask you a few questions on the sudden break of the lease. It was something she is requesting before she will let you cut off the lease entirely, I’m afraid.” Sanji once more felt like he had been frozen cold, a block of ice unable to move as he stared out at the dining room with his back still to the two sitting at the table. He closed his eyes and took a few deliberate breaths in and out, mouthing to one of the waiters who had caught his eye in concern that he was going on break and indicating with his head to the kitchen to inform Zeff.

Once again, the servers seemed antsy on his behalf but followed his instruction nonetheless.

“Right, of course. I can spare a short amount of time, but I have to get back to the kitchen eventually I’m afraid.”

“We understand, and we appreciate sparing a short amount of time for this.”

Sanji plastered on a smile and nodded, standing awkwardly by foot of the table awaiting their questions. Luffy, who had mostly appeared to not be listening and in his own little world, as if this conversation had gone completely over his head, patted insistently on the space of the booth seat next to where he was sitting. “Sit down with me, Sanji!” Sanji slipped into the seat without a word, insistently ignoring the way Luffy’s eyes were a lot more intimidating up close.

“What do you need me to answer?” He felt like he was a man getting interrogated for a crime, and yet if anything he was the victim here considering he was the one with bruises around his neck.

“What’s the real reason you’re deciding to leave?” Robin cut to the chase, still smiling but it felt more like a threat than it did something pleasant.

“I already told Nami-”

“Eh? Silly Robin, I know why Sanji left,” Luffy interrupted with a tilted head, as if seeming confused about Robin’s lack of knowledge. In the form of an answer, Sanji nearly jumped out of the chair when he felt Luffy’s finger poke him directly in the neck from out of his periphery. Sanji was quick enough to snatch Luffy’s hand before it could retract, Luffy a little surprised by the speed but only staring up at Sanji with shiny eyes that held a world of serious understanding beneath.

“What the fuck. You-”

“Sanji’s a good person, neh?” Luffy questioned, his eyes once more holding that intensity as he leaned into Sanji’s personal space. Their noses were a hair’s length apart, and Sanji distinctly felt like his throat were closing and his hand beginning to sweat in nerves. He was hardly one to be intimidated, especially since he knew he could kick anyone’s teeth in if need be, but something about the void of Luffy’s eyes had him wanting to scramble away and hide under the tablecloth of their seated table. Sanji could only swallow at such a loaded question, biting the inside of his cheek and desperately craving a cigarette as he could only hesitantly nod. Luffy’s solemnity gave way to that once again bright smile and light laughter as he sat back and turned to Robin.

“Nami was supposed to tell me when she found someone for the apartment. Why didn’t she tell me she found Sanji.” If Sanji didn’t know any better, Luffy sounded borderline furious underneath that childish tone. His smile didn’t match with the tone, discordant and unnatural to the ear. It felt like being suspended on a knife's edge, one wrong movement and you could be sliced halfway open. Upon recognising Sanji was still grasping Luffy’s hand in a death grip of surprise, he let go and muttered an apology under his breath. The last thing he wanted was to be the one dissected.

“Apologies, Luffy. I’m sure you can understand why she didn’t tell you. It’s clear that he’s affiliated with them to some degree.” Sanji felt sick to the stomach at the way Robin’s eyes flitted to his eyebrows, and all of a sudden everything in his life felt like it was crumbling. The platform he had started to rebuild with shoddy blocks sunk and dispersed before he even had much of a chance for survival. What a joke. He wanted to laugh until he couldn’t draw a single breath into his lungs, he wanted to cry until he created a pool of tears so large it created the ocean, he wanted to tug at his hair until none remained and blood stained his fingertips and blotted in spots on the pristine floor below.

It was always sinister, everything that was happening around him, and it always led back to being tied to those fucking Vinsmoke bastards.

“I’m not a Vinsmoke,” he spoke with so much pent up venom and hatred, scolding himself internally at using such a tone to such a lovely woman. He couldn’t refrain from doing so with the insurmountable amount of emotional turmoil that had built up over the last day, let alone the last few weeks. He was a man on the edge of his wits. “If Nami had a problem with that, she should have told me,” Sanji nearly whispered, almost pleaded for his innocence because if he had known he would have stepped back. Would have never shown his face again in front of her, would have made sure that he would never be a bother to anyone in her life that somehow was negatively associated with those assholes .

Sometimes, life felt that it would be better if he simply disappeared. The only thing keeping him tethered was the Baratie, his debt and love for his tried and true father figure.

In a moment of unwithheld lapse of sanity, he let slip out, “did you try to have me killed?” They were all lucky that the entire Baratie was filled to the brim with customers and their boisterous noise, that their conversation couldn’t be heard or traced due to the volume being nothing more than slightly below average. No one spared them a glance, except for any of the staff who had been keeping a keen eye on Sanji ever since he had entered work that day. Even they seemed to have missed the exact words, since their worry hardly waned but didn’t exponentially increase.

“Zoro’s lonely, he doesn’t know you’re not with them,” Luffy frowned, clearly upset anytime he so much as looked at Sanji’s neck and the possible damage that lay beneath. “This is why Nami is supposed to tell me. Zoro wouldn’t have hurt you if I told him not to.” Luffy crossed his arms and huffed and puffed like he was throwing a tantrum. Underlying that behaviour though was a genuine unhappiness at the outcome, a genuine form of misery at the circumstances that had occurred because of this mess.

“ Zoro? ” Sanji couldn’t help but question, having no idea who that was but wondering if that name pertained to any of the bare glances of faces and people he got in that nightmare. Could it be the assassin that they sent? Was it someone that Sanji was supposed to know? Was it the person living in his walls?! He honestly had no fucking clue, and he was going to go insane before he clearly got any if he didn’t ask. 

“Shishishishi, silly Sanji. Zoro’s the ghost in your apartment, obviously!” Luffy said it in such a way as if Sanji was the one being ridiculous. Not whatever random bullshit reason just came out of Luffy’s mouth. He said it was such absoluteness, such confidence Sanji couldn’t help but let out a sardonic laugh.

“What?” Sanji questioned, a tilt to his lips, but he could feel cold sweat bead at the edge line of his hair. “Am I in some sort of horror movie? I’m sure you can come up with a better reason than a ghost haunting the apartment if you wanted to scare me.” Sanji wanted to continue laughing, for one of them to confirm that they were just joking, but neither person at the table did as such. Luffy only turned his head in utter confusion, and Robin seemed to be deep in thought.

“He’s not trying to scare you, I’m afraid,” Robin finally called out, having come to some sort of conclusion in her mind. When her eyes landed on Sanji, they seemed a lot less cold than before, the frigid snow storm subsiding and instead an almost a look of intrigue taking over her face instead. “Luffy, we might have to show him Zoro for him to understand.”

“Hmmm, maybe. Shishishi, remember when Usopp first saw Zoro as a ghost? Usopp was so funny when he fainted!”

“Indeed, and our poor doctor wouldn’t stop panicking.”

He felt an arm loop around his own, stopping him from inching himself out of the chair and attempting to disappear while they were stuck in their own little reminiscing moment. It felt the seal to his own fate, to the next rollercoaster roundabout, to the next plummet of doom. Sanji almost wanted to kick and punch tooth and nail to escape his fate, but he knew it would only take a few moments before it inevitably cycled back worse than before, and he had no intentions of making his life harder than it needed to be. Not when all he wanted to do was cook.

His fate felt cemented when he turned his head to the perpetrator of the arm practically keeping him from running, and was met with a smile wider than life and eyes deeper than that of the ocean despite the colour being more akin to to the earth beneath their feet.

“If you’d be so kind, we would appreciate escorting you back to the apartment. There we could show you who we are referring to, and we can get him to stop any of the harm he has taken towards you. It might be easier there to explain both sides of the story and come up with some sort of solution.” Robin seemed to have the gears in her head working a mile a minute, thoughts like the wind flickering behind her eyes as she roved those knowledgeable blue irises all over him. It seemed like he was being dissected like a bug under a microscope, his motives and morals left bare for her eyes to see, and he was unsure what she saw below.

If he were to make it out alive of his apartment, if he were to step in there one last time.

Sanji winced, already knowing that he was going back on his promise to Zeff in less than a few hours. He had promised he wouldn’t go back and that he’d live with him until he found somewhere better. Still, Sanji’s sure he could conjure some sort of half baked excuse that would get him out of it for the meantime. It meant that he was going to get lectured and everyone was going to walk on eggshells even more , but it’s appearing like Sanji had not much of a choice.

Sensing his apprehension, Luffy bounced impatiently in his chair, causing him to fall into Sanji’s side slightly. “We should go now, I wanna visit Zoro!” Luffy whined directly into his ear childishly, and Sanji just knew his eye had twitched in barely withheld frustration.

“Are you insane?! I have a fucking job, I can’t leave now!”

“But this is important,” Luffy sobered up with his words, face now frighteningly neutral as he stared directly at Sanji. It was like whiplash anytime it happened, and Sanji liked to think of himself as a mostly rational and well adjusted human being, even if Zeff would call him a spitfire brat that needed to keep his temperamental anger under check. Yet, right now, his mind felt muddled like murky water. It always felt a little like that when his family ties were mentioned, but considering his entire life was going to shit right now, he was unsure if that was even the biggest contribution to the pollution up there in his lack of lucid thoughts.

“May I have a word with the owner? Luffy’s correct, we need to correct this as soon as possible, and I’m sure he’ll understand.” Hah, you wish, that old man won’t understand anything to do with that apartment if it means me setting a single fucking foot in there… Is all Sanji could think to himself, using what resistance he had left in him to try to fight off Luffy’s restrictions to stop Robin from attempting to talk to Zeff.

“It’s okay, dear! I can talk to him, don’t worry yourself over me,” He tried to call out sweetly, tried to save her and himself, but she had already made her away from the table with an enigmatic smile. Sanji watched defeated as she was led into the kitchen by the closest and slightly fearful waiter, left in the clutches of the joyfully laughing Luffy as he swayed back and forth. It resulted in Sanji to be moved like a ragdoll in his arm, and he could feel the simmering anger and beyond comprehensible exhaustion only worsen further but not spout forth like a volcanic eruption. There were tremors, but not quite enough for an explosion.

“It’s okay, I’ll keep Sanji safe. Zoro will come around, I promise!” And who was Sanji not to believe this man when he said it with such absoluteness, as if it were the only outcome. As if it were the direct and only path forward to the future of Sanji’s shitshow of a lifetime. Sanji finally smacked Luffy’s arm off his shoulder none so gently, complete grumpiness taking over at his abysmal show of strength in face of his usual attitude and fight.

“It fucking better be, or I swear the head chef will fillet you. Better yet, I’ll kick you so hard you wont take another damn breath if you take me back to that place and you attempt to kill me for fucking real.” Luffy blinked at him idiotically before bursting out in vivid laughter, lacking that mocking lustre that usually spoke of cockiness and underestimation for Sanji’s word to follow through. Instead it sounded like a laugh as if Sanji had promised him a good time, as if it were a challenge and he were to be excited to see Sanji’s strength first hand.

This man might be more insane than he thought, and yet Sanji couldn’t help but think delusionally that it had a certain charm.

It was a mere moment before Robin swooped back in from the kitchen, giving the go ahead from Zeff that they were free to leave. Sanji could only look up at her as if she were some sort of angel, to be able to sway the mind of his dad. When Sanji gave a glance into the kitchen, he saw the firm eyes of Zeff watching him like a hawk, the message in his expression that told him he was merely a phone call away and he’d be over there to crack some bones if required. Sanji sent him a brittle snarky smile, one that was reminiscent of his usual bratty attitude, and instead turned to follow his two soon to be guests out the door.

As Sanji stood on the cusp of entering the car that was about to chauffeur him back to that shithole of an apartment, he took a deep breath and made some sort of resolution in his mind. Only one he was privy to, in the hopes of making this spiralling downturn in his life to skyrocket back up. That he came out of this alive, and that this all be resolved as promised to him.

With that wish, he finally entered the car and closed the door metaphorically and physically onto the world outside that he knew, and the safety of which had been extended to him by the restaurant he treasured like a home.

Chapter Text

Entering the home he had sworn to run away from before he once again got way in over his head and his life barely scraped by into the next year, but with the entourage of Luffy and the lovely Robin ahead of him, he supposed he should have some faith. Either that or they had lured him to his death and Zeff had signed off on it hook line and sinker, but he doubted Robin could have convinced him to let Sanji step foot back in here without her reasoning being damn well convincing and genuine. He had no idea what the mysterious but stunning woman had told him, but it had been enough to let him back in this place, a little to his chagrin.

Upon entering his home, he felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up, an aborted step back unconscious in the way he could sense the presence in his apartment. It was eerie, and yet the other two seemed to not even bat an eye, as if they could not sense the same encroaching danger approaching like a tsunami ready to dunk Sanji and drown him under. He was observant to threats on his life, to infiltrating presences trying to ambush him as it wasn’t the first time, and he knew. Knew someone was in here waiting for him.

He didn’t get the chance to back out, not before his vision blanked despite his eyes being wide open.

Blood curdling pain, crawling from the recesses of his eyes up and around his skull and piercing into his brain, like he was being torn apart at the seams one stitch at a time. Deliberate, intentional, meant to break , meant to hurt. Colours bursting behind his scrunched up eyelids, like a kaleidoscope of images and colours, just out of grasp but with each passing flash a new nerve lit a fire as if his head was being smashed open in half and alit with magmatic incineration. Despite being hunched over in pain, breath choking out of him and hands fisted so tightly in his hair that strands were slowly being ripped and making golden ribbons on the floor, he could feel no such sensations.

The pain overcoming him was all consuming. Beyond comprehension, and yet ensuring he didn’t make it back from this. Visceral wheezing and an uncontrollable coughing fit had begun to surface, a warm trickle of liquid squeezing from the corners of his mouth and trailing down his face with the intention to stain. He had no air in his lungs to scream, let alone speak and warn the others of what was happening to him. Instead he felt a step away from the edge of the end.

The voices of Luffy and Robin were muffled under the television static taking over his eardrums. The droplets of liquid seeping from the corners of his lips dripped to the floor and splattered from the incessant hacking. The searing, indescribable agony inflicted on him seemed to waver with the shouting able to piece through the clogging in his eardrums, and it gave Sanji the single moment he needed to compose himself. He had always had an insane pain tolerance, and he had always been a survivor and quick thinker under deadly circumstances. He needed a single opening, and like an assassin he had been intended to be but had inherently failed for life, he struck.

“Fuck with me and I’ll kill you, fucker!” Sanji screamed out with vitriol, a baseline fight or flight response in the ever surmounting fear and will to save himself and keep himself alive. He was beyond deliriously tired and paranoid, he was now in an almost desperate survival mode. He had fought this fucking hard for his life, he was not going to let some no name fucker kill him, let alone make Zeff feel guilty over it for letting him set foot back here. Even though he could not see, a powerful kick cracked out though the apartment and Sanji could feel how the attack was met with something, or someone .

As soon as it had, everything seemed to return to reality, and all he could hear was chaotic shouting and a shrill scream, a crash of some of his furniture and his own laboured breathing. He could feel the pain of attempting to tear his hair out, he could feel his pulse racing and bumping up against his breastbone like it were running a marathon. The mismatch colours receded and instead the blurriness was left, evening out and focusing on the fiasco in front of his eyes. A sickly metallic taste rolled around his mouth and like a river down his throat, instinctive to cough but instead he took a nervous swallow. He wiped away the remnants of the crimson blood with the back of his hand that had rolled like tear tracks down his chin. The loss of feeling up his arms slowly receded and they came back to life as time went on.

“Zoro!” Luffy snapped out, commanding and furious in a way that had Sanji’s throat close like a valve and he held his breath. He watched frozen by the doorway as Luffy knelt half out of his vision, his tumbled over ratty couch fully blocking his vision of this Zoro who he had presumably viciously kicked. It must have been hard enough that he was projected into the couch and knocked him and the furniture over. Sanji felt an apology bubble up at the tip of his tongue, but his rationality won out and he didn’t bother. This guy clearly tried to fucking kill him , possible again if he was responsible for the shitty bruises adorning his neck.

“Luffy! He’s one of them! ” Nami screamed back shrilly, Sanji obviously not having noticed her appearance, the redhead pointing at him with so much condemnation Sanji felt that he was scorned alone just by her clear hatred. Behind her was Robin, eyes calculated but soft with empathy, as she held Nami back, constricting her movement lest she snap forward and attempt to take the situation and Sanji’s supposed retribution into her own hands. “He just attacked Zoro! ” She strained and struggled against Robin’s grip, but Robin was absolute. Sanji’s eye caught the glinting of his kitchen knives split along the apartment floor, and he swallowed whatever that had collected in his throat down, down, down into the neverending pit in his stomach.

“Coming back was a mistake,” Sanji managed to breathe out, an involuntary shake of his head as he took another step back to be on the cusp of the exit. “Fuck, I won’t come back again, okay? I’m sorry.” Being glared at like he was one of them , like he was a real Vinsmoke made him want to tear his skin off. Scratch and scratch at his arms until the flakes of disturbance flecked off and all that was left below was his true nature.

“So you can interact with him… How interesting.” Robin had finally let Nami go, but her eyes appeared to send a rough enough message that Nami simply curled her fists and grit her teeth but no longer appeared to be seconds away from punching Sanji into the afterlife. At the same time, something green and spiky popped up from above the couch of where Sanji could see, and a new voice joined the fray now talking to Luffy.

“Captain.” It was a deep rumble, a voice he swore he had heard before in the deep recesses of his mind. The word seemed to hold an entire conversation of its own, as Luffy’s entire attitude changed, still serious but he seemed to lack any of that mash of anger from before. Almost as if he had been disrespected himself and not Sanji, and in a weird way, Sanji supposed he had if what he could piece together was true.

Luffy was their “Captain” of whatever… Weird group they were. Mafia? Assassins? Who knew. Nami had gone against his wishes and hadn’t informed him that Sanji moved in. Zoro took it into his hands to get rid of the perceived threat. Likely for the safety of said Captain, selfless in its own way, even if he was never commanded to do so.

“He’s not one of them.” The apartment had never been more still and silent after such words. It was as if the air itself was waiting for the aftermath, for the reaction after the collision. Luffy was staring dead straight at the green ball of what Sanji now recognised as hair, another distinctly familiar unfamiliar sight. While Sanji could not see Zoro’s expression, his silence seemed to be an answer enough for him.

“He clearly is! Hello , the eyebrows? The way he clearly looks like his own father?! ”

Sanji felt worse than slapped, he felt shattered. Like he had just had thousands of hands tear his heart into unrecognisable pieces. As if his own image had been an entire lie. As if he was closer to the one thing he feared than he had ever hoped. It was irreparable mental damage, a comment that cut so deep into him the knife came out on the other side.

“I’m not him. I’m not him ,” he muttered, chanted in a wish for it to be true. He was losing control of his breath, his eyesight was becoming increasingly blurry and his legs had never felt weaker. Shit, fuck, not now! The cravings of a cigarette to burn down his indestructible anxiety into flickers of ash made his throat tickle and itch for a phantom coughing fit. The bare few blonde strands unable to be seen dangle loosely and carelessly around his precious fingers strained to constrict like wire. His legs tensed and burned with the sensation to move , to either flee or kick or something.

It was incomprehensible to his psyche, to be perceived under the same broad banner as his blood relatives. Let alone his biological father , not after all the atrocities he had committed that Sanji wouldn’t dare treding near with a ten foot pole. He was not merciless. He was not a monster. He was not like him .

A sudden, certain but warm, envelopment of his hand. It was the first sensation he could grasp upon, filter past the cacophony and let himself focus on to draw himself back. Focusing on the warmth and sensation, Sanji started with the basic movement of his fingers. He traced the shape, his mind producing that he could feel thin and lithe fingers. A hand, that was what was currently laid over his own like a blanket over his shoulders.

Next he saw brown eyes brighter than life before him, demanding his attention but lacking the strictness or retribution that would come at being ignored. A scar beneath one eye that told of messy stitches, no longer pink and far gone from being a fresh wound. His straw hat, that he had worn inside, had telltale signs of being worn with age. It had clear stitches of repair, as if it had endured its own battle scars much like its owner.

He could taste the bile acridly staining the back of his palette and throat, somehow cognisant enough to not have expelled anything ever since this nightmare began. The staleness of his last cigarette that was burning through him to keep his wits and senses about him. He quickly licked his lips to bring back some moisture to himself, and if he really grasped at straws, he could taste the barest hints of his facewash.

He could still smell the freshness of the midday winter air, reminding him that he was in the doorway with the door wide open. He could still hear mindless traffic and tires rolling across pavement, he could hear the rustling of tree leaves and branches at the birds jumping around for a perch to stand on. He could place himself back in this apartment, with Luffy staring directly at him with the hints of a smile, and with Robin standing next to him with his hand cradled by her own in an act of simple but silent support.

The haunting of exhaustion hit him once more, Sanji held in a breath until his lungs rattled and banged against his chest in a bid to punish him, and out he expelled all the air in a groan. “Shit, I’m alright. Fuck, sorry.” Sanji let out a wheeze, an attempted laugh at his own expense although no one found much humour in the situation. He turned to Robin, his cheeks having a dusting of pink as he sent her a smile of gratitude, one that was surely more awkward than he had hoped. She simply smiled back in return, bringing her hand to her side while her eyes spoke of a comprehension of what he had just experienced a little too crystal clearly.

“Sanji’s silly, there’s nothing to be sorry for,” Luffy’s smile then took up his entire face, hand rapidly patting Sanji’s upper arm in what was likely meant to be supportive but lacked the gentleness of such. Sanji simply smiled at him too, the same way he had done so to Robin, and Luffy’s smile only seemed to become brighter. “Now Sanji can finally meet Zoro! See, he’s right there.” Following Luffy’s pointing arm and index finger with his eyes, Sanji was met with the appearance of a man. One with green hair, one eye scarred but the other a steel grey that needled into him like the cut of a blade. He wore casual wear, but…

Blood.

As if a flashbang had gone off, for a momentary second, Sanji could see the man in a different light. Lifeless eyes like of a fish glared back in condemnation, the grey dulled down to be that of a mere reflection of his previous life. Blood dribbled down from the corner of his downturned mouth and joined the rivulets racing down his arms and chest like a gushing river. His clothes were bloodsoaked, reaching so far as to the three katana’s strapped to his side, bloody handprints wrapped around the handle.

His next breath and blink, he was back to staring at a normal Zoro and Nami who’s expressions were less than welcoming, but had a certain uncertainty in there. As if Sanji’s reaction to their words and actions were not expected, as if they were trying to rationalise what had just happened in the chaos that was the last ten minutes.

“You’re really dead,” Sanji breathed, the laughable comment being repeated to him by Luffy that Zoro was a ghost suddenly clicking in his mind like a puzzle piece. Everything was starting to connect, and Sanji felt like his sanity was starting to return to him despite his ever increasing exhaustion. “Holy fuck there’s a ghost in my apartment. You tried to kill me!” He shouted with an aggressive pointed finger, his mind processing everything and his word vomit coming out while he realised fact after fact. The last piece of the puzzle made his eyes widen, his hand crawl up to his hair and tug in stress.

“Fuck, shit, they killed you didn’t they?! That’s why you- Fucking Vinsmokes .” No one disputed any of it, and it seemed in the weirdest way possible that they all came to some sort of mutual acceptance. His unbreakable hatred for the name alone seemed to quell the fierce distrust and instead they became much more neutral, Nami possibly even appearing apologetic. Fingers gently grazing against the bandages wrapped securely around the extensive bruising around his neck, Sanji shook his head and pointed with purpose to his shoddy dining set. “Everyone sit down, I’m going to cook something and we can all talk about how the Vinsmokes fucked each of us over.”

With Luffy’s whooping and enthusiastically complimenting Sanji’s culinary skill a mile a minute to Nami and Zoro, everyone seemed to settle down at his dining table awaiting the food to set its foot on the table. He could feel the pairs of eyes tracing his every move, ensuring he doesn’t escape them, as if he was a fraud that had convinced them for a slim chance of forgiveness and not a man condemned by his own family to perish to inexistence. He let the judgement roll off his back, and instead threw himself into cooking as he wanted to do. He loved cooking, it was his salvation, the one thing he could rely on at any moment of his life to bring him a shred of peace.

Once the inevitable was no longer ignorable, Sanji let the plates fall to the table full of food and sat down. Indulgently, he let himself have a moment of peace where he watched everyone take a bite and light up like fireflies, even Zoro who he didn’t know could eat had some tension bleed out of his facial expression. It gave Sanji just that moment to let that little candle light flicker in his chest, to allow that slow few stitches to be added to the wound that had never fully recovered.

Now that everyone was more settled and he had stalled for enough time, he opened his mouth and recounted his entire existence with the Vinsmokes. The horrors, the anguish, the loss, the weakness. All the ugly details, he knew he had to forfeit them for everyone at the table to understand. He had never divulged so much about himself and his under lock and key past, but the words kept flowing out of his mouth as he avoided all eye contact. He couldn’t bear to see any reactions to the information spilling out of him like a tsunami or it might clog up the seal and stop him from going forward. When he finally made it to the end, having covered everything that had been his life experience, he stared aimlessly down at the grains and natural carvings into the wooden dining table in the search of some answers.

The silence was so loud once he had finished rambling that they could hear the wind now howling past, a snowstorm having been forecast to start early afternoon that had blown in a little later than expected. He yearned for a cigarette, but refused to light one while everyone was present, let alone step out onto the balcony of his now caked in snow. He wished he were back in the apartment above the Baratie, arguing with Zeff over the service they had earlier that day but knowing he was safe and cared for. Not stuck here with a bunch of strangers who he had just bled out his entire heart too, memories he wished to never unearth once more being sprung forth for the sake of understanding he was not a Vinsmoke .

“I’m sorry.” It was that voice he was least familiar with, his fragmented dreams always coming to the forefront of his mind with it. When Sanji peered up through his eyelashes, one eye hiding vehemently behind his fringe, he was met with direct eye contact of a lone silver. Zoro’s voice was filled with remorse, and while his expression seemed more of the resigned side of remorse than the brink of tears side of remorse, his words seemed genuine. Maybe it was the way he refused to look away while admitting he was wrong, or it was the simplicity in his words that cut straight to the point, or maybe it was the way Sanji could feel a sense of guilt emanating off of him.

“What?” Nami had almost let out a whisper, clearly in the midst of digesting all that had been told but dismayed at Zoro’s words. It was clear that apologies were not common from him, or at least not so blatantly filled with regret. She seemed to shake it off, coming to her senses and saying with insistence, “We didn’t know, shit, how could this happen?” She was obviously warring with the fact she thought he was scum of the earth this entire time and taking the factuality of the nightmare that was Sanji’s life at the hands of the Vinsmokes.

He hadn’t noticed his hands were shaking slightly in the fear of not being believed until one laid over his own in a gesture of understanding. When he peered up at who it was, all he saw was a small empathetic smile on Robin’s face, but it eerily contrasted to the vengeance burning in her eyes. Luffy was no better, face completely shaded under the protection of his hat and it made him seem foreboding.

“Sanji,” Luffy had finally spoken up, voice leaving no room for argument, “We won’t let them take you away ever again.”

Sanji laughed, but it held no humour. “You can’t promise that, they’ll always do what they want. No one’s stopped them before, what makes you think you’re so different?”

“Hey! Don’t underestimate us, we’ll take those fuckers down if it’s the last thing I do,” Nami spat back at him with spitfire attitude, crossing her arms in displeasure. Like that worked out so well for you last time, a darkness in Sanji’s mind whispered as his eyes skidded over the dead man in the room. He was almost horrified at his own mind at such a lack of empathy, sewing his mouth shut away from those words even having a chance to come forth.

“I understand your concern, but we have been planning to take them down for quite a period of time. Even before the death of our swordsman, if that is your concern. This isn’t just a matter of revenge, at least not initially,” Robin informed him, as if their motives made their resolve more prominent. In a weird way, it was surprising to know they had the intention of taking down his family for a while, and Sanji distantly wondered what had caused it.

“Do what you like, I don’t want to know or be involved. They’re lower than fucking scum, but they’re still my family,” Sanji said as a conclusion to not wanting to know. It was true, he hated his family. At this point, after everything he went through via their cruel hands, he didn’t give a single fuck about any of them. Holding empathy for those who would chew it and spit it back in your face was immensely hard. Still, they were family, and Sanji could not live with himself if he took part in their demise. Not because it felt wrong for himself, but he wasn’t sure his mother would approve, and that was what stung the most.

“You’re not serious,” the ghost with honestly garish green hair had said with a tone that made Sanji’s instincts to fight flare up. It was filled with disbelief, but in a way that was beyond judgemental. It was as if he thought he was insane.“They’d slit your throat without a second thought. I bet in the past they’ve tried.” The annoying part about him was that he wasn’t even far from wrong.

“And that’s exactly why I don’t want to be like them,” Sanji deflected, although he meant it true to his core. He refused to be anything like them, having emotions was a strength and not a weakness. He didn’t want to be an assassin who held no empathy for others. He refused.

“Sentimentality for people like that gets you nowhere.” It was harsh and biting, but Sanji couldn’t begrudge a single word. In fact, it was just plain true. However, if he held any form of sentimentality for the Vinsmokes, he’d likely have been dead in a ditch many, many years ago.

“Sentimental to what? Abuse? Neglect? Don’t be fucking ridiculous, it has nothing to do with that.” He almost wanted to laugh at the absurdity or possibly feeling any form of sentimentality to fucking monsters with no remorse.

“You have all the reason to want them dead, and you’ve just given up?” Zoro had changed tactic, and once again it made Sanji want to kick him into the afterlife. How dare you say I’m weak willed, that I’ve given up? He could feel fire burning on his tongue, wanting to be spat out viciously in an argument. But, this conversation was serious, and Sanji swallowed down the instinct of his short fuse and instead responded with something more assertive and productive.

“There’s no giving up when it wasn’t a goal of mine to kill them in the first place,” He answered, and it was true. He had never had the goal of killing the Vinsmokes. He hated them, more than words could ever express and emotions could ever show, and yet, that was never a goal of his.

“You may be different from them, but that’s pathetic! Think of all the things they’ve done, of all the people they’ve hurt, and you don’t even want to make a difference? To stop people experiencing the pain you have?” Nami spat at him accusingly like venom, and Sanji almost wanted to crawl under his toppled over couch and hide. He could feel the acid against his skin, searing away at his skin and making him feel sensitive.

“...” It felt like being stabbed directly in the heart and it being twisted violently. It was something he used to tear his hair out over a few years back, the fact that they could be out there ruining the lives of others and he was powerless to do anything about it. However, he was not stupid, nor did he think of himself as invincible. He was human, and therefore he knew it was impossible to stop the Vinsmokes on his own.

“Nami.” Everyone could feel how the room had dropped to freezing at how Luffy had said those words, a warning and a serious one.

“But, Luffy-!” Nami tried to protest but Sanji was quick to cut her off before she could continue. He felt immensely horrible about it considering it was not a very polite thing to do, so he made sure in his head that he would apologise profusely later. For now, though, he would say his piece.

“Like I said, you all can do whatever you think is necessary. I just don’t want to be involved in anything myself.” He felt that he was finally understood in what he was trying to get across when Robin folded her arms and cupped her cheek with a hand. Her perceptive and frankly a little scary blue eyes stared into his soul, head tilted to the side for a moment before that enigmatic smile took over.

“I see. So I take it we have your permission to do whatever means necessary, but you don’t want the blood on your hands yourself.” She didn’t say it as a question, or as if it needed Sanji’s confirmation, but instead like a summary statement. She wasn’t wrong, that’s exactly how he felt. He didn’t want to be involved, but to say that the Vinsmokes didn’t deserve what was coming to them? Well, that was a different argument entirely.

“But, why? I just don’t get it!” Nami threw her hands up in frustration, but even though she had asked a question, she seemed to have accepted she likely wasn’t getting an answer. That likely only added to her ire, though.

“You made a promise. I can tell.” Once again, much like Robin, it was stated as if factual. Sanji glared at him in defiance, defensive because he was right , he had hit the nail on the head. Didn’t lessen the fact that Sanji wanted to kick this stupid fucking ghost out of his apartment, though.

“So what if I did?” He spat back, raising an eyebrow in a goading challenge to be disputed and that only seemed to make the ghosts one working eye twitch almost imperceptibly.

“You expect us to trust you when you’re not even honest?” And once again, Sanji nearly had laughter pour out of him at the audacity of that statement.

“You’ve tried to kill me twice now, you really think you deserve that shit? How do I know that your death wasn’t deserved?” Sanji knew that was cruel to say something like that, but he was at his wits end. He was fucking exhausted, had nearly been killed, and he was the one who was being made out as the untrustworthy piece of shit? In his own home, no less? Not on his fucking watch!

“You-!” Nami had shouted, taking a thunderous step forward but was once again cut off. Luffy shoved an arm out in front of her to stop her from proceeding, eyes analysing Sanji for a moment, formulating what he wanted to say carefully.

“This person who you made a promise to, do you trust them with your life?” It was asked with sincerity, that if Sanji chose to tell the truth, he would accept it.

“I wouldn’t even be here without them. A promise is the least I can do to pay them back,” Sanji responded honestly, staring Luffy directly in the eyes as he said every word. Luffy only stared back, and within the depths of the brown he could see cogs whirring. He also noticed the way Luffy seemed to lighten up the moment he had said what he had. Luffy had accepted his response for what it was.

“So it’s more than one person. I see.” He avoided eye contact at Robin’s discernment, her smile usually so mysterious making him feel like he was a bug caught in a spider's web.

“You want them gone, just as much as the rest of us,” Nami said as if the words had escaped her, as if it had dawned on her the moment those words had been spoken from her mouth. Her fury deflated and instead she stood taller with a new sort of thoughtful look on her face. Sanji was eternally glad she wasn’t furious at him anymore, much more so that she now understood that he hated the Vinsmokes just as much as they did.

“I’m not going to stop you from doing anything. Hell knows they all deserve it, but I can’t break my promises.” Everyone seemed to ponder his words with varying levels of seriousness, but Luffy had a grin slowly stretch across his face and morph it.

“Promises are important, neh, Zoro?” Luffy turned that expression onto Zoro, grin practically blinding. The swordsman didn’t respond in words, but he did seem to relax a lot more and seem much more determined in a way. Luffy and Zoro, baffling to Sanji, seemed to be able to communicate cryptically. Not that it mattered, Sanji had more important things on his mind.

“It’s not safe for you all to associate with me if you want to take them down. Anyone attached to me is asking for a death sentence, and it’s only inevitable before they come back and try to ruin my life another time.” Despite such a rough first meeting and impressions, Sanji thought that these people had good intentions and nice hearts. They didn’t deserve to have their lives snuffed out simply because they were associated with him in any shape or form.

“Never. I won’t let them.” It was insistent, almost childish when Luffy folded his arms petulantly and shook his head with a nuh uh.

“You can’t promise that,” Sanji tried to convince him, but Luffy only puffed up his cheeks in frustration.

“I can and I will! I don’t break my promises.” He even stomped his sandal clad foot like it was a gavel, to say my word is final.

“You can’t be serious.” Sanji was beyond baffled. Besides Zeff, Sanji didn’t think anyone had purposefully fought to stay in his life. He was used to them walking out the door, and Sanji didn’t mind because it meant that the Vinsmokes wouldn’t come for them.

“Oh, he’s dead serious,” Nami sighed, pinching her nose between her fingers and shaking her head. It seemed like this was not the first time Luffy had done this, and with how exasperated Nami seemed to be, it seemed it had happened many many times before.

“Of course I am!” Luffy’s huffy behaviour changed to once again that big smile, almost bouncing on his feet in a motion of too much energy.

“And there’s no chance of changing his mind?” Sanji decided to ask as one last chance.

“Absolutely none, I’m afraid,” Robin confirmed for him, but her smile had shifted to be much more amused. Sanji sighed, closing his eyes for a few moments and letting all the new information roll around in his head. Right, there was apparently no getting rid of Luffy. He may as well accept it, then. It’s not like he had much choice, considering there was a ghost living in his apartment anyway.

“I guess I have no choice but to trust you, then. My safety is in your hands, Captain .” When Sanji had called Luffy captain, the man looked like he was practically vibrating in delight. He was quick to jump forward and wrap Sanji in a very enthusiastic hug, Sanji wheezing out the breath he had left in his lungs as it was squeezed out of him like a dishrag being rid of soaked up water. It seemed like that was that, and the more temperamental emotional air shifted to one of a more lighthearted nature.

It wasn’t soon before they all debriefed each other on what was going on and decided that, for now, all they could do in the apartment was done. In fact, they had to inform the other people apart of their group what had been going on. As they were getting ready to leave, Nami berating Luffy over something or other, Robin had turned her attention to Sanji once more.

“Before we leave and inform the others of the new developments, do you mind if I ask you to test something?” And who was Sanji to deny the lovely Robin of anything? He would go out of his way to test whatever she required!

“Of course, Robin dear. What is it?” He asked with a smile, absolutely no regard to deny her request.

“I noticed you and Zoro are able to interact. No one else has had the ability to do so no matter how much we’ve tried. I was hoping if you could simply show me again to see if there’s some reason he is tangible to you.” Sanji wasn’t going to lie, he was pretty disappointed that that was what she wanted. Anything to do with that stupid shitheaded green haired swordsman seemed to disappoint him, quite frankly. He was clearly just a pain in Sanji’s ass ever since he decided to try and be a nuisance.

“Okay. Alright, shithead, hold your hand up.” It wasn’t said nicely, and his attitude was clearly anything less than pleasant when he rolled his eyes and wrinkled his nose when his vision landed on the ghost.

“Why should I listen to you?” Zoro had asked petulantly, clearly wanting to fire Sanji up into another argument.

“Do it or I’ll kick you into the fucking afterlife,” Sanji seethed under his breath, stomping forward with his hand held up and his palm flat. How dare this stupid ghost try and deny Robin of her request?!

“As if you could,” Zoro just had to mumble under his breath like he had to have the last word, but regardless, he lifted his palm and pressed it up against Sanji’s. It was like a very sad and anticlimactic mimic of a high five, and the two just continued to press their palms together and gave Robin a questioning look. Sanji nearly wanted to smugly say that he won their hand competition, which wasn’t a competition at all, because his fingers were just a tiny bit longer in length. He knew this would just get shot down by Zoro, probably saying something stupid like well, my fingers are thicker, therefore they’re stronger or some bullshit so he held his tongue.

“I see, how fascinating. Can you please try and hold each other’s hand? I want to make sure that he is fully tangible to you.” Both Sanji and Zoro looked at each other in slight disgusted annoyance at the request. Sanji reined in his expression to something much more pleasant when he addressed Robin once more.

“Only because you asked, otherwise I’d rather cut my hand off,” Sanji said to her with a smile, and Robin only appeared more amused at his antics.

“Not like I want to hold your shitty hand either, Curly,” the stupid ghost grumbled beside him, his voice laced with distaste at even the thought. How dare this piece of shit say something like that!

“Excuse you, it’s a blessing that you get to hold my hand!” He screeched back, fuming and wanting to kick this stupid fucking mossball once more. Instead, though, they did intertwine their fingers reluctantly and their hands were now in a hand hold. They were both clearly displeased with having to do so, Sanji tempted to try and squeeze Zoro’s hand so hard it fell off or something equally stupid. He once again refrained, probably because Zoro was a ghost and he severely doubted that would do anything. Stupid ghost .

“Thank you, I’ll make sure to inform Franky, Usopp and Chopper about this development. For now, we all should give you some space while we come up with something new.” They were quick to separate their hands when Robin’s eyes wrinkled in glee at them not immediately doing so. Sanji even went the extra mile and wiped his hand against his shirt as if it had been dirtied, and Zoro only rolled his eye so purposefully Sanji wished it had become stuck at the back of his stupid ghostly skull.

“And now Zoro has a friend who can keep him company!” Luffy cheered from where he stood at the door, enthused at the idea of Zoro now no longer being left alone. Not that Sanji would admit it to the stupid ghost, but he did wonder if he felt immeasurably lonely being stuck here all by himself. He seemed to have an amazing group of friends, but surely they only had so much free time on their hands to visit him. Sanji wondered if his presence really would be good company and maybe make the ghost feel a little less alone.

“I don’t need a friend ,” Zoro tried to insist like the sentiment was beyond him. He practically stomped all over Luffy’s idea and any sympathy Sanji might have just been growing for him. Instead, Sanji now felt ridiculous for even convincing himself to feel back for the stupid ghost.

“No offence, but I am far from this fuckers friend. He’s just a ghostly piece of algae!” Sanji shot back at Zoro in defiance, gritting his teeth and looking at him like he was less than the dirt on the bottom of his shoes. Sanji felt vindicated when he could tell there was a tenseness in Zoro’s jaw and a type of fighting instinct rising in his attitude.

“Wanna say that again, dartbrows? Even looking at them makes me dizzy.” And the fact that Zoro could dish it out just as effectively and swifty as Sanji could only made his wrath burn all the brighter. It was like shoving logs of fire into a blaze, and it was only inevitable before it got out of hand.

“You take that back, shithead! I’ll show you dizzy!” Sanji shouted out with uncontained fury, having the distinct feeling of blood rushing through his veins. His fingers itched for a cigarette, but his legs shifted with the itch for a fight instead. His want to battle won over, and that only seemed to be exactly what Zoro wanted because the first smile he showed was a grin of challenge.

“Bring it on!” He shouted back, and within seconds, they were clashing. Brawling in his apartment probably wasn’t the wisest idea, especially if he wanted all his shoddy and repurposed furniture to come out unscathed, but Sanji was not in the right frame of mind to be thinking of those types of things. Instead, his blood sang with the melody of a fight, and the sweat at his temple and the fire billowing in his soul only promised that he was being granted a good one. Zoro similarly looked absolutely honed in and focused on the task of trying to win the battle, a grin that looked a little manic taking over his face the more they parried and tried to strike one another down.

They were so enraptured with each other and their fight that they hadn’t paid any attention to the three guests. Speaking of those guests, the ones who were watching the fight with varying expressions while they stood on the outside of the doorway with the intention of leaving any second.

“And they’re already getting along like a house on fire… Let’s just go before they notice and try to keep us here,” Nami said under her breath with a shake of her head, not even bothering to spare them another glance and walking away before the other two. Robin just laughed, sparing another glance to Sanji and Zoro before catching up to Nami who had walked ahead.

“Bye Zoro, bye Sanji!” Luffy shouted to them as he slammed the front door closed, the final guest to depart from the apartment. Even with the loud slam of the door and Luffy’s booming voice, neither Sanji or Zoro spared a single thought. They didn’t even hear him at all, absolutely captivated in the fight they were having.

Indeed, they really did seem to be getting along like a house on fire.

-----

It was only inevitable, but they soon ran out of firepower to try and beat each other in their own little brawl. Sanji had never brawled with a ghost before, but as far as he cared it was the same as trying to beat any normal human. He could do it, and he’d prove it eventually , but for now they had both lost the tenacity. Instead, they both sat or laid down on the floor as they heaved breaths into their lungs and took stock of their wounds. Or, well, Sanji took stock of any bruises that would be blooming on his skin, clicking his tongue under his breath at the annoyance that the stupid ghost probably wouldn’t have any injury at all. Stupid ghost and his stupid ghostly powers .

Now that they had taken a forceful pause in their bickering, it left a moment of relative peace. Not true peace because if Sanji really wanted that, his house would be ghost free and he’d be humming to himself as he cooked a new recipe from his own culinary smarts. Instead it was almost like they had taken a truce, of sorts. Accepting his fate that he would now be living with this fucking freeloading ghost, Sanji decided to try and extend an olive branch. It was all he could do to make sure he could keep his sanity in check and his firecracker anger held back on its usual temperament instead of being diffused at every conversation.

“So, what’s your deal?” If they were going to get along, Sanji needed to know a little bit about this guy. At this moment, all he knew was his name and that his biological siblings and father were the reason he wasn’t alive anymore. Considering Sanji had just spewed his entire woes and points in his life story that were relevant to him, and his group of friends as well, he felt he deserved to know a bit more basic information about the ghost living in his apartment.

“Hah?” Zoro grunted back like some sort of caveman, an acknowledgement that he had very clearly heard what Sanji had said and instead was questioning why he should answer. If Sanji were to let his anger take the stage, this ghost would be kicked out of his front door within a heartbeat. And, if Sanji wasn’t trying to at least be a little courteous he would have spat back something along the lines of what, didn’t hear me? Didn’t know ghosts needed to get their shitty ears cleaned too. Probably infested with the moss growing on your head that you’ve convinced other people is hair.  

“I spilled my heart out to you guys, aren’t you going to tell me why you’re dead?” It was spoken with a growing loss of patience, as well as a bit of offence from the audacity in Mosshead’s tone. What, you hate being stuck in a place with me that much you won’t even tell me anything about yourself? Sanji could already feel the migraine coming on from the lack of sleep and the dwindling nicotine in his veins.

“Why would I do that?” It wasn’t antagonistic, but it clearly held some disbelief and even some distrust in the statement. I thought we got over the fact that I haven’t done anything wrong already. Did this guy not listen this entire time? He does strike me as an idiot, so should I really be surprised. While Sanji’s internal monologue circled around the insults on the tip of his tongue like a drain sucking down dirty dishwater, his exhaustion didn’t let him say any of it. He fiddled with the packet of cigarettes in his pocket, trying to soothe the itch for the smoke for a few more minutes.

“Maybe because it’s the reason you tried to kill me?” No matter how casually or deadpan he may have tried to come off, the words themselves sounded like an accusation. He saw firsthand how that had made Mosshead flinch, imperceptibly but it was still obvious to Sanji’s observant eyes. It was clear that the ghost hadn’t lost his humanity, because he clearly felt guilt over his actions. At least that was reassuring, Sanji didn’t actually think that Mosshead was a bad person, they had just gotten off on the wrong foot.

“I already said sorry.” It was almost petulant, and that notion of suddenly everything was okay made the marks around Sanji’s throat throb. That migraine resurfaced, clawing its way back into the flesh of his forehead and temples with a vengeance. Gritting his teeth and glaring, Sanji had lost his patience to try and be tactful.

“Yeah, sorry doesn’t fix the marks around my throat.” Biting, harsh, cut throat but ultimately true. Instead of looking like he had been slapped this time, the Mosshead peered down at his hands made into tight and quivering fists. His lone grey eye was stormy but not with the rage of the sun's shining within. Instead it was grim with the horror of grasping his own actions, of nearly strangling an innocent man who appeared like one of the people who had taken his life due to being related.

Sanji knew, past all the growing shit that Sanji had gone through in the last week or so, that Zoro was a man who would take accountability for his mistake. Maybe it was the clear debilitating guilt he unassumingly had held ever since he found out he had gotten the wrong guy. Or maybe it was because through their bickering, arguing and fighting that Sanji had learnt a new side of him. Had communicated with him, but not with words. Sanji somehow understood this man at least a little despite only knowing him officially for less than a day.

Taking a steadying breath with his eyes closed to make the throbbing pain evade him so pungently for a few moments, he decided to forgive Zoro. “Look, I don’t blame you for thinking I’m one of those assholes when by blood I quite unfortunately am , but if we want to try and get along, it might help me not want to kick you out of my apartment.” Of course, that didn’t mean he had to be all super sweet and nice about it, it was clear that their dynamic was to push, prod and tease.

“Hmph. Fine.” He had lost some of the tightness present in his body, as if the clear forgiveness within Sanji’s words had lightened what had been burdening him. Instead he crossed his arms and leaned back further into the wooden floorboards, much more self assured and relaxed with himself. They both turned their heads to the side, facing one another directly so they could speak less like an argument and more like an actual amicable conversation.

“Let’s start with an easy question. How long have you been dead?” Sanji felt like that was an easy question. A very strange one for a get to know you question when first meeting someone, but Sanji’s life clearly was one of many uniquenesses. This was simply one of those examples.

“A few months. Maybe three.” He answered truthfully, but Mosshead didn’t have tears in his eyes or lash out. Instead, he seemed to have accepted his fate. Sanji supposed that were wise if he didn’t want to suffer anguish being stuck in a place where he couldn’t do anything to get justice for himself. At least he had an attentive and amazing group of friends who kept him company and would fulfill the revenge part for him. Not all was lost.

“How old were you when you died?” Another simple question. If Sanji had to guess, the man had definitely died in his twenties. Considering he only died a few months ago, that meant he was most likely still the same age he died as. Therefore, likely in their twenties.

“Twenty Four.” Bingo, Sanji was right, and he gave himself a little mental pat on the back. Sanji knew he was a fantastic judge of character, and this just made his pride grow a few sizes because he was proven right.

“Huh, the same age as me.” A throwaway comment to keep the conversation light. It was true, they were the exact same age. One dead, one alive. Both haunted by the Vinsmokes in some manner. Both stuck in this apartment for the time being. Perhaps it was fate that led Sanji to live in this apartment.

“Look, Curly, just ask what’s actually on your mind. I can see you want to ask what happened.” He had said it in a way that indicated he wasn’t mad, but rather resigned to the fact that Sanji was inevitably interested in wanting to know how he died. Sanji had been trying to avoid and ignore it, but Mosshead had seen right through him. It seems he had gained the ability to understand Sanji a little bit too. Distracting himself by trying to ask small, easy and ultimately pointless questions wasn’t going to stop his mind from hounding him to find out how he died. Sanji didn’t even bother trying to pretend anymore, staring directly into his eye for a few seconds before swallowing the bile trying to climb up his throat so he could ask.

“So, what happened?”

It was the money question, and with it came a small bout of silence before the long winded story. Of how their crew, the Strawhats apparently, lead by Luffy had been clued in to the horrible deeds the Big Mum gang were performing. Sanji of course knew exactly who they were talking about, but he diligently listened without letting on he knew as such. The main reason they had been interested is because one of their own, a man name Jinbe who Sanji had never heard of, apparently owed her and was unable to cut ties with her. It did meant they had an informant on how to stop her, but he was limited, and Luffy had decided he wanted to free Jinbe so he could join the crew for good.

Robin, Nami, and a man named Usopp who Sanji hadn’t met yet, had apparently been gathering intel over a period of a few months on the best way to take them down. Then, apparently it became urgent when there was talks of the Big Mum gang attempting to have affiliating ties with the Vinsmokes to create an alliance through an arranged marriage. At that point, Sanji didn’t care about his no smoking inside the house rule, he lit up a cigarette while laying on the floor as he continued to listen. He had to, or his mind would drift back to the days where he had to obey his father or his hands would be blown to smithereens and Zeff and the Baratie would be burnt down to the ground until all that remained was she ash staining their grubby fucking fingers.

Even the mention of the incident still made his skin feel like ants were crawling underneath his skin, his ribs shuddering with the reminder of how his brother's kicks could shatter them without much problem. His fingers tapping in a rhythm against the floorboards as he remembered how his sister turned her back on him due to her own allegiances, and Sanji struggled to even blame her since she was irreversibly tied to the Vinsmokes. She had chosen to be, but Sanji still couldn’t blame her for it or she likely would have ended up being just as much of a failure as he was.

Zoro of course noticed his change in behaviour, his attentiveness shifting slightly to the left. He had paused in his story, the most amount of words that Sanji had heard come out of this man's mouth, and gave him an assessing look. Sanji didn’t bother trying to give him any clues, nor tried hiding anything at this point, but eventually Zoro seemed to give up and continued on. Apparently, on the night before the wedding, they decided to infiltrate and try and make a move to shake the confidence of the Big Mum gang, or at least the alliance to cause it to shatter. Whatever they had done had apparently worked, the Big Mum gang set back a few paces and freeing Jinbe from whatever cruel order he was subjected to under Big Mum’s ruling.

Sanji knew the wedding being called off was nothing to do with them, and Zoro seemed to acknowledge as much himself. However, Zoro had made a mistake that none of them had thought would have such a dire consequence. He had gotten lost during the undercover mission, and he had accidentally encountered one of Sanji’s brothers. The green one, he had said, Yonji , was the name that instinctively came to the forefront of Sanji’s mind like clicking his fingers. It had the unintended effect of Zoro fighting so he could flee back to the others, and it had seemed successful at the time. For a short period of time, the mission had been nothing but a success despite the small hiccup. They celebrated Jinbe being free and the subsequent official joining of him into the Strawhats.

It had been short lived. It was only inevitable before Zoro’s accidental appearance had been ratted out to Big Mum and Judge, and to keep the peace Big Mum had ordered the Vinsmokes to assassinate him. It was either that or that Big Mum would likely get rid of the Vinsmokes and take all their technological advancements for her own selfish use while not having to deal with the pain in the ass that was Judge. It was vengeful and vindictive, not because Zoro or the Strawhats had been responsible for breaking the alliance between the two parties. It was just an excuse that they used to justify what they did, although Sanji wondered why they even bothered. Judge, having absolutely no moral compass, of course accepted it like it was simply a lighthearted discussion that they were having over tea and cake. What a fucking horrible man.

He had been ambushed in his home, the apartment they both laid on the floor in now and stared at the dreary ceiling of. They were assassins, had slipped into his apartment, and while Zoro had realised and wasn’t attacked off guard, it meant that he hadn’t had the time to call for backup. It had been a gruesome fight, one that even he had been close to escaping when it was a three versus one. It had all been for naught, since the fourth attacker who had been simply standing on the sidelines and been observing had finally struck. Sanji knew he was talking about Reiju and it made Sanji’s throat cry out in vengeance. He had been pierced with a needle and injected with who knows what. It made him weak, and after that, it was only a matter of time before he got overwhelmed and his life was gone and instead any remains were now flowing out of him and leaking through the cracks in the floorboards.

Sanji had nearly been struck at the information he had been injected with something, likely poison if it had been Reiju who had done it. It brought back dark memories that Sanji tried to hide in the recesses of his mind, of when he had been forced back the most recent time and was made to go down to the lab. He could hardly remember, considering he had been knocked out cold, but he had barely been half aware for a few seconds and he could remember the stinging pain that brought him nightmares of injections of some kind. Sanji vaguely wondered if he had been injected with the same poison as Zoro, even if they had completely different symptoms. Perhaps that's why they could interact with each other. Sanji didn’t want to spare another thought to know what sort of experimental poison it was, though, or the reason why Vinsmoke Judge was even conducting an experiment with it.

It had to be an experiment of some kind for the advancement of Germa, but Sanji didn’t want to know.

That was the story that the Mosshead could remember. Once he had finished, he ceased talking and instead continued to face Sanji and stare. He didn’t speak, or break the silence, he just simply stared in silence. Sanji was so caught up in his thoughts he didn’t even have a moment to feel uncomfortable or socially awkward.

Sanji could remember, right after having talked to Pudding the night right before she decided to call everything off for both their sakes, standing on his stupid fancy balcony smoking a well needed cigarette and peering out into the encroaching and unruly forest. There, when he squinted through the darkness, he could see Yonji fighting with someone, both mostly shrouded in the darkness. The green of their outfits and their hair easily camouflaged into the shrubbery so well, almost like it was intentional. Sanji hadn’t blinked much of an eye at it, instead grit his teeth and reminded himself it was likely a clone and Yonji was just being a piece of shit trying to battle something just for the sake of it.

Now, though, Sanji now understood why Zoro looked so familiar to him the moment he had even seen him in his dream, let alone seen him as a ghost in his apartment. He was the one who Yonji had been fighting, the one Sanji had been watching and hopelessly rooting for to take his brother down a peg. It seemed that this was not the first time they had met, even if unintentional.

“You… That’s why you’re so familiar.” He had whispered it under his breath, a revelation he hadn’t meant to say aloud. Of course it had drawn the Mosshead’s attention, apparently having selective hearing instead of straight up being deaf. What a fucking nuisance.

“What?” His incessant staring was starting to burn holes into Sanji’s skull, but Sanji was a master at deflecting and ignoring things that made him uncomfortable. The Mosshead would not win with prodding Sanji for information.

“Nevermind. I wonder why you’re a ghost. Is your will really that strong?” Sanji asked, shifting so his head was on his side once again and extinguishing the cigarette against the sole of his shoe. He gave the Mosshead a challenging smile, and the other only huffed with a self assured smirk on his face as if to confirm that that was true. “I wonder why I can interact with you… Hey, how come you ate the food I made you earlier? Do you get hungry?” Now that was something Sanji was actually interested in. Could the ghost even taste his food? Did he get hungry? Sanji loved cooking, and he couldn’t let someone ever go hungry.

If the Mosshead had been starving, Sanji would take it upon himself to make a little extra every meal so the man could get some good food. It must feel like a loss to exist and not be able to eat such amazing food.

“What’s with all the questions?” The man barely withheld a groan. It seemed that after having told his little story he had used up all his talking time for the day. The Mosshead clearly was not the talkative type, and Sanji had overextended his patience on such. Didn’t mean that Sanji had to accept that as a reason, though, not when he had just been curious and asked a simple question.

“Well sorry for trying to be nice, asshole. Guess I’ll just fuck off, then.” Sanji knew it was childish, but he could barely withhold from pouting. It felt like he just got stomped on and he was now a smooshed bug on the pavement. He was simply interested, and that had been tossed away like a wadded up piece of useless scrunched paper. It was disheartening, and Sanji knew that the Mosshead didn’t mean too, but he couldn’t help but take the sting from his attitude anyway. The Mosshead seemed to notice, too, and let out a resigned huff of air.

“Was hungry. Can’t eat the other food in the house,” he admitted, and it made Sanji’s heart feel like it had been stabbed with a very fine and prickly needle. It tore at his heartstrings, Sanji knew how horrific it was to starve against one’s own will. While Zoro couldn’t obviously die of starvation, considering he was already dead, it didn’t mean that the hunger wouldn’t be awful to experience. Even worse when there was food around that he couldn’t even eat, almost like there was a light at the end of the tunnel but no matter how much you ran it never seemed to get any closer.

“Oh? Well, was it good?” Sanji asked, unable to hold back his slightly smug tone, an uptilt to the corner of his lips as he awaited the Mosshead’s response with growing interest. He knew his cooking was fucking amazing, but he still loved to hear it. Not only that, but to have this stupid Mossball admit his cooking was amazing? That’d be beyond satisfying to Sanji’s heart and mind.

“Wasn’t the shittiest thing I’ve eaten,” The Mosshead admitted, trying to downplay how delicious the food was so Sanji’s ego didn’t grow a thousand times bigger, but it was too bad Sanji already knew his food was fucking delectable. He knew this meant that the Mosshead thought it was heavenly but didn’t want to admit it because it was Sanji who had cooked the food.

“So it was good then?” Sanji surmised, smugness full blown as his lips stretched further into a smirk. He had the Mosshead pegged down easily, he loved his cooking, and that was all Sanji needed to know. He would cook meals for him, Sanji decided, so that he didn’t have to go hungry. He would make the best food this fucking Mosshead has ever tasted.

“I never said that, Shit Cook.” It was taunting, and he popped Sanji’s ego like a needle to a balloon and watched it deflate with a sense of enjoyment. Instead, the balloon blew itself back up with the sheer willpower of Sanji’s ire.

“You fucking take that back!”

“Make me!”

Now that they had taken a very long break and gathered their energy and breaths, they were back to brawling with one another. They continued to bicker as they sparred with one another in the living room of the apartment, letting the grim and heavy air weighing them down waft away into something more lighthearted. Something familiar, a way for them to communicate and get along in a way that didn’t make sense to anyone else but them, apparently. They both kept each other on their toes, neither seemed to get the upper hand but neither seemed to lose their footing either. They were on equal standing, and it only made both more exhilarated to continue the fight. To see who would come out on top.

But once again, no one did, and they both were heaving air into their lungs in exhaustion as they got worn out from their incessant play fighting. Sanji didn’t let the smile grace his face, but he felt a sense of happiness at being able to brawl with someone. To be kept on his toes, and to be able to keep someone else on their toes just the same. Sanji hadn’t realised it, but it was something he had been missing. It was something that he didn’t know he actually appreciated so much.

“You’re like a fucking steel wall. You were definitely a gym bro before all this, weren’t you?” Sanji mused, completely unsurprised that the man who was a swordsman was a gym addict. He likely had to be consistently in shape, but the amount of muscle he had? Surely not all of that was necessary for the strength in his chosen fighting weapon. It required some finesse, not just brute strength.

“Hmph, well I’m not a dainty princess like you,” The Mosshead shot back, eyeing Sanji out the corner of his eye and a slight tug on his lips signalling that he was making fun of him. Sanji could feel the rise of his anger at the jab, swarming forward and spewing out of him.

“I’ll fucking show you dainty princess.”

“Oh?” The Mosshead’s smirk became much wider, practically smug as he eyed Sanji up and down in a purposefully obnoxiously teasing manner. At the attention Sanji knew his cheeks were dusting with pink like strawberry powder, the ensuing mortification at getting flustered creeping in alongside it.

“You’re a freak,” Sanji sneered in disgust to hide his embarrassment, but it didn’t matter considering that damn obnoxious smirk only widened somehow further. Sanji wanted to kick his teeth in so he could never fucking smile again if he was going to continue making fun of him like this. No, deep breaths , they had to create an environment where they could nicely cohabitate with one another. The Mosshead was stuck here for eternity or whatever other pitiful fate had fallen upon him, and Sanji lived in the damn place so he was stuck here too.

“Whatever. What’s your favourite meal?” It was something Sanji was actually interested in knowing. It meant he could do a nice gesture that didn’t go beyond his usual talents and therefore could play it off as doing his job. Still, if Sanji wanted to know anything more about this mysterious man, it was certainly his favourite food and his sense of taste. It was integral for Sanji to know if he were to cook for the stupid idiot.

“Why? Trying to bribe me?” Sanji rolled his eyes, not even bothering to try and give him a response he could use to ruin his pride further.

“As if, like you’re useful for anything anyway,” he snickered to himself under his breath, a sense of satisfaction brewing deep in his stomach at the narrowing of Zoro’s eye at the comment. That’s right, remember your place in this apartment, shithead. If you can dish it out, you better be able to take it because I’m not gonna let your smug shithead attitude slide.

The Mosshead let the comment go, showing a bit of humility and instead deciding the better course of action was to actually answer Sanji’s question.“Onigiri and a bottle of sake,” was what he provided as an answer, and Sanji nearly scoffed at how he should have been able to predict that answer like it were written on the back of his palm.

“Why does that not surprise me?”

“Hmph.”

Garnering no further response, Sanji decided to finally give up any further attempts to talk and decided to go out to the balcony for another smoke. One that he could actually enjoy in the fresh, absolutely beyond freezing air. At least his apartment wont reek of smoke if he did it outside, though, so he resigned himself to his fate and slipped on a pair of outdoor slippers resting by the balcony and braced himself. Clasping the pack of cigarette in his hands, he took a deep breath and shoved the balcony door open in a fit of courage, forcing himself outside and nearly swearing up a storm at how fucking freezing it was.

Lit smoke shoved hastily in his mouth, he shoved his palms away in the sanctuary of his pockets to retain at last a little bit of heat lest he get frostbite. He knew his body was instinctively shivering, seconds away from his mouth chattering or his lips turning blue. He had always been absolutely fucking awful with the cold, moreso than any other person he had met in his life. He could survive for a smoke or two, he knew he was being beyond dramatic about it, but he would freeze to death if he were outside for more than half an hour with the snow suddenly dropping in like Sanji had wished it to grace him from the heavens.

His little pity party while watching the flakes of snow dwindle down was swiftly interrupted. One moment he was letting out an exhale filled with smoke and watching it curl around the pure white snow, the next his vision was cut off and something heavy was chucked over him from a far away distance. Enough that it made him jump, cigarette lucky clasped between his fingers and held out far away from the blanket, if Sanji had to guess, that was now chucked at him. Readjusting the material so it curled around his shoulders and hugged his body away from the frigidness like a warm hug, Sanji turned to the perpetrator of the sudden gift with an unimpressed glare.

“What the fuck? Be careful with my shit! My cigarette could have lit it on fire, asshole!”

A scoff was his response, and Sanji wanted to step back in and kick him once more to try and make him listen and his words to stick a little better. He was serious, what if his cigarette had made the blanket catch fire! Even fucking worse considering he was wearing it!

“Well, maybe stop looking like a pathetic puppy dog shivering in the snow and I won’t have to!”

“Who are you calling pathetic!” Sanji shouted back at him, fingers clenching in the fabric of the blanket that was oh so generously chucked at him like a football. Still, begrudgingly, Sanji accepted that it was a nice gesture even if the Mosshead was being a shithead about it. It calmed down the tremors of his fingers grasping the cigarette, and it warmed his body from the outside in. It seemed that the brute could be nice sometimes, even if both of them struggled to acknowledge it like normal people. It’s just how they were, and how their dynamic continued to be.

Sanji wrapped the blanket around himself tighter and let his heart settle a little. He was still beyond exhausted, but now instead of being powered by the anxious energy he was rather soothed. He had solved the riddle of why he was being haunted and he no longer felt increasingly paranoid everytime he stepped into his home which was supposed to be his safe place of solitude. Instead, Sanji peered over at the ghost who had wandered over to be on the balcony with him, he had come to accept that he was okay and had the job of clearly keeping this idiot company and well fed.

“Do you even feel the cold?” Sanji asked on the last remainder of his cigarette, extinguishing the butt of it and debating whether to light up another.

“Never really felt it that much before I died, nothing changed there.” Sanji nearly clicked his tongue at how lucky the bastard was. He wished he didn’t feel the cold as brutally as he did, but unfortunately that was just his temperature tolerance. He never had many fond memories of the freezing cold. At least in the more temperate months he could cultivate a few herbs for a garden or he could go out running whenever he wanted to stretch his legs.

“So you were a freak of nature,” Sanji commented as he gave in and lit up another cigarette, he felt that he deserved it after the mental stress that he had gone through the past week or so. He heard the Mosshead snicker beside him and Sanji could already hear the snarky comeback before it had even left his stupid damn lips.

“No, you’re just a pansy.”

Sanji ground his teeth together on the filter of the cigarette, eye twitching but managing to hold back a retort as he continued to smoke. This ghost was a serious pain in the ass, but Sanji supposed he could be a piece of shit himself so maybe it was a little deserved. He didn’t mind the dynamic anyway, constant prodding and teasing but lacking the contempt or offensive snideness that spelt of true distaste. It was more goading, challenging and bantering, almost like camaraderie but in a very bickering sort of formation.

Stuck in his own musings, Sanji nearly jumped out of his fucking skin went he felt a freezing hand sear itself on the small of his back. Unconsciously letting out a squawk and backing away from the touch, Sanji clutched his cigarette before he accidentally chucked it like a projectile over his balcony railing and glared at the perpetrator of the incident. Mosshead just raised an eyebrow at Sanji’s overreaction, but didn’t bother saying anything.

“Fuck, don’t do that! You’re cold as shit!”

“Hmph, well, you’re warm. I can’t feel warmth unless it’s from you.”

For some reason, Sanji lost all the words dancing on the tip of his tongue. The words were unexpected, and it made his stomach feel a little lighter like an air balloon had suddenly had heat propelled into it. That… was oddly sweet…? Sanji was unsure how to respond to that sentiment, the tips of his ears warming further but he convinced himself that it was simply from being out in the cold for such a prolonged time.

“You’re such a fucking idiot,” he said in response, but it lacked any venom or insult despite the words. The Mosshead clearly could tell, the way his face softened up just a little, but typically he once again didn’t open his mouth. They both just stayed in easy silence as Sanji finished off his final cigarette, the ash not collected in the tray instead wisping away with the wind to be one with the little traces of snow blowing by.

Once the cigarette was no longer, they both headed back inside without a word. Grabbing his notebook as he walked past the kitchen and to the dining table, Sanji adjusted the blanket around his shoulders to not get awkwardly caught on the sides of the chair as he sat himself down. Clicking the pen and nibbling on the end a bit, he decided to write down a few ingredients for his upcoming grocery run. Just a few extra ingredients to make some onigiri, Sanji figured, perhaps some salmon or tuna? Sour plums? He supposed if he didn’t have to go out of his way for it, he could even pick up a decent bottle of sake.

While Sanji put his attention into mindfully crafting their menu for the next week or so, he had been vehemently ignoring Zoro as a result. It hadn’t mattered, since unbeknownst to Sanji, he had disappeared from sight the moment Sanji had clicked his pen to start writing.

-----

Another week had passed to the fate of time, and Sanji had to admit it was much more pleasant than the previous few. Not that that was really a hard competition considering he had nearly been suffocated to death, but potato po-tah-to as they say. He and Zoro had learnt to coexist with one another in the shared space of the apartment. They got on each other's nerves almost constantly, bickering and fighting and hurling insults at each other as if it was a day job. But they also, as begrudging as they both were to admit it, enjoyed doing all those things.

They had also created a little dinner ritual with one another, Sanji cooking up a meal for two and Zoro setting the table with Sanji’s pristinely cleaned plates and cutlery. Together they would sit down together at Sanji’s cozy little dining table and eat in each other's company without much fuss. It was the time they set aside where they had made a silent truce to start no arguments and instead talk more amicably. Not that they were extremely chatty, Zoro was simply not a huge conversationalist and Sanji didn’t mind since he sometimes needed a social break after work anyways. Still, they enjoyed it either way, even if they hadn’t said a word. Just simply sitting at the same table and eating together, minds wandering but still knowing each other was there was enough.

Sanji had noticed that Zoro often disappeared during random times in the day, usually more docile or calm periods where they were both entertaining themselves. Either that, or usually around the time Sanji would get ready to head to bed and conk out. When Sanji had asked him about it, the man had at first tried to tease him by saying why, you worried about me or something, Curly? But that simply devolved into another fit of them bickering, and once that passed, he simply answered that when he slept he seemed to disappear.

Accepting that, Sanji had taken a while to get used to the man disappearing infrequently throughout some days due to napping. However, one thing he had gotten accustomed to is Zoro disappearing sometime during Sanji’s night routine, deciding to sleep for the night at the same time as Sanji did.

So, it was definitely strange when Sanji had finally laid his head down for the night, eyes closed and letting his mind soothe itself to sleep to have two freezing hands shake his shoulders to make him get up. Sanji had tried to curl away and stuff himself further into the blankets by curling into a ball, perhaps able to ignore the entire action as a fluke. But when Zoro huffed quietly and he shook his shoulders a little more insistently this time, Sanji groaned and rolled over so he could crack his eyes open and glare at Zoro for disrupting his beauty sleep.

“What?” He grumbled out sleepily, unable to help but pout grumpily up at the ghost who, when Sanji got over his sleepiness, noticed appeared cautious. Strange, and it started to make Sanji feel a little on edge as his exhaustion faded away .

“Curly, I can hear someone breaking into your apartment.”

Within seconds Sanji was sitting up in his bed, eyes wide and momentary panic drenching him like a bucket of ice water. He could hear it, the quiet noise of his doorknob jiggling and creaking around as if someone was attempting to break in. Heart pumping a mile a minute in fight or flight instinct, Sanji gave Zoro a look that made the other’s eye darken. Before the man went out himself and decided to do some stupid bullshit like protect them both from an intruder, Sanji placed a hand on the man’s chest and shook his head.

“I’ll deal with it. Just stay here.” Zoro looked extremely unappeased by that, but when Sanji didn’t let up and simply stared the sentiment into his soul, he shook his head but didn’t protest.

Accepting that for an answer, Sanji picked up his bedside lamp to use as a blunt force weapon and tip toed outside of his bedroom and into the direction of the front door. The creaking of the doorknob had stopped and the distinct sound of footsteps were heard. It was clear whoever had tried to get in had been successful, and Sanji was about to scream and hurl his bedside lamp like a projectile at his attackers head.

“Get the fuck out of- Old man?!” Sanji let the lamp fall out of his hands and onto the floor, instead rushing forward and confirming with his own two fucking eyes through the darkness in the apartment that it really was Zeff. What the fuck was the old geezer doing here?! It’s late as shit! Sanji eyed the key in his hand, nearly smacking himself upside the head at Zoro's caution about an attacker infiltrating the apartment getting into his head. Of course it’s not a fucking assassin coming into my apartment, fuck.

Zeff had instantly turned upon hearing Sanji’s voice, not bothering with being quiet and concealing his presence and instead flicking on the main apartment lights so they could both see. Sanji winced away from the light a little for their eyes to adjust, but once he did all he could see was the grumpy face of his father. “You’re alive, that’s a fucking start. Want to try and explain to me why you’ve been avoiding work like the plague, brat?”

His demeanor clearly showed he was currently accepting absolutely no bullshit, arms folded tightly and eyes glaring holes into Sanji’s head like lasers. Sanji’s brain waded through the question like swimming in molasses, attempting to come up with a satisfactory answer that wouldn’t have his old man think he had gone beyond insane. Sanji unfortunately hadn’t come up with a cover story about the ghost haunting his apartment yet, procrastinating on telling Zeff about everything going on until he came into work and quite literally had to explain himself.

Sanji should have known his damn old man would take matters into his own hands as soon as Sanji started becoming evasive about work. Stepping closer and clasping hands on Sanji’s shoulders, he had a serious sense of grimness as he asked, “Did they blackmail you? Is there some sort of hit on you?” That was enough to kick Sanji out of his attempt at creating a believable story, the thought so outrageous he couldn’t stop himself from responding instinctively.

“What? No! Why would you think that?!”

“You’ve given me no indication you’re fucking alive besides giving me a ring to cancel work every morning by saying you’re sick! What the fuck else am I supposed to think!” Sanji couldn’t stop the wince, now avoiding eye contact in a moment of guilt. Fuck, of course he’d break in. What was I thinking? Of course he’s fucking concerned.

It’s not as if Sanji had been lying per se, he’d had had a persistent and troubling cough the last few days. He’d never contracted the flu or a cold before, but it was so mild he assumed this is what it felt like. Tingling and occasional tightness in the throat, the pretty occasional coughing fit, sometimes a bit of a fuzzy feeling in his head or getting the rare flash of feeling immensely cold like he had slept in a bed made of ice blocks. All very common and mild symptoms Sanji had convinced himself, not enough to drag Sanji away from work by any means, but again, he technically wasn’t lying in what he said to Zeff as an excuse for not coming to work.

Didn’t mean that his stomach got the memo, though, roiling around with the bile of guilt attempting to breach his throat.

“I’m perfectly fine! Have some faith,” he tried to deflect but he knew it was a weak attempt. He didn’t even know why he bothered, as it only made the old man’s eyes tighten and his frown become more prominent that the frown lines became much more pronounced.

“The last time I tried to have faith you ran into my arms sobbing your eyes out after being missing for three weeks straight looking like you’d just escaped hell. Fucking forgive me for not being the most believing you’re alright. Plus, you’ve hardly ever been sick the entire time you’ve been under my care.”

Fuck, okay, shit. That stung like he had just been full body squeezed like he were a bottle of barbeque sauce or some other shit. Sanji alwayd valiantly tried to avoid memories of that night, running back to the Baratie and into the rescue of his fathers arms like everything was okay and he was now safe because he was home. And it was true, Sanji didn’t really do sick. Perhaps it was due to his family lineage, but the only time Sanji really got ill was due to his anaemia or due to that dark period in his life where he was subjected to prolonged starvation. Eating after that was a nightmare, for both he and Zeff.

Besides those, as Zeff said, he’d never really been sick.

“Right. Shit, fine! Sorry.” Sanji let out a breath and deflated along with it, exhaustion running him over once more and letting his shoulders drop like his strings had been cut. “It’s just been a fucking week and a half, alright?” Sanji really didn’t want to go into it, but he knew Zeff deserved to prod and know. He was just a concerned parent, and Sanji had looked like he nearly died a week or two ago when he had been at the Baratie when the bruises on his neck were first discovered, so Sanji couldn’t dare hold it against him for his questions being invasive.

“It’s to do with this shithole and that brat that came to the restaurant, isn’t it?” With his tone, it was clear he had figured out a lot without Sanji having spilled his guts. Sanji didn’t even bother denying it, there wasn’t any point.

“Yeah. They… know my family. Have a bit of a vendetta against them.” At that, Zeff let go of Sanji’s shoulders and rolled his own back as if getting a crick out of them. Standing up tall, he crossed his arms once more but they weren’t bunched up aggressively in brutally concerned anger anymore. Instead it was his usual gruff demeanour that Sanji was far more familiar with.

“Hmph, figured as much when that lady talked to me. Only reason I haven’t broken this door down earlier is cause that brat with the fucking endless apetite has come everyday with an update.” Sanji didn’t even have to think twice to guess who Zeff was talking about, there was only one person he knew who had a truly endless appetite.

“Luffy? Yeah, I’ve never met someone who can eat as much as him. It’s disturbingly impressive.”

“Hmph, it’s making me take a hit to my stock!” Sanji knew Zeff wouldn’t admit it, but he definitely enjoyed the challenge of feeding Luffy until he was full. A challenge that was practically impossible, since he could be full for one moment and in the next be whining for a snack, but still amusing nonetheless. 

“Yeah, yeah. If you didn’t secretly like serving him you wouldn’t do it, old man.”

“Shut up, you brat! Now, what was that about them having a vendetta against your family?” Sanji could feel the gruff worry oozing off of his old man like waves from an ocean. Sanji knew his blood relatives were always a serious conversation for worry, but at least this time Sanji could give him some reassuring news.

“Well, if it makes you feel better so you don’t have a heart attack on my doorstep, they aren’t working for my family. Instead they want to get revenge after one of their own died.”

“So who the hell tried to kill ya? I need to give a bit of a fucking word to them before I can let this all slide.” Right. That. Sanji kind of wanted to avoid that line of conversation since it wasn’t exactly easy to explain. It was the main reason he had been avoiding work anyway, because how the fuck was he going to convince his old man that there was a ghost living in his apartment?!

“Well… That might be difficult.”

“The fuck’s that mean?” Zeff could sniff out the evasive and nervous energy from Sanji like a trained hound. Sanji flicked through the pages of his mind in different ways to possibly avoid talking about a living fucking ghost in his apartment, but eventually just gave up. It was only inevitable before Zeff found out anyway, what was the point of avoiding the inevitable?

So, he tells him about the ghostly nuisance now living in his apartment. Of the miscommunication and mistaking him for one of his blood relatives. Of how the Vinsmokes were fucking scum and had killed off one of the strawhats. Of the ghost now haunting his apartment that he’s having dinner with every night like it was something completely normal. He knew it sounded beyond insane, but it didn’t make any of it less true, and all he could do while telling the story was hoping that Zeff would listen and take him for his word.

His old man hadn’t said a single word, letting Sanji nervously rant to him about all that had been going on in the hopes of convincing him he wasn’t crazy. Now that Sanji had stopped, he felt jittery in the way that Zeff still remained silent, taking a deep breath that had Sanji on the edge of his seat and his nerves standing in anxious attention for what he was about to say. “Sanji. I need you to be honest with me. Have you lost the plot?”

“What? No!” Figures, Sanji knew it was a long shot that Zeff would believe him. Sanji vehemently ignored the fact that he himself had thought he had been going crazy before he knew there was a ghost haunting his apartment. If his rambling explanation was hopeless for his old man to understand, Sanji just had to prove Mosshead was real some other way. Zeff should surely be able to see him, right? Luffy, Robin and Nami could see him without any issues, so it was a logical train of thought.

“ZORO, GET YOUR ASS OUT HERE AND PROVE TO MY OLD MAN I’M NOT FUCKING CRAZY!”

“Shut up, Curly, I’m right here.” And there he was, standing right beside him and appearing as aloof as ever. He even gave a yawn, Sanji internally wondering if that was even something the Mosshead did anymore considering he probably didn’t even need to breathe. Maybe it was a habit? Who knows.

“Sanji, who the hell are you talking too?!” His old man was starting to appear something close to appalled at the insinuation that Sanji may have really lost his mind.

“To Zoro, he’s right there!” Sanji roughly pointed at the man who continued to just lazily stand there uselessly to Sanji’s cause, not even bothering attempting to help. Fucking useless Mosshead.

“My eyesight ain’t that fucking bad, there’s no one there!” His outburst shout of frustration made Sanji’s own emotions start going haywire like a fire alarm had been pulled.

“What?! But everyone else can see him! That makes no sense… Zoro, why can’t he see you?” Sanji was practically imploring for an answer, desperate to make his old man see what he could. To prove that he wasn’t crazy, that he wasn’t hallucinating everything that had happened in the last week and a half. He wasn’t that lacking in self awareness, he knew Zoro was real.

“Hell if I know.” Great. Fan-fucking-tastic. Even the idiotic fucking Mosshead had no clue as to why his old man couldn’t see him. Sanji couldn’t let the conversation end here or Zeff would be forcing him to see a doctor and make sure his once in a lifetime contracted flu wasn’t giving him hallucinating symptoms as well.

Sanji ignored Zeff who looked two seconds away from taking matters into his own hand and smacking Sanji so hard in the head that his old man will convince himself that Sanji’s hallucinations are gone. Instead, he let out a frustrated groan and opened his palm that had been pointing accusingly at Zoro prior. With a gesture and slight flick of his wrist, Sanji said, “Fucking… Give me your hand.”

“And I thought I’d be the one to go senile first!” Sanji very purposefully ignored that comment from his old man lest he lose track of proving that he wasn’t crazy. Sanji instead glared fiercely at Zoro’s crinkle in his nose and his hesitation to do something as fucking simple as hold his hand.

“Just do it!”

“Fine.”

Hands clasped together, Sanji gave a very purposefully harsh squeeze to Zoro’s hand, just to be extremely petty. The other only took that as a challenge, squeezing back just as hard, and Sanji could feel his knuckles and bones crying out to him in pain. Not wanting to even harm his precious hands at all, Sanji scolded the stupid Mosshead to cut it out, and while they were in their own little world starting up another bickering match, Zeff was instead standing there dead in his tracks with his mouth wide open and eyes popped out.

“What the actual fuck.” Sanji’s head swivelled around instantly at the abysmal perplexion tinted with that disbelief coming out of his old man's mouth. Sanji completely forgot about his short lived argument with Zoro, instead feeling vindication that finally, he was being taken seriously about all the insane shit that had happened to him over the last two weeks.

“See! I’m not fucking crazy!”

His righteous validation and being proved innocent and in sound health didn’t last long. His old man wasn’t about to apologise, clearly, instead a dark, possibly even menacing expression took over his face. “Kid, what the hell have you gotten yourself into?” It was gruff but it was beyond a serious question. It killed any lightheartedness immediately, and Sanji felt uncertain and slightly vulnerable at the valid concern from his father.

“I… I don’t know.” It was true, he didn’t know. He didn’t know if there were long term consequences to living in this apartment and interacting with a ghost. He didn’t know if he was in danger by associating with Luffy and the strawhats, but that wasn’t the biggest of Sanji’s concerns considering his entire existence meant he was never truly safe from the Vinsmokes anyway. He didn’t know what his life was about to look like, and he couldn’t bring himself to lie in this situation where all he was asked for was honesty.

Letting out a sigh as if this entire debacle had shaved off a decade of his life, Zeff pinched his nose as if nursing a headache from the ordeal. While Sanji felt petulant about such a dramatic display of disgruntlement, deep down he knew that it was beyond a deserved response to the situation. “You, ghost brat, you gonna kill my son?”

Yikes. The question was beyond dark, but Sanji knew it was fair.

“No.” When the old man only curled up his face in confusion, Sanji nearly facepalmed at the realisation.

“He can’t hear you, dumbass!” Apparently he could only see him, very likely due to Sanji and Zoro's hands still being linked together.

Zoro rolls his eyes at Sanji’s complaining and shakes his head in response instead.

“You gonna get rid of his family”

Zoro nodded his head.

“They the one that did you in?”

Zoro nodded his head again.

“You promise me you’ll get rid of those fuckers and that my boy stays alive, and I’ll make sure I don’t send you into the real afterlife.”

Zoro didn’t even pause and nodded his head, but his lips had flattened even further with the seriousness of the agreement.

“See? Everythings fine,” Sanji tried to say to convince him of the Mosshead’s sincere intentions of never harming him again. Sanji believed it, too, deep down in his heart. He knew Zoro wasn’t an evil or particularly violent man. Now that he knew Sanji wasn’t affiliated with the Vinsmokes, he wouldn’t dare harm a single little blonde hair on his beautiful head. Well, besides their sparring, but that was different, that was all in good fun.

“Fine? Yeah right, don’t give me that bullshit. Be at the restaurant tomorrow morning, no more fucking ditching and no more excuses.” All he was afforded in time was to shout a quick goodbye to his old man as he walked out the apartment and slammed the door closed. The old man had a lot to think about, Sanji was sure, and it was late as fuck at night. Perhaps some sleep would do him some good, and speaking of sleep, Sanji could really lay down in his bed and not wake up for twelve hours himself.

Heading back to bed and flicking off the lights, Sanji could feel eyes on the back of his head. It meant that Zoro clearly had something he wanted to talk about, but Sanji just wished he would hold his tongue and instead ask in the morning when Sanji had a shred more patience.

“He’s one of the people you made a promise to,” is what he said when Sanji sat on his bed and adjusted the covers so they didn’t fall off while he slept.

“Huh? What are going on about?” He asked tiredly, the last thing he wanted was to wake up with his toes going purple from the cold because he hadn’t tucked himself in tight enough.

“The promise to why you haven’t tried getting rid of your family.” Sanji had laid his head down, the memory resurfacing through the exhausted sludge.

“Oh. Yeah. So?” He mumbled into his pillow, head moving this way and that and closing his eyes, attempting to find the best position for him to nod off.

“Why.” 

Sighing, Sanji turned his head so he was facing Zoro, giving him the attention he was subtly demanding. “Are you kidding? He may be a cranky old fart but he’s nothing if not protective! He always knew my family was scum, but the day I came back to him when my family last entered my life…”

His life that he had built for himself had been toppled like a stack of cards. When Sanji finally escaped their clutches once more, Sanji ran back to the Baratie before he even thought about doing anything else. The moment he had entered the place and caught sight of his old man, it was a mere second before he was encapsulated in a familial loving hug. It was tight but not restricting as the waterworks started, harsh and uncontrollable sobbing causing trails of tears and snot to run down his face and to stain Zeff’s shirt. He didn’t give a single fuck, though, instead cradling Sanji in his arms like he were to disappear if he let go.

Pushing him back by the shoulders, he had made Sanji promise that he would never involve himself with his family again. He just wanted Sanji to be home and safe. With blood red eyes from the warmth of salty tears, a pounding migraine from the emotional explosion and the dreariness of snot rolling down into his goatee, Sanji promised to him he wouldn’t. It wasn’t a hard promise to make, considering he himself wanted nothing to do with that family ever again. But it didn’t mean he didn’t make that promise with sincerity and the seriousness it deserved. Zeff knew as such, since he roughly wiped the muck on Sanji’s face away with a dirty dish rag and forced him to sit down and eat his first home cooked meal in weeks.

“He made me promise that I would do everything in my power to never interact with them again. Would rather have his son alive than dead, or something along those lines. I’m sure if he could, he’d tear them apart with his bare hands.”

He could feel the assessing stare of steel grey, of Zoro letting that information roll around in his head. It was one thing he and his old man had in common, they both wanted the Vinsmokes to fucking disappear for good since all they did was cause pain and destruction in their wake. Wanting to try and shut this conversation down for the time being, Sanji turned onto his side away from Zoro once more and wiggled around to get comfortable once more.

“I owe Zeff my life, more than once for that matter. I’d never want to break that promise,” he said as a closing statement, more as an acknowledgement for Zoro to show he wasn’t completely ignoring him. Still, he didn’t have the emotional capacity to evaluate his thoughts and feelings right now, not when he had been so emotionally high strung over the past two weeks.

“Sometimes we don’t get a choice.” The air stilled, and it was as if the world had been a recording that clicked the pause button upon Zoro’s words. Sanji had stopped adjusting himself to be comfortable in his bed, freezing and staring through the dark at the wall opposite him as if trying to read for an answer scrawled upon them. The sentiment was cryptic, but it sounded bitter and hurt.

It was late at night, it sounded loaded and like it was a vulnerable admittance, one that if Sanji tried to question, Zoro wouldn’t say a word in response.

So, Sanji doesn’t pry.

Chapter Text

It had been over a month since his life had been changed by the ghostly appearance of his new roommate. He was back at work since his old man had forced his way into the apartment and scolded him to come back, so it felt like everything was turning back on its usual axis. Another long week of work, and Sanji had been preciously gifted a beautiful bottle of wine from one of their regulars as a thank you for catering their huge table of twenty five people. An idea had come forth, and he managed to convince Zeff to allow him to take a bottle of sake from the cooking storage to take home for experimenting with new dishes and flavour profiles.

Really, he had the intentions of a certain ghost drinking it instead, but what his old man didn’t know couldn’t hurt him.

So here Sanji was at the end of a gruelling week after being hounded by pretty much every staff member to tell them what had been going on in his life and if he were in danger. Whenever he would keep his lips shut tight or be evasive, he could hear the staff whisper behind his back about their baseless and exaggerated theories about what was going on in his life. He knew they were all doing it out of interested concern if anything, but it had been grating on his nerves like he was a block of cheese that had been shoved through a cheese grater. In the one space where he could let his mind set into the mechanical and enjoyable motions of cooking he couldn’t even relax for the time being until the gossip and badgering ceased.

Luckily anytime his old man caught it he would shout at everyone to shut up and stop spreading rumours, giving them more of a workload to keep their hands and legs moving instead of running their mouths instead. Sanji appreciated it, Zeff wouldn’t say that he was being protective but it was his way of trying to take the social pressure off of Sanji just a little bit. He was the head chef and owner, everyone had to listen to him, and so he used his power so Sanji could have the worry die down a bit quicker and return back to the usual antics of the Baratie.

Still, after the last few weeks, Sanji knew he damn well deserved a nice tall glass of red wine, to put his feet up on the couch and put on a silly romantic comedy to take his mind off his lack of love life. He had come home particularly late, considering he stayed back to talk to his old man and he got a day off the next day he didn’t mind. His old man made sure to keep regular tabs on him and his health these days, making sure that he wasn’t going to disappear again no matter how much Sanji tried to reassure him he was fine .

Sanji swiftly kicked the door open and closed, making sure to stop the door from slamming closed at the last minute to be considerate to his neighbours, likely snoring away at the late hour of the night. He was quick to shoulder off his outerwear jacket and hang it up by the wooden rack at the entrance, kicking off his leather dress shoes that had moulded to the shape of his foot and instead slipping on his comfortable and insulated house slippers instead. Flicking on the main lights to the apartment to grace his home with some light instead of navigating through the familiar darkness, he shuffled further inside his lair with the two bottles of alcohol in his grasp.

His target, the Mossheaded ghost that seemed to be missing, had to be roused from his slumber it seemed. Unless he was hiding out on the balcony, lucky bastard being immune to the cold. Either that, or he was for some reason in Sanji’s bedroom, maybe testing out  how comfortable the mattress was and seeing if he could sleep in the corporeal world.

Who knew, but right now, he wasn’t in Sanji’s line of sight which needed to be fixed.

“Oi, Mosshead, you in here?” He called out, giving the Mosshead the benefit of the doubt of being located somewhere in the apartment and not having fallen asleep already.

He got no response. Really, Sanji didn’t know why he even bothered. It was beyond late, so late it was actually the next morning at this point. Just because the sun hadn’t poked its head over the horizon to say hello, didn’t mean that it wasn’t the wee hours of the morning. Sanji accepted his fate to be pathetic and drink his wine alone, but he decided to give it one last try to rouse the slumbering Mosshead from his ghostly bed.

“Oh, guess I got this whole bottle of sake for nothing. Oh well, guess I’ll drink it all by myself,” he called out, goading and on purpose. No way he’d ever fucking drink a whole bottle of sake by himself, it wasn’t really his taste in alcohol anyway. He’d much rather use it in cooking to make something absolutely delectable. The Mosshead didn’t need to know that, though, and if he really were so deep in sleep he didn’t hear Sanji then that worked too. He wouldn’t know Sanji had brought home a bottle of sake for him to drink and instead would just use it to cook him something the next day.

“I want some.” And like a carrot on a stick when promised some of his favourite alcohol, out the ghost appeared from the bedroom doorway. Sanji wasn’t surprised, he had learnt that Zoro would always wake up if Sanji needed him to do something. Stop nagging , he’ll say as he reappears and complains while doing what Sanji had asked of him.

“There you are. Where were you hiding?” Sanji asked while he grabbed a wine glass and some other one he could spare to pour some sake in. He couldn’t seem to find proper sake cups, but he had the distinct suspicion that Zoro wouldn’t give a shit if he was able to drink his sake to his heart's content. Still, Sanji would make sure the next time he brought sake home he’d have the proper cup to pour it into.

“Sleeping. S’late.” Sanji supposed he ought to feel guilty for waking him up, but considering this shithead didn’t have to work, be rushing around screaming, shouting, cooking and on his feet all day, Sanji lacked most of the capacity to care. Still, he did feel a little bad, Zoro deserved his rest even if he were a ghost. Probably reminded him he was still human, despite being dead.

“Hm. Well, I’m feeling extra generous today so I managed to bring back a bottle of sake from work. I’m gonna uncork a bottle of my finest wine that was gifted to me for doing a damn fucking good job and we can drink together.” He shook the bottle of sake in one hand like a dog treat in front of a dog, dragging the glasses and bottles of alcohol to the coffee table in front of his scratchy couch. Ever pedantic he made sure all glasses and bottles had a coaster underneath them to prevent watermarking. Sure, his furniture may be old and second hand but that was no reason to treat it awfully.

“As long as I get my sake, I don’t care,” the Mosshead grumbled, following him obediently as Sanji flopped himself on the couch and went about pouring himself a generous serving of wine.

“I won’t give you shit with that attitude,” he shot back, sneering at him just to be bratty. If he was going to be a piece of shit after Sanji had so generously and graciously thought of him and brought him back a present, then he didn’t deserve a single fucking drop.

“Hmph, yes, princess , I would love your company.” He too then let gravity take him to sit right beside Sanji, ditching the blanket neatly folded up on the couch arm on Sanji’s lap in a bid to be annoying and kind at the same time. Sanji just let out a laugh under his breath, readjusting the blanket to sit over both their laps and drape across their legs as he gestured to the pristine and empty glass and unopened bottle of sake for Zoro to help himself.

“That’s more like it, but stop calling me princess. I’m not a prince anymore, eugh.” He sat back and swirled his glass of wine, nursing it slowly as he let himself melt into the springs. It wasn’t a luxurious experience of relaxation by any means, but Sanji enjoyed sitting back and drinking a bottle of wine with a romcom movie running in the background every now and then.

“I didn’t call you a prince , you’re nothing like one anyway.” Zoro tried to swipe the remote control from Sanji, huffing when it slipped through his fingers to the enemy. To prove a point, though, Sanji made sure that he snatched it first and held it like a prize in his hand.

“Excuse you! I’m fucking refined and elegant,” he said, tilting his nose up and taking a very purposeful sip of his wine while side eyeing Zoro just to be a piece of shit. He then waved the remote in Zoro’s direction like a threat to make him consider his comeback.

“And prissy and high maintenance. Now hurry up and give me my sake.”

“You are such an ungrateful brute!” Sanji smacked his shoulder with the back of the remote, the plastic making a clicking sound on impact. It was a light hit, a warning tap but the other only snickered and stuck out his tongue in his direction. Why did I even think of being nice and bringing a whole bottle of sake home for you?! “And wanting to be clean, tidy, and look presentable everyday is not being prissy and high maintenance. You just have no sense of style!”

“Yeah, yeah,” he dismissed and flapped his hand in a motion that he had heard it all before and Sanji was just complaining for the sake of it. Sanji glared and huffed, taking a hefty sip of wine to reduce his simmering anger and instead put his focus onto what movie he wanted to watch. He flicked through the section of the romance comedy, watching in amusement in the corner of his eye Zoro wrinkling his nose at the genre.

He knew the Mosshead could give less of a shit about the dramatic and heartsobbing romantic comedies that Sanji seemed to enjoy. He would complain up a storm or comment snidely about how dramatic and stupid the main characters were throughout the entire thing. But one thing that always happened was that Zoro would remain sitting by Sanji’s side during the entire movie and watch it regardless. Not because he necessarily liked the movies, Sanji knew it was definitely more like hate watching if anything, but because he actually wanted to be in Sanji’s company.

Similarly, Sanji would always lean his arm up against Zoro’s when they sat on the couch together. Even if the man felt fucking freezing, it was always a reminder that he was real and he wanted to be there beside him. It was reassuring after an exhausting week, to have someone beside him and want to actually be in his company. Not someone fretting over him in worry or whispering whatever secrets they thought were going on in his life. Just someone who was willing to kick back on the couch, shove a blanket over them, get cozy and nurse a drink while watching some ranging in quality romcom movies.

Finally settling on a movie that took his fancy, he placed the remote down and scoffed when he saw the glass he had gotten for Zoro completely untouched. Instead he had grabbed the sake bottle and was drinking directly from the source as if he were a man dehydrated in the desert for a year and that was his only life saving water supply. He hadn’t even flinched at the possible acrid burn, nor had he blinked an eye or taken a breath until he had drained every last drop from the bottle. Sanji couldn’t help but stare at the display, watching the way Zoro’s throat bobbed as he chugged the sake, weirdly captivated but snapped out of it when the man let out a satisfied sigh.

He’s such a disgusting brute, ugh! Sanji convinced himself as Zoro slammed his now empty bottle of sake down on the table. He must have not wanted a second death wish since he actually placed it on the coaster and not directly on the coffee table, the tiny gesture warming the inside of Sanji’s stomach a little like he had just shoved his hands into some woolen mittens.

“Of course you drink it straight from the bottle. Why did I expect anything else?” He mused, purposefully knocking his elbow into Zoro’s just to be that tad bit annoying. He even went so far as to shoulder him too, the action of bumping him easy considering they were sitting with their arms literally plastered against one another. The man beside him was like a brick wall, but he was nudged by the motion of Sanji’s pettiness.

“And of course you swirl your wine around in a fancy glass as if it makes a difference,” He shot back just as quickly, elbowing him back and nearly causing the wine in Sanji’s hand to spill over the sides of the glass like a mini crimson tidal wave. If Sanji’s reflexes weren’t so quicksmart he would have surely created another stain to the couch cushions. Sanji decided to stomp on the other foot, grinding his heel into the bone of his foot to really send a message. He would not be responsible for creating a wine stain, those were a pain in the ass to clean!

“Ugh, you’re so infuriating! Just shut up and drink your booze. Oh wait, you already drank it all.” Sanji purposefully took a long, laborious sip of his remaining wine while keeping direct and unfaltering eye contact with the Mosshead. The man grumbled something useless under his breath, likely something that would make Sanji want to flick him on the forehead if he had heard. Still, even while mumbling something, he too remained in their tense eye contact. It was almost electric, the tension in the room as Sanji swallowed his final mouthful of wine, licking any possible red stains from his lips.

The electric tension was snipped in half like a ribbon due to the loud and grating sudden sound of smashed glasses resounding from the television. It was enough to make Sanji jump, attention back onto the movie where apparently a whole tower of some alcohol at some big fancy party had just fallen and created some convenient drama or plot device for the two main characters. It was a shame, if Sanji actually wanted to understand what was really going on in the movie he would have to rewind to nearly the beginning.

He wouldn’t bother though, he was far more interested in the company sat beside him than the movie currently droning on the television. The Mosshead was an annoying asshole, but Sanji had to admit he respected him. They had become friends, only inevitable when they were forced to live in the same apartment together. Even more inevitable when Sanji had no friends besides those who worked at the Baratie, but those were coworkers and colleagues. Zoro had no one to keep him in constant company, his friends only being able to drop by whenever they weren’t swamped with trying to avenge him.

It meant that two rather lonely souls had found each other, like fate. Their names prescribed in the sand, carved into the wood of a tree which never wilted, stars aligning at the perfect moment to create their eventual meeting. Or some other corny bullshit, Sanji didn’t really believe that shit to be true, but it was amusing to think about. It was true that they had become friends, though, and Sanji wouldn’t admit it out loud if he appreciated the friendship and company. Hence why he brought home a bottle of his ghostly roommate's favourite alcohol. And the reason his roommate continued to sit beside him even though he no longer had an incentive to?

Well, that was because he’d never admit it, but he definitely enjoyed Sanji’s company too.

“How come you’re home so late.” Mossy wasn’t even pretending to be interested in the movie, no running commentary on the subpar plot or making fun of the way that the stupid romance happened to come about. Instead

“What, worried about me?” Sanji asked, turning his head to the side and leaning it lightly up against Zoro’s shoulder. His cheek was squished up against it, curly eyebrows raised and the side of his lips uptick in a signal that he was just teasing. His fringe covered half his face in a flaxen curtain, waved and danced anytime Sanji breathed due its new placement from the movement. It didn’t hinder his vision at all, tracing the brief widening of storm grey eyes before Mossy regained his senses and scoffed with his head turned away from him.

“As if!” He denied it, but Sanji muffled his airy laughter into Mossy’s shoulder, the reverberations absorbed by the fabric adorned on his shoulder. Sanji didn’t even pretend to be offended and think of a comeback with his quickfire anger and tongue of wit. Instead, he directed his cheeky grin directly at Mossy, the man having this look of apprehension that made him look like he’d swallowed an entire lemon or something. It was pretty funny, Sanji had to admit, and it was why he continued to make fun of him.

“Aw, you care about me.” He gave the man some mercy and sat back up so he no longer bore his weight from the leaning, but reached out with his fingers and gently pinched his cheek. The smooth skin of his cheek was frosty, but Sanji paid it no mind as he let go and returned his hand back to his side. He could see the twitch in Mossy’s arm, a signal that he had been seconds from either batting Sanji’s hand away or capturing it on his own. Sanji didn’t want his fingers to freeze, not when they were his most precious tool for cooking, and he felt that Mossy deserved his question to be answered after all the evasiveness.

“I worked overtime, and afterwards my old man wanted to ask how everything was going.” Sanji knew he felt guilty for ditching work the past week, and the best way to make up for it was spending an extra hour or so to help out. It also meant that while most of the staff headed off for the night, he and Zeff would have the time to chat about how everything was going. And by chat, Sanji meant he got grilled for information to make sure he wasn’t hiding anything and keeping his lack of safety hidden. He wasn’t, but Sanji couldn’t hold it against Zeff for wondering, even if it made him defensive and angry.

Still, Sanji would relay what would be happening, nothing that adventurous or extreme like he was probably imagining. All Sanji had been doing was, well, existing in his apartment like it was a home. That, and cooking and spending time with the roommate now haunting the place. The only other worthy to note happenstances were when Luffy would host a meeting at Sanji’s apartment so he could mooch off of his cooking expertise and free food, but also keep Zoro in the loop of what their plans were. Sanji never even bothered to be nonplussed about it, he didn’t mind, and it was nice watching everyone on their little ragtag friend group get along and hang out. Mossy always seemed to be so much brighter after their visits, his usual stoicism warm like honey that had been tempered over the stove.

“He definitely doesn’t trust me.” Sanji didn’t bother giving platitudes or falsely reassuring Mossy of the opposite. There was no point when his intuition of his old man’s opinion on him was spot on. It was pretty obvious anyway, his old man would rather tear his tongue out than admit it but he was quite protective of Sanji and his health. Sanji supposed that it was quite natural for a parent to feel that way for the welfare of their child, to be worried about them when something tragic befell them. His old man would always ask if Zoro was giving him any trouble, and when Sanji would talk about how he was a nuisance but not an actual danger, he would huff and begrudgingly accept the answer.

“No, he doesn’t. He trusts you well enough to not kick down the door everyday, though, so that accounts for something.” And to Mossy’s credit, that really did mean something. It meant that when his old man had come and forced him to make that promise, he believed him. Very, very barely and very much not happily, but he still did. Even he could tell that Zoro was someone who kept his promises, that serious acceptance and acknowledgement of the sentiment was enough to sway him over and leave Sanji to live his life in his apartment even if Zoro was there.

“Not like I can blame him.” It was remorseful, drenching in regret but only in the subtleties of Zoro’s tone. Sanji could read right through it like he was a pane of clear glass, he had gotten pretty good at reading Mossy these days. He knew it went the other way round too, so his attempt at trying to reassure him without coming off as coddling would be understood.

“Well, not the best first impression, but hey. I trust you. Better relish in that because who knows if I’ll ever say that shit again.” Mossy snorted at that, both sharing a bit of an amused smile with one another. It was relaxed and casual despite the severity of those words, how true they really were to Sanji’s heart.

“So generous,” he mocked back, deadpan and in an attempt to be a sarcastic asshole. Sanji smacked the back of his palm against the man’s arm harmlessly, breaking the joke and instead garnering his attention to not misinterpret what Sanji had meant. To not blow it off, how much Sanji had meant those words.

“I mean it.” And Zoro knew it too, with the way he relaxed back into the couch cushions, the way his eye avoided Sanji’s but not with the intention of being evasive. Instead it was back on the television, expression lax and eye shining with that steely warmth that meant the sentiment had gotten through. Sanji was glad, he was right when he said he’d rather bite off his finger than admit it again, and he wasn’t going to deny that the tall glass of red wine he had might have loosened his uptightness on his emotionality a little.

Didn’t make it less exaggerated or untrue, though. Throughout the night, when Sanji had been shoving an increasing amount of luxurious blankets in the hopes of stemming his frozen shivering, he could feel a vigil presence by his bedside even if not physically present. Not enough to be invasive, but just enough to be reassuring of his presence. That Zoro was there if Sanji ever called, if something dangerous happened at night, he was simply a word away. It made the restless abade, and for Sanji to fall to rest easier and earlier than when he lived alone with his paranoia as his only company.

Whenever Sanji would call for Zoro when he had inevitably disappeared off for his sporadic and frequent naps, Zoro would make it obvious when he reappeared. He’d always return to his line of sight, or if Sanji were distracted by his exploits in cooking in the kitchen, he would very loudly stomp his feet and place a hand on his shoulder to signal he was behind him. Not the touch first, always an obnoxious walking noise to alert Sanji that he was there first. It was something so small, and if he wanted to be an absolute fucking asshole he could just scare Sanji everytime out of spite. But he never does, not once.

Even when they sat and ate together on their ritual evening dinners, Sanji was always one to watch Zoro take his first bite and his reaction to the flavour before digging in himself. He’d never outright compliment the food, a stretch too far in his subtle kindness, but he’d never say it was shit either or downtalk. While they chatted, or more like bickered with one another, it was sharing an easier camaraderie with one another and not any actual biting jabs or stabs at each other's personality. And when they finished and Sanji would collect Zoro’s dish to stack on his own and bring to the sink to soak, he would always notice with a heart warmth in his stomach like a soothing cup of hot chocolate on a winter's day that Zoro never left a single crumb remaining on his plate.

He ate every single grain of rice, every drop of sauce, and never really complained a single moment about it.

It was impossible for Sanji to not have grown to trust him, almost implicitly. It was much more impossible for Sanji to not feel a sense of connection with Zoro, but he tended to avoid even thinking about that himself. It was a can of worms he was not prepared to open, and once it was open, he was unsure how to deal with it. Instead they were both comfortable wading through their strong bonded friendship with one another, spending time with one another and pissing each other off for fun because that’s how their dynamic was.

They had once more had a pause in conversation, both pretending to watch the movie once more. So much of the plot had been missed, and it was clear the movie was getting towards the final climax where both characters would scream declarations of love for one another and finally get together. Sanji wondered if there was even a point of having the movie on, but the droning background noise made the apartment feel more like home. It felt more alive that way, having a movie they weren’t even watching while they sat side by side with a blanket draped over them. It was homey, it was peaceful, and it made Sanji feel all gooey inside.

It was short lived, though, as with the comfort Sanji felt daring enough to broach a conversation topic that had been on his mind. Something that Zoro had said a week or so ago, something that was an unanswered question that Sanji had been secretly wanting to know.

“Have you ever broken a promise?” The need to know burnt inside him, like he was a pot of stock boiling away and the temperature only increased the more he sat on it. It had struck him when Zoro had said it late at night, and at the moment Sanji didn’t want to pry. Now, though, he couldn’t resist anymore. He’d back off if Zoro wanted, but he was willing to give a chance and see if he’d answer.

“Hah? Why’re you askin’ that, Curly?” He didn’t outright seem offended, suspicious or even angry that Sanji had asked. To say he was perplexed, though, was not faithful either. If Sanji had to pin it down the best, he had to guess something close to apprehension. Perhaps he wasn’t ready to answer yet, or Sanji had chosen the wrong time to ask.

“You said that sometimes we don’t get a choice to keep our promises. Sounded personal,” he said, trying to explain himself and keep the line of conversation out a little longer. The last thing he wanted is for the line of communication to be severed completely, but he also hated sitting in prolonged moments of awkward silences.

“...” Sanji could feel the pensiveness emanating off of Zoro like the smoke from one of his cigarettes. It made Sanji feel as if he had taken a step with the wrong foot, and not wanting to make Zoro upset, he was quick to try and diffuse the situation. He didn’t want to feel guilty, or make Zoro feel pressured to reveal something personal when he wasn’t ready.

“You don’t have to answer. I should probably head to bed anyway if I want a chance at not shitty sleep.” The last part was added on as a quick escape, so he didn’t have to sit there and deal with the consequences of asking a question that may not get a response. He patted Zoro’s shoulder placatingly, signalling he was about to get up and do as he said, but Zoro spoke and it broke any train of movement.

“It’s hard to keep promises when you’re dead.” Sanji kept his hand remaining on Zoro’s arm, moving it in little motions up and down. He didn’t know why, but it felt natural to do so. Perhaps because though he was trying to be indifferent, like those words didn’t hurt him to say, Sanji could tell that Zoro was becoming increasingly vulnerable.

“Some promises are intended to take to the grave.” It was true, some promises were never aimed to be completed. Some promises were also secrets, such as don’t tell so and so this or that. There were some promises that could only be successful when the person was no longer alive. Would Sanji’s promise be kept?

No. He’d be dead, and while technically he never promised to stay alive, his promise to Zeff to stay away from his family was so he wasn’t killed or manipulated. Therefore, even if not stated so bluntly, he would have failed the parameters of the promise if he were to pass. Not that he was going to, mind you, but Sanji understood where Zoro was coming from if he were to think of himself and his promises philosophically.

“Not mine.” As Sanji had suspected, it seemed Zoro had a promise unresolved. One that he could no longer feasible promise now that he was no longer alive. He was beyond disappointed in the circumstance, instead roaming towards self-reproach. Sanji laid his head back on Zoro’s shoulder, still moving his hand up and down in a moment of reassurance. He didn’t say anything to reassure, though, as he was unsure what was appropriate. The last thing he wanted was to say the wrong thing and set off a landmine.

The ball was in Sanji’s court to say something, though, as it was clear Zoro was not going to continue talking if Sanji didn’t prompt him to. He hadn’t outright shut the conversation down, so Sanji felt comfortable enough continuing, he just had to think of an appropriate avenue to do so.

“What was the promise?” It was a risky ask, but Sanji was genuine in his want to know. He would understand if he couldn’t say, if it were a secret. Still, it seemed integral to Zoro as a person, and if Sanji was afforded the trust to know, he would cherish that.

“That I’d become the world's greatest swordsman.” That was certainly not what Sanji had expected, but the more he thought about it, the more it made sense. Zoro was a swordsman, a man that had likely become a master of the blade. He’d never seen him in battle or using his swords, but Sanji believed that if Zoro had set his mind to it and made that as a promise, he must have been talented and trained his ass off to try and get to the top.

It’s a shame his dream was cut short, dragged away from him and torn into unrepairable shreds.

Sanji hated the Vinsmokes with a fucking burning rage that could never be tempered.

“Maybe the person who you made that promise to will take on the task themselves and become the world's greatest swordsman. There’s still some hope, right?” It couldn’t be over, the Vinsmokes ruined everything but maybe not the whole dream. It could still be completed by someone important to Zoro, surely? It wouldn’t be the same, but the sentiment would still be alive.

“Not possible.” The air was grim, frozen and reminiscent of the darkness of the late night, or early morning. “She’s been dead for many years.” Sanji had all the air in his lungs sucked out like someone had shoved a straw in them. He felt winded, like he had been walking and all of a sudden made a misstep and started rolling down a hill and into a ditch. The freezing temperature he had been easily ignored came back and sunk its vengeful claws directly into Sanji’s pale skin and susceptible mind.

“Oh.” The sound came out of him as if forced, auto piloted. “I’m sorry.” For asking, and for prying, and for knowing that someone so important in Zoro’s life had passed away before him.

The silence made Sanji feel an itchiness on his skin, wanting to rub it away until it was abrasive. He wanted to chew on the end of a pen, drag in a long huff of smoke and let it hold in his lungs until it burnt. He wanted to sink his teeth into the side of his cheek until it broke skin and bled, he wanted to chew the skin on his lips until cracks formed. The more it continued, the worse Sanji felt, and the more those jittery behaviours felt necessary.

Sanji felt exposed, vulnerable, pushed to the edge and guilty for it considering it was Zoro who felt like shit. As a result, Sanji felt like shit, but then felt even shitter from feeling like shit because this wasn’t about him. But Sanji finally opened up with something he wanted to say, how he related to Zoro’s words and understood in his own way.

“The first person I made my promise to, about not getting rid of my family, is someone who’s dead, too. Feels a lot like you have to go through with it when they can’t do it themselves.” It was a burden to some, it was a blessing to others to keep them going, to have a target to focus on. For Sanji, he was still unsure how he felt about it. Even if not promised, Sanji severely doubted he would ever want anything to do with his family ever again, and that included getting revenge.

“Hm.” A grunt of understanding, but that was it. It seemed this line of conversation was exhausted, but Sanji didn’t want to leave the conversation on such a dour note. This night was meant to be spending quality time together and watching a movie, not be all sad and depressing about their lives.

“How did you want to become the world’s greatest swordsman?” Sanji asked instead in an attempt to shift the tone, but he was curious. Sanji had no idea what it qualified to be the greatest swordsman in the world, nor what challenges had to be faced. Probably because Sanji had absolutely no interest in swords or knives beyond their use in the kitchen, but Sanji was interested in knowing Zoro, so now he was interested in the topic because it was something he clearly enjoyed.

“I wanted to defeat Dracule Mihawk.” Sanji closed his eyes, eyebrows furrowed as that vague name sounded familiar. He tried picturing the man who’s name rang a bell, and when he was reminded of creepy yellow eyes that stared into the soul and jet black hair he opened his eyes back up.

“Huh? Isn’t he like that old vampire guy with the unbeatable record for sword fighting or something? I think I remember my old man mentioning him once.” His old man knew a lot of people, connections from who knows what. Sanji swore he remembered Dracule Mihawk coming to the Baratie a few years back, too. Wasn’t there some sort of commotion that day? Sanji couldn’t remember because he had been forced to go shopping after doing stocktake earlier that morning.

When he came back, everyone was either pale or their mouth was running a mile a minute to the point Sanji couldn’t understand what they were trying to say. When he asked Zeff about what had everyone freaked out, the man just shook his head and told him not to worry about it and that some commotion had happened but was over. Sanji hadn’t even thought about it ever again, but he had remembered Dracule Mihawk being there when he left for the grocery shopping, and he was distinctly missing when he returned.

“Yeah, he’s fucking weird. I’d even challenged him once when I was nineteen and he beat the shit out of me,” Zoro had said under his breath, begrudgingly accepting of his loss in battle but almost weirdly like he let out the last words on a laugh.

“Really?”

“Yeah, I have the battle scar to prove it.” To prove his claim, Zoro grabbed the hem of his shirt and pulled it up, displaying front and centre the scar bisecting his chest from shoulder to just above his hip in a diagonal motion. It was clear it had been stitched up, and Sanji reached out but stopped his fingers from touching. They twitched with the want to assess the stitching work, analyse how deep the scar was and how painful it must have felt. Just by the look of it, Sanji was surprised that wasn’t what snuffed out the life of the man beside him.

“Holy shit! That’s actually insane. I’m surprised that’s not what killed you,” Sanji said what he was thinking, forcing his hand back beside him when Zoro let go of the shirt and let it fall back over the scarred canvas of his chest. Sanji suddenly wished to reach for a cigarette and fiddle with it, but he stopped himself from fidgeting any further.

“He saw potential in me, or whatever.”

“Did he take your eye, too?” Was his eye another valiant battle scar? Was it something he lost in his trial and tribulations to be the greatest swordsman in the world? How long ago had he lost it? Did it impact it work, was his depth perception loss a necessity for the promise? Or was he so hardworking that he persevered through the setback and continued forward anyway?

“Nah, that was an accident.” Well, that was an anticlimactic answer, but it was true so Sanji still soaked up the information like a sponge. Sanji still wondered if it bothered him, how long it took to get used to only being able to see out of one eye. At least he hadn’t lost his eye to the Vinsmokes. He knew it was ironic considering he had hair constantly covering one eye, but he didn’t know if he’d be able to cope with losing an eye. It meant more struggle with depth perception for his blades and his hands when cooking, it also meant that working in a busy kitchen and being aware at all times would be significantly harder.

Sanji respected Zoro significantly, especially since now that he thought about it, he must have fought against Yonji that night with the loss of his eye. And he hadn’t lost that battle. He must have truly been a formidable foe. Sanji wished he could see it for himself. He wondered if in another life they could have sparred against one another fully, his legs as strong as steel against the fine blade of Zoro’s wielded swords. It was exhilarating to even imagine them fighting but never harming each other due to trusting each other's strength and each other so unconditionally and wholeheartedly.

Sanji hadn’t realised it but a starcatching smile had been taking over his face. He also didn’t realise the eye staring directly at him filled with awe but absolutely silent. Perhaps he was so wonderstruck by the expression, or worried if he spoke he would break the moment, but while Sanji’s head was so stuck up in the clouds Zoro simply took in his enrapturing expression.

“Y’know, Nami was wrong.” Sanji blinked at that, perplexed as to the complete shift in conversation. Not only that, but Sanji had no clue what the heck the Mosshead was talking about!

“Hey, don’t say something negative about Nami!” Zoro rolled his eyes at Sanji’s defence of Nami. Mosshead can’t just bring up Nami out of nowhere and then claim she was wrong about something! That was extremely damn rude!

“You look nothing like your father.”

“What?” Sanji’s lips opened and closed, eyes wide as the pure white plates in his cupboard. He could feel his breath caught in his lungs, trapped and banging against his lungs for escape. The warmth on the expanse of his cheeks and nose, running so far as to the tips of his ear to paint them in a flowery pink. His heart was pounding rapidly in his chest like he had drunk too many cups of coffee and had a caffeine overload. “I…” Sanji struggled to get any words out, completely shocked to the core. Zoro’s expression wasn’t helping, frying Sanji’s brain further like an egg on the burner. He looked downright fond, head tilted to the side and his entire posture relaxed and easy as if he hadn’t just dropped an absolute bombshell.

As if it had been the easiest thing in the world. And maybe it was, because Zoro had said it like it was a fact that wasn't even debatable. “Zoro…” he tried once more, hand that had been simply laying on Zoro’s arm now flexing and grasping onto him as if to make sure he didn’t slip through his fingertips. He couldn’t look away from Zoro for a single second, trying to really see him and find some way to build up the courage to express the fucking hodge podge of feelings he was currently feeling into some format.

“It’s late, Curly, and you finished your glass of wine ages ago. You look like you’ve been wanting to pass out for the past few hours.” He laid his hand over Sanji’s, not removing it but also not squeezing it back. Sanji felt like the rug had been pulled from right under him, and he was left sitting dazed on the floor unknowing of how to stand. He swallowed down everything that was brewing inside of him, and nodded his head in agreement to what Zoro said.

It was true, too, as strange as it was for Sanji to realise how he was still recovering from that bout of sickness. For the past week, Sanji has felt a growing sense of lethargy, more than he had ever felt to such an extent before. Like there were moments where his body felt numb and to move it was like wading through a river or mud. He’d felt faint sometimes, especially when he used to be anaemic, but he’d never felt the same type of faint and exhausted so heavily. He found moments where he would be concentrated on cooking in one moment, and then after blinking he had swayed a little on his feet. Never to the point of losing his balance completely, but enough for Sanji to notice himself.

He seriously needed some rest, for a multitude of reasons, and considering their conversation had come to a close Sanji decided to take the out provided by Zoro and head to bed.

“Right. I’m, um, going to have a cigarette then go to sleep. Goodnight, Zoro.” He stood up, reaching up to the ceiling and giving his bones and muscles a bit of a stretch. Flicking off the television, he eyed the bottles and glasses on the table and decided to deal with it the next morning. The thought of leaving a mess made Sanji want to cringe at himself, but he was just beyond exhausted to the point that he couldn’t even muster the urge to care right now.

Giving Zoro one final smile to bid him goodnight once more, the man said, “Goodnight, Curly,” in a way that stuck in Sanji’s mind when he finally closed his mind and laid down for the night. It was how fond it was spoken, almost as if the initial insult had become something affectionate.

-----

The weeks seemed to fly by with a new sense of normalcy. Sanji went to the Baratie and worked his ass off, would come home and eat dinner with Zoro, then share moments of domesticity in their apartment before eventually heading to bed. Sanji had never expected this to be his life, or for him to accept it so easily, but he was glad. It was a nice life, his job being his passion in life, and coming home to someone and being able to chat away to them over a nice home cooked meal.

He hardly ever felt lonely for the many many weeks that had passed. Something that always seemed to haunt Sanji in the corner of his eye, biding its time and waiting to pounce and strike. Instead it was less than a murmur, too distracted by his and Mossy’s banter and play fighting to even think about being lonely.

For once, Sanji had hope that this simplistic joy wouldn’t be stripped away from him and torn to little indecipherable shreds. Not when Zoro was by his side, it made him feel like even if the Vinsmokes came pounding on his apartment door, they could take them on together. There was a chance. An actual, real chance for Sanji to live his life in freedom and not be scared of every shadow reminiscent of his blood family coming out to get him.

It meant he could actually fully enjoy a morning to sleep in for once, something completely out of normalcy for someone like him, a constant busybody. But once in a blue moon he will just crash and his body will take a little longer to reboot itself and he’ll wake up finding it’s way past six in the morning and instead nearly noon. Today was clearly one of those days, since when Sanji’s eyelashes parted like splaying golden sunlight and squinted through the sun permeating through the curtain blocking his window, he knew it was much closer to afternoon than morning.

He felt beyond lethargic and he rolled himself out of bed, instantly shivering the moment his feet hit the floorboards. It was fucking freezing, and the cold only zapped away any motivation and energy he had. Bundling up his duvet and wrapping it around him like a cape, he shuffled into the bathroom and quickly did his morning routine to gain back a sense of repetitive similarity to his morning. Once done, he shoved some very thick and fluffy socks and then some slippers and shuffled out into the rest of the apartment, duvet dragged along with him as he cowered inside it like it could protect him from the cold, cold world.

“Fuck, why is it so cold?” He asked in the general air of his apartment, face barely peeking out from where he was swaddled inside fluffy and warm comfortability. He hadn’t said it in the hopes of a response, more of a passing comment if anything, lamenting his fate to the weather as he made his way to the kitchen in the hopes of creating something easy. His appetite hadn’t been particularly active lately, but he knew it was worthwhile eating something , even if it were some soup or an omelette on some rice and veggies. Something easy to eat and not set off his senses with too much, relatively plain and digestible.

“You’re up late.” He heard the stomping preceded by a hand up against his back, Sanji instinctively moving away from the cold touch. Zoro being up before Sanji was strange for sure, the man always one to grumble when Sanji accidentally woke him in his morning sleep ins.

“Hm?” He had hummed noncommittal, already knowing he had been later in getting up than usual. Mossy was likely commenting just to see if Sanji would freak out about how late he got up. However, when his eyes lazily tracked over the clock ticking away beside his kitchen wall, he nearly did a double take to make sure he could actually tell time.

“Holy shit. I guess I was more exhausted than I thought.” It was mid afternoon, not even morning anymore, a new record for how late Sanji has ever woken up. He cleared the thickness that had accumulated in his throat, the rumbling making his raw throat aching from incessant coughing for the cry for something warm and soothing. He decided to reduce his cigarette smoking for a little while his throat was so sensitive and his hunger had depleted, instead quickly whipping up some soothing tea.

He was sure to make an extra mug of green tea, a non alcoholic beverage that Mossy actually enjoyed drinking often. He made sure to steep it for a little longer than he’d prefer, enough so it became more bitter and pronounced in flavour. Personally, he’d add a dash of honey to complement the bitterness, but Mossy always turned his nose up at anything sweet. Sanji had learnt the best way to brew his favourite tea so he could give him something warm to drink in the mornings. Surely it warmed the soul, or at least Sanji liked to think so.

He cupped his mug of french earl grey with a dash of milk between his frozen to the bone hands, acting as insulators but really sucking out all the warmth from the beverage like hands over a fire. He breathed in the steam, closing his eyes and letting it filter over his face and tickle his eyelashes with the moist heat emanating from the boiling drink. Right now, his cup of tea smelt divine, and he was contemplating whether taking a sip and burning his tongue was a worthy sacrifice to try and warm up his insides a little bit.

“You look like a ghost.” Sanji rolled his eyes, half hiding his face behind his mug of hearty tea. Sanji knew he was paler than usual, he had noticed himself when he looked in the mirror. His pallor had become closer to that of the snow outside, but Sanji wasn’t overly concerned. At this time of year where winter had been raging on for the last two months, Sanji was convinced it was fairly normal.

“ Hah Hah , very funny . It’s because of the fucking cold, I haven’t seen a ray of sunshine in weeks.” Sanji had expected the conversation to die there, and it did, but something about Zoro’s look of skepticism didn’t sit right with Sanji. Not in the way that would raise Sanji’s short fused temper, but instead made him feel a pit in his stomach like it was weighed down with a ton. Unsettled, was probably the best word he could use to describe it, but Sanji was nothing if not good at deflecting his stress into something more productive. So, he started organising the kitchen workbenches for some eventual cooking in the kitchen instead of letting his mind wander.

He retrieved his hefty metal pot that he used to often make soups or stews, an easy meal in their current climate that Sanji could reheat for dinners or put in the freezer if he came home extremely late. Another pro about soup was that he could shove a bunch of vegetables in there so it was nutritionally beneficial but didn’t feel like he was eating so much that it left the impression that he had eaten a stone. It was an easy way to clean out his fridge so he could go shopping the next day, and a way for him to ensure he still ate even in his current lack of appetite.

Once set up, Sanji chugged a bit of his tea, the beverage soothing the tickle and scratchiness fighting away in his throat. Letting out a satisfied sigh, he side eyed the man beside him to see if he was enjoying his drink too. Sanji noticed quickly, though, that Zoro hadn’t taken a single sip, instead seeming to be stuck in his thoughts from their previous conversation. Not wanting Zoro to be stuck in his rumination, Sanji was quick to throw out a solution and see if it stuck. “Since you’re so good with swords, why don’t you try chopping up some onions and mushrooms for me. And what other vegetables I can find, I’m just gonna shove them all in a soup.”

It seemed that Sanji’s proposal had intrigued him enough to get his head out of the thunderclouds they had been soaring through. Instead he chugged his tea down in one breath and slammed, albeit very lightly so Sanji didn’t chew him out, his mug down on the counter. “Isn’t that your job? I thought you were a chef,” he goaded, back to his usual self and taking the chance to start up their usual banter as per usual.

Sanji scoffed, waving Zoro and his unwanted attitude away after he had attempted to throw him a bone and give him something to do. “I was just trying to be nice and let you hold a knife supervised but if you’re going to be a shithead about it I’ll just do it myself!” He hip checked Zoro out the way on purpose, picking up his mug and depositing it in the dishwasher while pretending to completely ignore him. When he made his way back to the cutting board where he had laid out a bunch of vegetables and some chicken he planned to cut and put in the soup, he was hip checked out the way in revenge.

“Move out the way, I’m gonna show you just how good I can cut those shitty mushrooms.” Sanji watched under the hairs of his fringe the way Zoro rolled up the sleeves of his shirt like he was taking this more than seriously. It seemed he had to protect his pride as a swordsman and prove how good he was able to handle a blade. Sanji was intrigued, but he couldn’t help himself from shooting back a comeback as good as he got.

“Hmph, I’ll be surprised if more than half are even.” He flicked his hair behind his ear sassily, taming some of the flyaways and bed hair that hadn’t been smoothed down. In all honesty, it didn’t really matter if Zoro cut all the vegetables evenly or not in a dish as simple as soup, and considering Sanji was the one actually cooking it he would make it taste beyond delicious. That, and there would be no danger of the food being undercooked or overcooked to the point of it being inedible.

“That a challenge, Curly? Doubting my slicing skills?” He held the knife in his hand, juggling the weight in his hand in assessment for the precision and strength needed for the cut. Obviously if he used too much and cut Sanji’s chopping board in half he knew Sanji would make triple sure he was really dead and knew it. Still, he held the knife with a sense of respect, gliding it against the air by the counter to ascertain the sharpness and accuracy of his bladework with a different kind of material.

“No, it was a factual comment,” Sanji said back to him, tearing his eyes away from the sight and instead forcing himself to worry more about creating the perfect broth for the soup for the vegetables and chicken to be cooked away in. Handful of spices here, a few herbs there, a couple of stirs to make sure it all blended together and a few small spoons to taste and it would be perfect in no time.

“You’re so on.” The challenge had been set, the glove had been thrown on the floor by his feet, and so like any man of honour he took it seriously.

Or as seriously as they could while they danced around each other in the kitchen within one's vicinity. Sanji just couldn’t help himself from stepping into Mossy’s space and picking up one of the sliced up mushrooms, holding it up to his eye and turning it this way and that as if assessing its quality. He would huff that sounded like disappointment, something Zeff used to do to him, and said nothing as he would go back to his task of stirring.

It made Zoro strike back as he’d shoved all his cut up vegetables and chicken into the soup and turned his nose away from it. He stuck his tongue out, just to be childish, and like clockwork the two started to spar with one another, Sanji leading them naturally out of the kitchen and into the den of the living room while the soup boiled away and they had time to joke around with one another.

Sanji had chucked one of his slippers at Zoro like a projectile. Zoro had jumped at Sanji with a blanket held tightly in his hands like it were a cage and he was trapping Sanji within. That is all to say, they were being completely silly in their methods to defeat one another, pillows askew on the surrounding floor, the rug now shoved aside due to being pulled in the attempt to knock the other off their feet. One of Sanji’s slippers was discarded somewhere in the kitchen, the duvet that had been used as a cape now thrownaway on the couch that had been dislodged but not knocked over.

The apartment was a mess, but Sanji couldn’t care less as they shared matching grins of competition and bouts of laughter. It only came to a relative stop when the constant shrill beeping of his timer went off, signalling the soup needed to be taken off the stove and it was time to eat. The air was still light and jovial and Sanji retrieved his slipper and donned his duvet once more, divvying up a portion of soup for himself and Zoro with a slice of toasted bread. As he had done so and plated them at the shoddy table, he hid his smile and protected his heartwarmed soul at the cup of warm tea that Zoro had prepared in the meantime, smelling of too much honey but Sanji didn’t care.

It was extremely thoughtful and sweet, and Sanji insulated the heat from his rosy cheeks and ears with the duvet to not let the man now sitting opposite him know how much it made him swoon.

They kicked each other under the table as they dipped their bread in their soup and eventually ate until not a drop was left. They then stacked the soup bowls but let the food settle in their stomachs before getting up and busying themselves with something else. It was just a moment where they sat within each other's vicinity, enjoying the company.

“Where are your three swords, anyway?” Sanji asked over the rim of his cup of tea, curiosity getting the better of him and deciding to start an easy conversation. His fingers wrapped around the mug absorbed the heat, starving for something beyond the persistent cold.

“How did you know I have three swords?” Sanji blinked, eyebrows furrowing as he was about to recall when Zoro had told him, but the more he tried to remember such a conversation, the more he drew short.

“Oh.” Mossy seemed more perplexed if anything, any shape of distrust having faded weeks ago. Sanji floundered for something to explain away how he had mysteriously figured out the man had wielded three swords, certainly a strange enough number he couldn’t use luck or a guess as an excuse. Knowing that Mossy hadn’t been the one to tell him, he felt his cheeks pinken once more as he realised the only culprit to how he knew Zoro had three swords. “I sometimes have dreams, and in them you’ve had three swords. Guess it was a slip of the tongue.” He mumbled it into the tea, taking a tentative sip to hide away his embarrassment at the admission.

He bit his lip at the increasingly shit-eating grin morphing Zoro’s expression. Sanji wanted to curl up in a ball and bury himself where he was sitting. “Oh? Dreaming about me now, are you Curly?” He said it with such smug delight, eye alit with the shining steel of brightness. Sanji wished Zoro would swallow his own tongue and choke, might humble him a bit right now.

“Ugh, shut the fuck up! I knew you’d be annoying about it.” He could feel his cheeks heat up even further, flustered as he drank the rest of his tea to prolong being teased. He’d never admit it, but he was pouting at the other in an act of asking the other to show him mercy.

Mossy laughed, bright like the sun and it made Sanji want it to last a little longer. But then it devolved into little chuckles and ended with a smirk, Mossy valiantly deciding to let go of the teasing. He looked beyond amused, though, warm like the excess honey that had been poured into Sanji’s drink.

“My three swords are hidden under a loose floorboard under the bed,” he said as if it were a simple conversation over some cups of coffee, not even batting an eye at the admittance. Sanji, on the other hand, blinked in interest at the realisation that the swords had been under his nose the entire time.

“Really? Wait, can I see?” Mossy leant his cheek up against his fist, squishing his cheek slightly. He was smiling in a way that Sanji felt was fond, and it made Sanji feel shy that he had been so eager and excited to see the special three swords. His excitement must have been way too obvious if Mossy’s expression was to go by, but at least he wasn’t offended or shut off. Instead it was subtle in all the ways Mossy tended to be, but he was like a marshmallow, mellow and sweet on the inside.

“Yeah,” he said, a small smile practically indulgent with Sanji’s personal request about his swords. Sanji knew how much they must mean to Zoro, how much he must treasure them. It was one of the only things he still had left, and it was his weapon of choice which meant surely he took some form of care towards them. If he really were to be the greatest swordsman in the world, those swords were attributed to his ambition.

Unable to quell his anticipating enthusiasm, Sanji was quick to discard the soup bowls in the sink to be washed later instead of washing them now in haste, shuffling with speed into the bedroom. Sinking to his knees by his bed, he felt around carefully with his hands for a slight nook or unevenness that would signal a loose floorboard. Once he had located a very slight bump in the lay of the floorboards, he took some effort to dislodge it and let the precious swords below see the first rays of light since their owner had passed.

Turning to look behind him, he noticed Mossy leaning up against the doorframe and watching him with a relaxed posture, eye tracking his movement but not with caution. When Sanji pleaded with his eyes in the ask of if he could take the swords out of their little cave and inspect them, Zoro simply signalled with a tilt of his head that he could do so. He was rather easy-going about the whole thing, settling as if he had been wanting to share this part of his life with Sanji for a while. All Sanji had to have done was ask, and now that he had, the door had been opened.

Grasping the swords with utmost care, he brought them out of their little tomb and laid them on his lap. He traced the tips of his fingers across the entire length of each sheathed sword, detailing the intricate colours and patterns along the scabbards. He wondered of their histories, if Zoro had been gifted them or bought them or had somehow earnt them from some quests. If any had sentimental meaning, if any had been cherished by him the most, if any had specific purposes or had different uses. If he had lost previous swords, which one was the oldest out of them.

How the swords had found themselves under the floorboards after his death.

Sanji knew Zoro had used them in his last moments, Zoro had told him so. The Vinsmokes had no interest in the random swords of some lowly swordsman, they simply saw Zoro as a target. Once he was disposed of, they had no use for his swords, much less any interest. Considering how much Zoro clearly held pride and love for his swords, it must have been one of his crew that had retrieved and cleaned them. Likely Zoro had been the one to request they be hidden under the floorboards so he could at least know of their whereabouts.

To be constantly near them, perhaps it gave him a sense of solidarity and hope. A sense of belonging, or even a sense of settlement knowing that one of the things he held most precious was always near by his side. To have a sense of belonging, to have something of his own to tie him down to the apartment he was trapped within.

Sanji let his fingers linger over the hilt of the first sword for a moment in a moment of contemplation, eventually taking the time to gently retrieve the sword from its covering. Under the light, one would not assume how sharp and deadly the weapon was. Tilting it this way and that, Sanji could see how perfectly tended to the sword was, not a single chip or imperfection in sight. He went through the process for each sword individually, assessing the stunningness of each one and their differences with one another. One thing shared with all three was that they looked like that hadn’t been seen to for months since Zoro had died.

“They’re beautiful. There’s not a single bit of rust in sight, you must have taken really good care of them.” It was reverent, the three swords resting in his lap precariously like they were royalty. Sanji wrapped his duvet around him tighter, hunching over the swords further as if to protect them away from the eyes of others. It was only Zoro and he in the room, and yet he felt shielding them away from any invisible prying eyes.

“They’re special to me.” Zoro had moved forward, now sitting cross legged beside Sanji, eyes on his swords as he looked near reminiscent. Possibly of times when he had wielded them, of past battles when he still was climbing on his way to achieve his dream of the worlds greatest swordsman. He didn’t reach out to snatch the swords away from him. He seemed perfectly content sitting by his side, observing the way Sanji interacted with the swords.

“And you trust me to hold them?” Sanji turned his head upon asking, staring directly at Zoro to see the honesty in the response for himself. He had to know if Zoro trusted him so deeply that Sanji could hold his swords. Grasp them in his palms, be trusted with not harming or breaking them beyond repair. The swords were omething special to him, as he had said. He needed to confirm, to see it in his expression, to accept it whole and cherish it.

“Of course.” The honesty was said so naturally. It was quick, like it wasn’t even something that had needed to be thought about, but had been there the whole time. Sanji swallowed down his feelings through his scratchy and agitated throat, down into his insensate body and bringing it back to life with the emotional weight itself. It settled the constant coughs trying to wrack though his body that he had held back through sheer willpower, it had settled the bile roiling around in his stomach and wishing to be dispelled in a moment's notice. It seemed to have put a blanket of peace over him.

To be trusted with something so special, one of the only connections Zoro had to his previous life, it made Sanji feel elated. But beyond that, he felt grounded and real himself. He felt that he could tackle the world, having such precious trust in his hands. It made him feel that they were in this together, that if they trusted each other to the ends of the earth, they would be there for each other. That they would be okay.

Sanji wished to preserve that faith in each other, that well earned confidence that kept him moving forward and powered him on. That kept Zoro in his presence, reappearing upon his call instead of hiding away for a few extra minutes of his nap. That kept them intrinsically tied to one another.

“Can you show me? What you really look like when you wield them?” It felt daring to ask, but Sanji wanted to see Zoro in his true element. To see the charming fierceness that Zoro would possess when wielding his swords. To appreciate his dream in action, to see his essence down in his soul of what he would be achieving if he weren’t a man haunting this apartment. If he weren’t dead, if he were still alive right at Sanji’s side and not having left him behind in their current world despite his unexplainable presence.

“Why? Wanna compare me to your dreams?” Sanji’s dreams were nothing saucy, instead they almost looked like scattered glass fragments of memories. A kaleidoscope of colour and recollections, some of his own but many not of such. It had started becoming increasingly frequent, practically every night was a dream that felt like a distant memory that might not even be his own. He felt weaker every time it happened, as if it sapped away another percentage of life from him like he were a battery. He never mentioned it, in fear it would make it something he could no longer ignore.

Instead he would bask in the memories of when Zoro would fight alongside the members of the Strawhats. Sanji wondered if he had met them earlier and at a different period of his life if it were possible he could have joined them too. To fight alongside Zoro, to be a protector just like him. To be able to use his mind and fighting brilliance and strength of his legs to actually make a difference beyond just protecting himself and the Baratie. To strive for his own dream.

It was all what ifs, though, and Sanji tried not to dwell on those either. It made his lungs want to wheeze out of his chest, and his chest spasm with the intent of coughing up harder than he had been repressing before. It made his fingers want to reach for a cigarette, to indulge in the nicotine but refrained from doing so due to his burning throat. Instead he chose to respond to Zoro’s clear teasing in a way that was familiar to them, not even requiring much thought.

“Shut up! I just want to see if you’re as good as you say you are, obviously!” Zoro’s expression had faded throughout the time it took for Sanji to respond. It was stern, but faded upon Sanji’s voice like fish swimming back into the depths of the ocean. It was a flicker of Sanji actually noticing, but it made his fingers curl tightly into the duvet in hopes of hiding himself away from his perceptive gaze for just a little longer. It didn’t matter, since Zoro had seemed to stand and hold out his palm for him to take.

“Prepare to be amazed, Curly.” It was a challenge, the way he smirked and waited for Sanji to take his invitation. Sanji raised an eyebrow in return, but relented and let Zoro pull him up, secretly appreciating the help as his legs had gone numb from the sitting position. Before he could let go, Zoro clutched his hand like it was a bear trap, dragging Sanji out of the bedroom and into the space of the living room. It was still a disorganised mess from their earlier sparring with one another, but neither of them paid much mind to it.

Letting go, Zoro once again held out his hands and gestured for Sanji to hand over his three swords. Complying, Sanji gave him his swords and then sat himself down on the couch, intrigued as to what Zoro was about to do. A demonstration, if Sanji had to guess, and he was only growing in his suspicion being right as Zoro unsheathed all three swords, placing one between his teeth and biting down while the other two were held in each hand. Sanji relaxed back into the couch cushions, eyes trained directly on Zoro to not miss a single beat or motion that the other was about to enact.

Awestruck. No, captivated. That was the words that Sanji could use to describe how he felt in that moment when Zoro had finally moved. He was fluid like the water in a wave, smooth like silk in the way that he moved. Deadly in the power that he withheld, a candle flame now but could take a second to become a devastating blaze. Precise like a needle to a stitch. Not a shadow of doubt, complete confidence. He danced as if he had memorised the moves.

Sanji’s heart beat rapidly at the display, one hand reaching up and laying on his chest where he could feel it beat. It thrummed at the pure attention of the vision that Zoro was bestowing upon him. A dream, one that Sanji felt like he could taste on the tip of his tongue, one that exploded in vibrant colours like fireworks. One that hadn’t fizzled away despite the circumstances of death, one that still functioned just as enchantingly as it would have been when he was alive.

It made Sanji feel alive, too. Alive and bright with the courage and ambition of his dream, guarded close by his heart in fear of ridicule. The dream that he had never felt was plausible for himself anytime soon, running away from the chance due to his burdened self responsibility. But for this short moment, right before Zoro stopped his motions and resheathed his swords, Sanji wondered if he could achieve his own dream.

The swords now lay on the coffee table, each placed down one by one and with special care. They were not tossed aside or shoved onto the table without a second thought. They were brought down, the impact of them on the table practically silent with the care to attention Zoro had used. It was no wonder they looked practically better than they could have been when brand new with how well Zoro took care of them.

“That was beautiful,” Sanji said before he could catch himself, letting the words out on an exhale like it had escaped him. Zoro was astounded, snapped out of his haze of memories and acted out the well trained motions of catching his dream. He turned to Sanji, taking a moment to bring himself back to the present and finding himself sitting beside Sanji, arms leaning up against each other. The air was spreading with appreciative honesty, it seemed.

“No more beautiful than the way you wield your knives. Different task, same precision.” Zoro spoke with finality, with a seriousness of understanding. Sanji felt beyond hopeless at being told he was beautiful when in his own passion of cooking. It was the one thing he had unbreakable pride in, and to know that it was assessed as beautiful made Sanji want to laugh. Giggle to himself, hide a smile behind his hand while his eyes crinkled in joy.

“You really could have been the world’s greatest swordsman.” Sanji said it with the conviction that statement deserved. Zoro eased into the couch at his words, like his strings had been cut, like he had revealed something vulnerable in front of Sanji and Sanji had held it close instead of smashing it to pieces. This time, Zoro laid his head on Sanji’s shoulder, cushioning his head with the fluffiness of the duvet. Sanji didn’t complain about the weight, instead adjusting the duvet so it was more comfortable for Zoro’s head to lay on.

“For someone with their heart on their sleeve I’m surprised you haven’t prattled away about your dreams and ambitions.” Sanji snorted instinctively in response, smiling to himself as he laid his head on top of Zoro’s. He could feel the way their hairs upon their heads intertwined, green mixing in with the flaxen gold. Like the sun sharing its sunlight across the grass, bringing freshness and vibrancy.

“I’m surprised you even know that saying,” he responded back cheekily, Zoro elbowing him with what little space he had but Sanji just let out a little laughter. He hadn’t meant it, anyway, he knew Zoro had his moments of smartness. Taking a breath, Sanji unlocked his dream buried deep in his heart and decided to reveal it to Zoro. It was only fair. “I know it’s stupid, but I really want to see the All Blue one day. There’s so many recounts in ancient texts of the different varieties of fish there, but most people think of it like a fairytale. Still, not every single point of the ocean is explored, and to know it’s out there, I just have to see it one day!”

Sanji couldn’t see considering the way they were sitting, but Zoro had a look of utmost fondness gracing across his face. It made his scar look so much softer, his eye bright and alive with the emotion. His smile was natural enough on his face that it caused dimples to appear. His cheek smooshed up against the duvet over Sanji’s shoulder felt comfortable and warm.

“Think you’ll sail one day and try and find it?” Sanji hummed back to him in thought, but he already knew the answer. It was why he hadn’t gone out and sailed for it already, after all. His life was not simple, it wasn’t one where he could pack all his belongings away and just head to sea anyday his whims so chose.

“It’s my dream, but I have other responsibilities to do and debts to repay first. Maybe one day when Zeff retires we could go to sea together to try and find it.” It would be nice, considering it was Zeff’s dream too. For them both to sail out together, father and son. To see the All Blue together and share their excitement with one another. To be able to look back on the experience, possibly even move the Baratie there and be like one of those floating houses but instead be a seafaring restaurant. It would be like a dream come true.

“You’ll have to show me photos.” Sanji frowned, even though Zoro’s voice had been light and not at all hurt. Sanji didn’t even know if photos could do the All Blue justice, but Sanji knew it wasn’t possible for Zoro to see it since he was stuck in the apartment.

“Right, you won’t be able to come… Ugh, I’ll have to live in this apartment forever!” He acted like he was annoyed, but what Sanji was really saying was that… He wouldn’t ever leave Zoro to be alone again. He couldn’t bring himself to do that, to someone who deserved to reach his dream just as much as Sanji did. To someone who had suffered being alone, to someone who had suffered having their dream stolen from them. To someone who Sanji felt he would sacrifice his own dream for, if it meant that Zoro got to have a shred of happiness and company.

“You aren’t tied here, you don’t have to do shit. Leave if you really want to, stupid Curly.” He seemed hurt, bitter in the way he nearly spat those words out. Sanji wanted to facepalm, it was clear that Zoro hadn’t understood what he was actually trying to say. Idiot swordsman must have had grass growing in his ears or some shit.

“Oh please, I couldn’t burden someone else with the responsibility of making sure you’re not getting into trouble and making sure you stay fed.” Zoro finally understood what Sanji was trying to say, the bitterness instead giving way to pause. The heaviness in the air became lighter, and Sanji didn’t even need to see Zoro’s face to know that he had understood. That Sanji didn’t want to leave Zoro, that he wanted to stay in his presence and be by his side. “Not unless you’d rather be left alone.”

“Hmph, better be ready to pay an arm and a leg to Nami if you want to live in this place permanently.” And that was enough said by him for Sanji to know that Zoro didn’t want him to leave. That he wanted Sanji to stay by his side as long as Sanji wished.

“I suppose that’s a sacrifice I’d have to make,” he said dramatically, like it was some hefty burden when in reality it was something he would happily give over.

“How noble,” Zoro responded, deadpan and borderline sarcastic. If Sanji had to guess, the other had been seconds away from rolling his eye so hard he could get a migraine if he still felt pain in his head.

For a moment, they basked in the playful energy, before they moved their heads from their perches and looked directly at one another. They stayed like that, in silence for a second or two, before they both burst out in laughter. Once again they shared gentle touches of brushing fingers against one another and sitting on the couch together with the duvet blanket now covering over both their legs. On the television was now a movie that Zoro would make fun of and Sanji would actually watch and enjoy.

The tenderness allowed Sanji to ignore the bloody tissues that had accumulated in his bathroom for a day longer.

Tentatively intertwining his fingers with Zoro’s also allowed him to ignore how his fingers had gone numb.

Finally, he ignored how weak his body felt when the strength of Zoro’s smile made him believe he could go on and open his eyes another day.

Chapter Text

It was dark outside, the sun having long sung its goodbye on the horizon and receded for the moon to take its rightful place. The apartment was only illuminated by the overhead lights, a homey warmth instead of the clinical brightness that some illuminative light bulbs could bring. Through the glass doors of the balcony, it can be seen that the outside was crisp and hazy but not severe enough in the temperature to call on snow, sleet, or scarf weather. Dying and crunchy orange leaves had fallen all along the pathways on the streets where trees still swayed, not totally depleted by Winter’s soon to be beckoning call.

The apartment was well lived in, not a total pigsty but much more messy than Sanji would ever have it himself. He was much more of a clean freak and incredibly organised in comparison to its current owner, the man currently standing in the kitchen and taking a gigantic swig from a bottle. Considering the grassy green hair, scar over the eye and familiar presence, Sanji presumed the alcohol he was drinking was sake.

It seemed Sanji was in the midst of another memory.

Zoro’s kitchen looked abysmal, nearly empty beyond what Sanji presumed was a bunch of protein bars. When he got a sneak peak in his fridge when he had rummaged around for a few seconds, Sanji had turned his nose up at how little was inside. A few wilted greens, two eggs that who knew how good they were, and a quarter of a tub of milk. How this man kept such a strong physique with how shit his cooking and likely diet was was completely beyond Sanji’s understanding. Sanji was thankful the man now got to actually eat something fucking worth his while, Sanji’s cooking probably absolutely divine in comparison to what he had eaten before.

Sanji was surprised, but strapped to Zoro’s side were his three swords. Was it possible he had just come home from a mission? That was the only reason Sanji could think of for the swords to be present at his side. Usually if he had a memory of Zoro, his swords were void unless they were in use, such as that memory where he was practising his swordsmanship. Sanji had no clue, but Zoro looked to be self assured and relaxed in his own skin, almost like he had done a job well done for the day and had earned himself a night of chilling on the couch and watching some television.

He had just swallowed the last dredges of the sake when he paused, an instant change in the air from lax to alert. His body posture that was once lackadaisical was now bunched up and filled with caution, bottle slowly placed down on the kitchen counter and hand instead moving to rest over the hilt on one of his swords. His fingers weren’t tight with grasping the hilt, but as he walked into the more open area and squinted at the front door in suspicion, his hands twitched as if to grasp it tightly and withdraw it. It was as if there were an enemy that had infiltrated the apartment that Sanji could not see, Zoro’s danger instincts running haywire and waiting for the other shoe to drop and for a fight to begin.

Sanji trusted Zoro to know when his life was on the line, and he was right.

His instincts when it came to danger were always right.

Behind him, appearing from the shadows was an intruder, one that made Sanji’s blood freeze in his veins and his throat fill with the acrid taste of bile. The man was approaching from Zoro’s blindside, and Sanji screamed in terror for Zoro to move out the way. It hadn’t mattered, Sanji’s voice was nonexistent in a memory. Not only that, but Zoro was not one to get ambushed, and despite being in his blindspot, Zoro had withdrawn one of his swords in the blink of an eye and had blocked the attack of the intruder.

“So, you’re Roronoa Zoro.” That voice, so similar to his own and yet so completely different at the same time, made Sanji want to clutch at his hair and pull until blood soaked his fingertips. Crusted underneath his fingernails, flaxen gold strands and fibers falling to the floor like feathers. Phantom bruises scattered around his skin and felt pressed upon, his ribs creaking and groaning as if about to be snapped under pressure.

Another sword withdrawn, and another killing blow deflected, but this time it had come from a completely different enemy. So similar, and yet so different. “Hah, he’s the one. Can tell by the three swords.” Sanji wanted to scream at Zoro to run while he could to the point that he lost all noise in his voice. He was insensate, the void slinking forward and attempting to swallow him whole.

Another voice joined the fray, barely a difference in the soulless tone, the humanity in their soul never having existed in the first place. “He’s the Strawhat you fought? He doesn’t even look like he’s worth a battle.” Sanji wanted to close his eyes, shield himself away from the memory that had dawned on him what it was. Wished that he would wake up, wished that he could go back in time and change the outcome, wished that none of this had even happened at all.

Sanji clutched his chest, feeling his lungs wheeze dramatically under his palm like a defective inflating and deflating balloon. Zoro had all three swords wielded but his brothers circled around him like he was a bleeding man in the ocean and they were a bunch of bloodthirsty sharks. The malice practically rolled off them in waves of poison, the lack of care for those they would harm dull in the darkness of their eyes and edge of their cut throat grins. The fight had begun, and they all striked coordinated with one another like a pack of wolves, having decided to actually team up to snuff out the life of the enemy.

Zoro was not one to go down easy, a fighter through and through. He had hardly gotten hit at this point, having gotten a few hits in himself on his attackers. His battle prowess and familiarity with the terrain of his apartment leaned into his favour. It meant he could take advantage of the nooks and crannies of the apartment for rolling out the way and dodging. He knew when he could strike forward in the attempt to corner one or slash one with his sword when they had nowhere to run. His intricate understanding of his swords as if they were an extension of his body made his motions fluid and trained.

For a moment, Sanji had hope blossoming deep in his heart like a blooming rose that Zoro would make it out of this alive.

A vibrant flash of pink.

Wings of a venomous butterfly.

The fine pin prick illuminated underneath the light of the apartment.

The moment the needle made contact with Zoro, injected deep by the hands of his sister, all hope had come crashing down like a meteor.

Reiju, why?

“We’re here on a mission, not to play.” Her voice was devoid of any warmth, of any of that conflicting compassion she had once shown to Sanji when she had set him free from his prison. Sanji had expected to be screwed over by the rest of his disgusting scum of a blood family. Yet he had never felt so stung with the bitterness of betrayal as he had in this current moment when the one person besides his mother he had a shred of respect for burnt it down into ashes.

“You’re such a killjoy.” It had been Yonji that said it, Sanji could tell without having to even look at them. All three of his brothers had suddenly backed off as soon as the syringe was emptied into Zoro’s veins. Zoro had frozen, instantly doubling over and clutching his stomach, fingers twitching sporadically and the loss of fine motor control forcing him to let go of his sword. Instead, it clutched violently against his stomach, knees locked and unrelenting on the stance that he would not fall and let himself be seen as weak in front of his enemies. 

“Big Mum will not appreciate us playing with our target.” Reiju twirled the empty syringe between her thin but elegant fingers, eyes having never left Zoro from where she observed him. She stared at him as if he were a lab rat, as if this was all some experiment and they were waiting for him to explode or drop dead. Zoro had done neither so far, but he must be paralyzed with the way he had not moved to retrieve his swords that now all clatter to the floor.

“Who cares about that old hag.” That was Niji, always snide and never one to care about listening to anyone authoritative besides Judge. Sanji wished he could vehemently ignore them, instead stepping forward towards Zoro and crouching in front so he could see his hidden expression. Sanji felt his throat constrict and lose all airflow when he saw the lack of colour that had previously drained from him. What was worse was the blood leaking in like teartracks from his eyes and corner of his mouth, leaking out of him like a broken faucet.

His veins had become pronounced and scarily dark blue like the ocean approaching midnight. Sanji could see the quaking of Zoro’s body that he tried to hide, the tenacity of his mind as he tried to snap out of whatever poison Reiju had injected him with and strike back while they were all off guard. It must have wounded his pride to be talked about as if he was already defeated, his enemies acting blase like there was nothing in the world that could topple them.

“Father would be furious if he heard you say that.” Sanji couldn’t stomach even looking at his sister after what she had just done. Sanji knew she wasn’t innocent, she was an assassin and she was a Vinsmoke just like the rest of them. But she had always been less like a monster to Sanji. Sanji wondered if that wasn't true at all. Reaching out, Sanji laid a hand on Zoro’s cheek in an attempt to cup it, wishing he could transfer his will to stay alive through just the invisible touch. He rubbed his thumb across the scar along his eye, finger not even interacting with the stream of blood and instead translucent.

And yet, for just a moment, Zoro’s eye moved and it felt like he was staring right at him, acknowledged.

“Enough. Let’s get this over with and report back to Father.”

Sanji blinked against the world of red that had just splashed everywhere like a bomb had just exploded. Sanji’s hand shook from where it was now cupping nothing, any optimism that Zoro would recover and beat the Vinsmokes dashed into smoke and flames. Eyes slowly slinking down to the floor with dread invading his brain and taking over, he saw a scene that would haunt him beyond this nightmare. Red, red, red. An eye that had lost all life, glassy and empty. Swords scattered and forgotten, their wielder and master losing all warmth by the minute.

“It didn’t work, the scientists failed. Let’s go.” Before Sanji had realised it, all the Vinsmokes were gone. It was just him, sitting on his knees beside Zoro’s body as the floorboards soaked up the red steadily pouring out like a waterfall and slinking between the cracks between the wooden planks. Sanji placed his hand over Zoro’s, the lack of movement making his breath hitch and a burning sting pierce behind his eye and a distinct clogging in his throat like he had swallowed a bag of cotton balls. He let his eyes fall closed and let his emotions drag him down into the depths of misery, ever familiar salty clear wetness rolling down his cheeks.

Unbeknownst to anyone, a ghost had emerged the moment the clock had hit midnight that night, the swordsman having been restructured into the lifeform of a ghost.

Even Sanji hadn’t seen it, as the next time he opened his eyes it was due to someone calling his name.

“Sanji?”

He knew this voice. He could never forget this voice. He tried to speak, utter a word or even a single syllable, but nothing came out. Not even a breath. Not even a sound.

“Sanji, you need to wake up, my darling.”

Sanji wanted to wake up, but he didn’t want to leave now that she had appeared. He had missed his mother so dearly, the one person in that rotten to the core family that he had loved. The one person in that horrid family that had actually loved him too.

“Please, Sanji, wake up.”

No matter how hard he tried, he could not see his mother’s face, eyes tender with encouragement. His eyes were open, he knew, and yet he could see nothing. He had become blinded by the grief, the memory having faded but the emotional turmoil only just erupting like a volcano.

“Please… Please, wake up!”

“ZORO!” Sanji had screamed unbeknownst to him right before he had awoken into the land of the living. Electrocuted, like awaking from the dead, Sanji had his eyes shoot open and his body shove itself forward from laying down into curling over himself. He hacked and coughed violently, wheezing in shaky breaths as he scraped and scrabbled his fingernails and the tips of his fingers against his lungs protected away by his sleep shirt. His entire body would not stop quaking with intense tremors, an acute sensation of pins and needles starting from the tips of his toes and fingers wriggled up his body further and further until both arms and legs were lost to the feeling.

He could smell something metallic, sharp and irritating to the senses. His sight was wavering, fragmented from the darkness of the time of day. A constant and inane ringing kept buzzing around in his ears as if there were a telephone going off in the apartment and wouldn’t shut up. His mouth was beyond dry, any attempt to swallow between the uncooperative coughing fits resulting in nothing but to remember how croaky his voice must be.

A voice echoed through the ringing like a drop of water falling down into a well, the residual noise breaking through and creating a current of its own. “Curly?! What the hell's going on?” Is what Sanji had heard muffled through the cotton stuffed to the brim in his ears, his mind active enough to recognise the voice. Sanji used whatever strength he could dredge from his body and lunged at the direction of the voice. He hadn’t travelled far before he made contact, not even far enough to fall off the bed. He sat on the edge, blankets askew and arms wrapped tightly around Zoro to make sure he was really there with him and in his arms.

The pins and needles faded away, fingers instead tracing across the shirt Zoro was wearing, running up to touch the warm tinkling golden earrings before running into a grassland of hair on his head. Closing his eyes and letting the nauseating colours fade away into a seamless blank, Sanji let his head fall to the side and his cheek to lay on the top of Zoro’s head from where it was cradled in Sanji’s arms. Zoro must have been leaning at an awkward angle by the side of the bed to be cuddled in Sanji’s arm in such a way, but Sanji had no ability in his mind to even process that thought or care.

“You’re here.” He had whispered it into the night air, the creaking of his voice making the hairs on Zoro’s head impacted by the exhale sway like leaves in a breeze. As Zoro shifted in his arms, Sanji latched on harder like a bear trap to an unsuspecting critter, but with time and patience he unwound himself. Sanji barely contained a wail at being left behind, at Zoro disappearing from the certainty of his arms, fearful that if he opened his eyes all he would see is nothing but his empty bedroom.

It was short lived, as he felt a firm hand push his shoulder until his body relented and he fell flat on his back. His golden hair splayed in unruly waves across his lumpy pillow, the springs squeaking at the sudden motion and weight but stopping in its complaining once Sanji had settled. Before Sanji could muster up the breath to cry out for Zoro once more, demand the unfairness of his departure and leave him to wallow in his haunted misery, he felt the bed shift. It dipped at the edge, the blankets shifted to flow over Sanji’s body and hide it away from the cruelty of the early morning frost. Now beside him lay another, Zoro’s head resting on the crevice of Sanji’s shoulder, his soft but spiky hair tickling the skin of Sanji’s neck from where it gently grazed.

“Of course I am.” It was a rumble that Sanji’s body received through the lack of sensation, an arm that felt scalding at first before simmering down to a pleasant warmth crept over his pyjama shirt clad chest to lay over his waist. He could feel the pad of Zoro’s thumb rub little circles through the silky fabric of his sleep shirt, nonirritative and soothing enough to bring some solace to Sanji’s conscience. Sanji could feel Zoro’s chest expand and deflate from where he lay by Sanji’s side, a reassurance of the life beside him, ironic considering he was a ghost. In spite of that, Sanji felt comforted and the torment plaguing him crawled away into the alcove in his head where it belonged.

They were both holding each other under the duvet and winter blankets shielding them away from the rest of the world. Perhaps if he laid there long enough, Sanji could make himself forget the memory he had just seen. A convenient bout of amnesia, just a short temporary part where he could forget his nightmare and sleep a peaceful night of rest. He knew that wasn’t possible. He also knew that while Zoro would never start the conversation, he was silently waiting for Sanji to explain why he had screamed his name so suddenly and had held him so tight that it would cause constricting pain in a lesser man. He would not leave Zoro in the dark, he did not deserve to be burdened with worrying over Sanji.

“I saw it. I saw them kill you.” The waterworks hadn’t gotten the hold back memo, springing forth and rolling down his cheeks in betrayal. His airflow became laboured once more, chest dipping and whistling with the emotional strain his body was not adept to currently handle. The minute wavering throttled him into full blown shakes, his will to not continue to be pathetic not listened too. It was clear that his emotional state had gone past listening to rationality, and instead had been put into overdrive from the strain over the past few weeks.

“You need to breathe, Curly.” The pad of Zoro’s thumb swept back and forth, his breath blowing against Sanji’s collarbone. It was even and tempered, jarring when in contrast to Sanji’s own tempo. Guilt, even if unexplained and unnecessary, was not something Sanji was adept in navigating. He wasn’t even the slightest bit involved in Zoro’s demise, hadn’t even known the man until after he had become a ghost. And yet, seeing his own piece of shit blood family who he hated in the depths of his soul take Zoro’s life away made him want forgiveness for a transgression that wasn’t even his own.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” He craned his neck so he could hide his anguished face away in Zoro’s head of hair, nose nudging and shifting against the crown of his head. The simple motion did not disrupt their tender cuddling, for lack of a better word, instead granting Sanji simple solace. His eyes were a dam that had long from drying up, but the frequency of the tears and hiccups were slow and languid. Hushed weeping, one that was brought on by the unfairness of loss, the hurricane of agony not causing the destruction but a deep rooted sorrow.

“You don’t need to apologise. You didn’t do anything, and they aren’t your family.” Definitive, like it were as clear as daylight. Sanji had no need to be absolved of guilt, because there should be no guilt to be had. Zoro held no forgiveness for him, because he had done nothing to require the thought, the betrayal not of Sanji’s own hands. Zoro was secure in the fact that Sanji’s hands were as clear as water, not stained crimson with his blood like the Vinsmokes were.

“I’m not a Vinsmoke. I’m not .” It was near a plea, voice wavering and crackling in pitch as he forced the words out in an attempt of an even sentence. He didn’t want to be associated, didn’t want to be mistaken, not even by the slimmest margin. He wouldn’t be able to come back from that blow of being thought of as a Vinsmoke, a knife to the heart and further twisted until nothing was left but a scarred mess.

“I know. You’re nothing like them.” Zoro’s cheek was slightly squished from where it lay, soft. He had moved minutely so his lips had formed those words against the skin of Sanji’s clavicle, moulding it into the velvety skin at his shoulder like kneading dough to form his words true. His arm that had been loose around Sanji’s middle tightened that fraction more, lacking restriction but bringing reassurance. A reminder that he would not leave unless Sanji requested, that he would lay by his side because Sanji was not a Vinsmoke, he never was.

And that was enough for Sanji to stifle the hiccups, swallow them down and attempt to mimic the cadence of Zoro’s rising and falling chest. He pulled his face back from the mess of tears he had watered Zoro’s garden of hair with and wiped away the mash of snot and tears away with his pyjama sleeve. He no longer feared his eyes fluttering closed, eyelashes lay in a beautiful bed against his cheeks, as he knew Zoro was right beside him. The permanent crease between his eyebrows had eased, face lax as he let the nightmare fade into the recess of his mind and let the simplicity of the moment take over.

Zoro had not offered any more words, content to lay with Sanji and let him figure out his own demons. Sanji was appreciative, Zoro was hardly one to pry and when it came to Sanji he often knew when to pull back or he had crossed a line. It was reciprocated, how well they knew each other, dulcet. Face no longer shoved into Zoro’s hair like an attempt to camouflage in the tall grass, he raised one of his arms and ran his thin but long fingers through the foliage of hair. He raked and distributed the tears so his hair was no longer patchy, languid in the way his trimmed fingernails thoughtfully scratched against the skin of his skull. Little scritches, something Sanji could mindlessly enact and knew Zoro enjoyed like he were a cat getting attention.

“I saw my mother,” Sanji had said after a while of them just laying in peace. The snowstorm outside howling had caused a draught to leak through the shoddy walls of the apartment, but neither had even noticed. They were too in their own world, covered by mountains of blankets and protected away from whatever the weather was attempting to throw at them. Sanji was calm with the admission, his heart no longer thrumming intensely with alarm.

“What was she like?” It was not just a question to be polite, but rather having that tint of curiosity to it. Zoro was genuinely interested, probably because he enjoyed learning about Sanji. Vice versa, Sanji always cherished whenever he got to learn something about Zoro too, whether it was deep and vulnerable or not.

“She was the only person who could make me smile when I was still living with the Vinsmokes. I always felt so safe in her arms.” His mother’s arms was the one place he could find refuge, in that castle that felt only dilapidated to Sanji. Whenever he ran to her, jumped up on the bed and she cuddled him so close like he would fade away in her arms, Sanji wished they could stay like that for much longer than they had. Sanji loved his mother, and he was sure that he would never truly forget how much he missed her, even if it had taken the backburner over the years with the scar healing with time.

“I remember one time I cooked her a meal and it was awful. The food had been rained on and I had tripped over, but she ate it with a smile and said it was delicious.” It was one of Sanji’s fondest memories. He could remember his mother’s bright smile like it was just yesterday, the life that she radiated like the sun on a warm summer day. She had always loved him, had always supported him in his dreams of cooking, and Sanji held those memories deep in the locket of his heart.

“She sounds kind, just like you.” It was a soft murmur, a simple truth. Sown into the weave of the world, acceptance. Sanji let out a breath, though it sounded more like a laugh, cheeks pink with the simple statement that he was as generous as someone like his mother. It was all he had ever hoped for, and for it to be acknowledged so wholly but naturally was more than Sanji could have ever dreamed for. To be seen as kind down to the core, heart of gold.

It was distinct, in that moment, how warm Zoro felt to him. Not quite feverish, he wasn’t being boiled alive like an egg in a pan emitting steam. Instead it felt oddly homey, easy in the way it assuaged the coldness that had sunk its claws into him since the winter months had drawled along. Sanji felt cosy, temperate and balmy by Zoro’s vicinity and their body warmth trapped underneath the plentiful insulating blankets.

“You’re warm.” It was a simple comment, so soft it was nearly lost to the sound of the wind blazing outside.

“Mm.”

“Please, stay.” A whisper, the syllables barely formed around his lips and tongue as fatigue forced him down further into the lullaby of exhaustive slumber. It hadn’t mattered, Zoro had heard him, felt the words rumble in Sanji’s chest from where his cheek still lay on Sanji’s pyjama shirt on his shoulder.

“Okay.”

As Sanji’s heart slows down to that sleepy pitter patter murmur, Zoro stays vigilant with his eye open, blankly staring at the wall. It had originally been in the back of his mind but now brought to the forefront that Sanji isn’t warm as he usually is, having withered away like rose petals wilting into nothingness. He moved his arm from where it lay over Sanji’s waist to instead rest over the duvet. His fingers shifted this way and that until he felt it, the crusted up crimson splatters that had escaped Sanji upon his initial coughing fit. Both had ignored the droplets of crimson now staining Sanji’s bed sheets that he had expelled in the moment, much more important things to address than that at first.

Now, Zoro could not let his eyes rest, roles reversed in fear of who were to fade away throughout the night.

-----

Over the time that Sanji had been sharing this apartment with Zoro, it was inevitable that he was subjected to meeting every member of the Strawhat crew. Luffy would often come over and bother them both, yabbering away and stuffing his face full as he rocked back and forth while talking Moss’s ear off. Moss never seemed to mind, face still with that little frown that Sanji had learnt was just his natural resting face, but he always had this fondness in his eye whenever Luffy was around. Everyone was drawn to be friends with Luffy like he were the sun and they were the planets orbiting him, and Zoro was no different it seemed. When Sanji had teased him about how he always seemed to be happy in Luffy’s company, Zoro had confessed to him that Luffy was his best friend.

Sanji thought that was actually really wholesome, so he gave up the line of teasing and just pinched Zoro’s cheek and cooed at him instead.

Luffy, however, had a penchant of dragging whatever poor soul seemed to be free at the time to come visit them too. Sanji obviously knew the lovely Nami since she owned the apartment, and she had warmed up to Sanji and his quirks once she realised he was not a Vinsmoke or a threat. She, too, happened to swing by often because she liked to similarly chat away with Zoro but they interacted very differently than with Luffy. They reminded Sanji of rambunctious siblings, ones that constantly threw insults but would go to the ends of the earth for one another. Sanji obviously also knew the lovely Robin, the woman always sharing with him that serene smile and placing a delicate hand on his shoulder whenever he needed a moment to breathe.

It wasn’t long before he met everybody else, especially after Luffy had convinced him to cooperate with the crew about giving information about his family in the hopes to aid the strawhats and their plans. Luffy had promised him didn’t have to be involved anymore than that, or not involved at all if he didn’t want to, but Sanji had found his resolve to help only bolden with time. He still remained adamant on not hearing any details or being involved beyond supplying them with any useful information he knew, though. He still had promises to keep, after all.

Usopp and Chopper were the next ones he had met, both sharing looks of thinly veiled nervousness in Sanji’s presence. It wasn’t long until they seemed to throw any of that suspicion away, it seemed food really was the way to the soul because as soon as they had tasted his delectable cooking they weren’t uncomfortable in the apartment anymore. Another day Robin had brought along Franky, Brook and Jinbe, thankfully none of them seemed to distrust Sanji upon first impression. It was refreshing to not be looked at as the enemy when he first met someone, and Sanji chalked that up to the slight margin of maturity the older crew members seemed to hold. That didn’t mean they weren’t lively or stupid in their own ways, but it did mean they had a lot more understanding about the world that came with lived experience and time.

This day, however, was the most frigid day of storming winter so far when some of the crew had decided to visit. Sanji had never dealt with the agonising blows of the winter season very well, but this year seemed to be a complete knockout in how much worse he was handling it. He had frequently checked the weather forecast everyday ever since he noticed the declining temperature, and while it told him the temperature was much the same as last year's winter, Sanji didn’t believe it. There was no way, it felt like he was constantly dunked in a pool filled with ice, last year's winter feeling practically breezy compared to this.

Chefs at the Baratie had always known of Sanji’s aversion to the cold, making fun of him every time winter rolled around and he started shoving coats and scarves on when first arriving. However, this year the joking had given way to askance of if he was eating, if he had been sleeping, and other questions about his health and wellbeing. It was strange, and Sanji wished it would stop, but even Zeff was concerned because he didn’t stop the badgering. Instead, he too had started to ask the same thing especially when Sanji had lost his footing once or twice in the kitchen. You look dead where you stand, Little Eggplant. You even getting a wink of sleep? He said, gruff and grumbly as usual, but Sanji knew he was deeply concerned or he wouldn’t have asked.

Not only the chefs at the Baratie, but Zoro had been hovering over his shoulder like he was pretending to be his shadow ever since that night where he had awoken from that visceral nightmare. Sanji was never one to not appreciate company, especially Mossy’s company as he was easy to be around in silence or in banter. It had become distinctly clear however that this hovering was not Zoro being affectionate and vying for Sanji’s attention. It was laced with an undercurrent of perturbation, uneasiness oozing out of him and instead infecting the air of the apartment. Sanji couldn’t stand being stuck in an apartment where the air tasted of anxiety, so it was inevitable for Sanji to whirl around and confront Zoro on his unusual behaviour.

Sanji almost wished he hadn’t, had held his tongue, because Zoro hadn’t deflected or started an argument to try and distract Sanji from the underlying issue. Instead, he had said bluntly that Sanji was seriously unwell and he needed to see a doctor. The topic Sanji had vehemently attempted to ignore had been thrown into the spotlight, and all of a sudden he felt knots starting to rapidly and anxiously tie in his chest. It sparked an argument between the two, but despite how much Sanji had tried to deny and discredit Zoro’s claims on his health, Zoro refused to shift or budge on his stance. Sanji couldn’t ignore it, but Zoro had never seemed as fundamentally alarmed as he was during the conversation.

That was the only reason that had Sanji backing down on his stance on the argument for the meantime, unresolved but leaving a staleness to crust the air. In spite of that, Mossy seemed to not leave Sanji’s side, and they both still spent easy time with one another. It was always easy and contented, until Sanji would accidentally catch Zoro’s eye when he thought Sanji wasn’t looking and he saw that disquiet clouded behind the grey and the insurmountable guilt only clenched Sanji’s heart like a firm first.

So in all honesty, Sanji thought having their usual check in from the crew would be a nice break to take away from the dreariness in the apartment. He was quickly proven wrong.

“Sanji!” Sanji turned upon the sound of Chopper’s voice, startled by his voice as he had not been expecting him. He had been told last week when Luffy had bounded out the door that Robin was going to come over by herself since everyone else was busy. Sanji always liked to know who was coming so he could have ingredients on hand to make something they would personally enjoy. It gave Sanji something to do and try out a new recipe that he may not have thought of on his own without the inspiration.

“Hi, Chopper. I thought it was just Robin coming over today?” He trailed off at the end of the question, unconsciously tilting his head as he regarded Robin with bewilderment. Perhaps Chopper had finished his medical duties early and had wanted to tag along? Possibly, but Luffy was never wrong in informing Sanji who were to end up on their doorstep whenever the crew visited. This was actually a first, despite how unreliable Luffy could be, he was never wrong.

“It was, but I had a feeling he may be needed.” Robin smiled at him after she had spoken, her distinct blue eyes drifting off to the side where Zoro stood. For a moment, if Sanji was not so observant he would have missed it, Robin and Zoro shared a subtle look with one another. They seemed to have held a very small conversation, one that apparently could not be said out loud, and Sanji’s skepticism was rising like a kite in the wind.

“Why?” He had said this quite suspiciously, uncertain what that conversation they held with their eyes meant, but he knew it was about him. He was quick to correct his tone, not wanting to upset Robin or Chopper by making them think he was in a bad mood. “Not that I mind, of course. It’s always a pleasure to be able to see you, Chopper.”

“I heard you’re sick, Sanji! Are you okay, I got really worried when I heard.” Sanji pinched the bridge of his nose tightly like he was attempting to squeeze it until his bones snapped. He gave Zoro the nastiest glare he could manage, spitfire and with the promise of them talking about this later.

“I’m not sick!” He retorted back, quickfire and angered. When everyone just stared at him, Robin raising an eyebrow and Zoro giving the most deadpan look he could manage on his stupid shitty face, Sanji retraced his steps and relented just a little . “Okay, I’m a bit sick, but I’m fine . Mossy’s just being paranoid, it’s just a common cold.” He was fine! He would survive, so what if he had a bit of a shitty cough and the world felt like a fucking icecube? He’s sure it could be worse!

“You have been quite pale, lately.” Robin cupped the side of her face with her palm, eyes assessing as they roved over her face. Sanji squirmed under her analysis, feeling a bit like a creepy crawly under a microscope, and her eyebrows only furrowed the more she stared. “And Luffy said you lost your balance when you were cooking for him the other day.”

“He nearly passed out, it keeps happening,” Zoro confirmed, interrupting Sanji before he could even get a word in. For that, Sanji stomped directly on his foot in reprimand, grumbling a few expletives under his breath. Crossing his arms and hunching over, Sanji’s fingers curled and creased the material of his casual shirt, nails digging into the fabric and the intense pressure creating red crescent marks underneath on the skin of his arms.

“I was just a bit tired. Haven’t been getting much sleep,” he acquiesced, the admittance feeling like he was giving up a weakness. He wasn’t damn weak, and he wasn’t so sick he couldn’t do his fucking job! He loved cooking, nothing could keep him from doing that. Not even a stupid flu or whatever this stupid shitty sickness was. It would go away, that’s what most sicknesses did anyway!

“You’ve been coughing up blood!” Chopper’s expression looks straight up appalled at Zoro’s biting comment, Sanji biting his tongue to not flinch away from the truth of it. Another argument was brewing, he could feel it, and he and Zoro turned to one another and glared with their rising tempers. He knew it was waiting at the seams to come apart, it was only a matter of time.

“That’s just because my throat is raw!”

“Curly, you said I was warm .”

“Yeah? So? How does that prove I’m sick?”

“Because I’m dead!”

“Yeah, no shit!”

They argued like they were sparring, trading blows until one inevitably conceded defeat. They would have continued to shoot shots at one another until one landed on target but were kindly interrupted. “Ahem, apologies, Sanji, but what our swordsman means is that someone who is dead is generally freezing cold. Whenever Zoro tried to interact with us before, he was as cold as ice. Perhaps that means you feel as cold as a ghost.” Everyone looked at varying expressions of horror at her morbid words, not quite the perfect words to break up their shouting at one another. Instead it left a horrid taste to linger on Sanji’s tongue, wanting to hide under the blanket of his duvet.

“And coughing up blood isn’t normal! You need a doctor! SOMEONE, GET A DOCTOR!”

“You are a doctor, Chopper.” Zoro corrected, exasperated but the encroaching frustration trying to be tempered like hardening chocolate to not be taken out on the wrong person.

“Oh, right. Sanji! This is much more serious than I thought!” Sanji shook his head weakly, trying to back away but there was nowhere for him to run. This conversation would not be avoided, Zoro and the lovely Robin clearly very stubborn to see this to the end. Not only that, but Chopper seemed like he was going to die of worry himself from the symptoms of Sanji’s that had been exposed.

“It’s fine, I’ve been through worse. This is nothing, just a bit of a cough,” he tried to reassure, to downplay. To make it seem like everything was okay. Once again, though, he was brought back to reality, tethered.

“Curly, this isn’t normal . Have you ever seen anyone cough up blood before?!”

Grimly, Sanji does have memories of such. He remembers his mother, hands frail like glass and so skinny he could see the protruding bones. He remembers an abundance of scrunched and discarded bloody tissues in a bin by her bedside, attempting to be hidden underneath the darkness of her desk in her room. He remembers how when she would cough, it would shake her whole body like an earthquake, covering her mouth with a dainty and patterned handkerchief Sanji would hand her. He remembers when she would pull it away from pursed lips in a short lived grimace that the white starchy cotton of the handkerchief would be stained with blotches of crimson.

He remembers memories of his mother coughing up blood from a sickness. But that sickness she suffered from? That sickness had no cure. It had no cure, none at all, and slowly her life drained away like it was never there in the first place. Withered away into the abyss, a life taken too early from illness. Sanji had tried to pretend the symptoms weren’t mirroring one another, but it became extremely hard to purposefully ignore when everyone kept forcing him to think.

“Please, Sanji. I just want to do some basic vital tests and do some blood tests. It won’t take much time.” Chopper was practically pleading with him, voice soft as if not wanting to spook him away. Sanji thought that was a little ridiculous, he wasn’t that much of a risk of running away and hiding in a closet like someone had broken in.

“Chopper, you don’t need to be so worried,” He had said with a smile, though he knew it didn’t reach his eyes or emit any brightness in the blue of his irises.

“Sanji, letting Chopper do his job is the only way he won’t worry.” Robin had placed a hand on his shoulder once more as she spoke, as if sealing his fate and her words into the natural truth of the world. There was no point resisting, he could cause as much of a fuss and commotion as he wanted, but ultimately they would win. And deep down, as much as Sanji feared it, he knew they were the ones being rational. They had every right to worry.

“Right. Of course, whatever you need to do.”

With his defeated acceptance, Sanji was ushered to sit at the dining table while Chopper rushed around and Robin disappeared and reappeared with a mound of medical supplies carried in her arms. She had come prepared for him to cave, it seemed, because Chopper seemed beyond relieved at having his equipment and not having to go retrieve anything. Soon enough, Sanji was having his vitals taken, the whole heart rate and breathing capability ticked off the list.

The procedures so far hadn’t been invasive, just a stethoscope to his chest where his heart lay and on his back where his lungs expanded and deflated. The medical check continued harmlessly as Chopper’s eyebrows furrowed while writing detailed notes in a little book. He was biting the end of his pen when he was deliberating over his notes, clicking and unclicking his pen when he was fiddling in nervousness. Sanji wasn’t going to say it out loud in fear of hurting Chopper’s feelings, but it was seriously making Sanji’s hair stand on end and his anxiety beat against the walls of his chest like a drumming performance.

Things proceeded smoothly until they got to the final check Chopper wanted to do, a blood test. It was a simple thing, most people in their lives had had one. It was just a tiny needle, it didn’t really hurt. But as soon as Sanji saw the needle poised in Chopper’s hand, his face lost all colour and he had unconsciously inched away from Chopper’s direction in his chair. His mind felt like a snowball rolling down a hill, gaining ample speed and weight that it in turn formed an avalanche. His breathing that he had kept even became hard to swallow down, that faintness caressing his head and attempting to draw him into fainting.

Sanji had never done well with needles, less because of the pain but more out of fear from what experiment he was going to be subjected to. He knew Chopper was not one of the Vinsmoke scientists attempting to genetically modify him into some sort of assassin. It did not make the visceral fear fade in the slightest, irrational and unending.

“Sanji, are you okay?” Chopper was giving him wide eyes of concern, shiny and so full of care for his wellbeing that Sanji felt immensely guilty. It didn’t make any of the untamed terror fade, it just made him feel infinitely worse. Sanji could feel piercing eyes on him, it felt like he was being scorched with judgement. A hand on his shoulder with a gentle squeeze, fingers lithe and therefore only possible to belong to Robin.

“Just do it already, please.” Sanji stuck his arm out and shoved his head away with scrunched up eyes. He did not want to see, the anticipation was going to cause his heart to stop right where it was beating a mile a minute to try and outrun his anxiety. He likely wouldn’t even feel it, but he could not stand seeing the blood draw out of his body through the needle and into a small canister to be examined. He knew he was losing control of his breathing, little wavers on each exhale and emotional frightened hitches on his inhales.

“Oi, Curly.” Sanji grit his teeth, eyes still closed to the rest of the world as he gave a violent shake to his head to signal now was not the time to make fun of him . Zoro knew how to be tactful, and if Sanji had quite literally signalled to him now was not the time to be blunt, he would listen. He had done so in the past, and yet Sanji could tell he was awaiting Sanji’s response, the line of the fishing rod left bobbing in the water and waiting for the catch.

“What?” His voice nearly whistled on a wheeze at the end, his attempt at anger completely usurped by his alarm. No one commented on it, but it was obvious he wasn’t valiantly hiding how much dread his body felt constricted by if another squeeze was administered to his shoulder like soothing empathy.

“Hold my hand.” That was enough to have Sanji’s eyes snap open, nearly wincing from the light of the apartment as his eyes searched out for Zoro.

“ What? ” He had managed to say, flabbergasted as his eyes finally found him. Zoro was not playing a practical joke, his face was utterly serious as he held out his hand in Sanji’s direction for him to hold. There was not a trace of mocking or sympathy or some other form of condescension.

“You can squeeze it as much as you want.” It was instead a simple invitation to take the comfort if Sanji so chose. Sanji didn’t even deliberate on his decision, drawn to the comforting action like a moth to a flame. It was easy to acquiesce, set his pride aside when it had already been smashed into pieces anyway from not even being able to act normal in the face of getting a blood test.

“... Okay.”

Sanji squeezes the hand harshly to the point of breaking bones in a lesser man and closes his eyes once again as his bloods are taken. Instead of closing his eyelids so hard that a kaleidoscope of colours and abstract shapes appeared, instead it was a simple lay of smooth eyelid and a flutter of eyelashes against the tips of his cheeks. He focused on evening his breathing, keeping the acrid taste in the back of his tongue at bay and instead drawing back to his hand held in Zoro’s when he needed that bit of a soothing reminder. Of how his hand was more engulfed by Zoro’s because his palm was bigger in size, but his fingers escaped the grasp by being lithe and longer in length.

Zoro has not bothered to say another word since, just firmly squeezes back as a reminder that he’s right beside him. Words were not his forte, but he could offer his presence and the knowledge that he would not leave him. That he was secure and safe, he was not going to be intentionally harmed when there were pairs of caring and compassionate eyes wanting to keep him protected.

“Okay, I’m all done, Sanji.” And just like that, Sanji opened his eyes and all that was placed on the crook of his elbow was now a little cotton bud that was taped down instead of a needle sticking out of him. It was over, it was easy, and he let out the biggest breath of air he hadn’t even known he had held. His tightened grip on Zoro’s hand became lax, but he did not let go or let his hand slip away, and neither did Zoro.

“Thanks, Chopper. You’re the best doctor I’ve ever had.” Sanji recounts how that isn’t a very hard task to beat considering the doctors he had been around. It was an abysmally low bar to leap over, but still, he believes in Chopper’s abilities. He knew that Chopper was a fantastic doctor with an abundance of medical knowledge and skills.

“You look tired. We should get going so Chopper can get to work.” Robin had smiled at him knowingly, removing her hand from his shoulder now that they had deemed their job done. She was not departing and attempting to usher Chopper out the door because she did not care, it was actually quite the contrary. She instead wished for Sanji to have some well deserved rest and having guests in his apartment was one way for him to not be able to shut his eyes and sleep.

“Please, at least let me make you all something to take on your way.” It was insistent, Sanji could not let them go without repaying them for their care. He had stood from the chair and made his way in the kitchen in record time before he could even be convinced otherwise. Not that it would matter, he was a man on a mission, and cooking always helped him destress. It was his therapeutic downtime whenever he got to bake or cook in his own free time and own volition.

“But Sanji-”

Chopper’s protest was quickly severed with Zoro’s reassurance and small smile. “It’s fine. I’ll be in the kitchen with him.” True to his word, he hovered around Sanji while he whirled around the kitchen, whisking ingredients and moulding batter into little sweet treats for the lovely Robin and Chopper to take on their journey home. Not anything too strenuous but just fancy and delectable enough that they should enjoy the little desserts. All the while Zoro kept his vigilant task of being by his side just in case Sanji lost his balance, just in case his fairness resurfaced and his brain shut down for just that millisecond blink.

Soon enough, when Sanji had gifted Chopper and Robin tupperware filled with desserts they thanked him and decided to be on their way. They had stopped at the door along with Zoro who had been seeing them out while Sanji had decided to stay back and get started on the dishes before he caved to exhaustion. Sanji pretended to ignore how he could hear them whispering about the Vinsmokes. He knew they were going to enact their plan soon to take them down but it was really none of Sanji’s business. Sanji avoids trying to know, and now was not any different. Sanji wishes them farewell when they call out to him and give him a final departing wave. Once they were gone, Sanji decides to give Zeff a call. Inform him of the possibility, of his sickness no longer being a benign nuisance that they could all ignore. 

Zeff tells him he’ll visit and bring dinner with him, and that no matter what Sanji said he could not be convinced otherwise and no Sanji did not need to make him dinner. That, and he needs to take off work until he’s better because Zeff could not afford Sanji passing out in the kitchen. He had said it with his usual toughness, but what he really meant was the kitchen was a dangerous place. Sanji’s illness made his wellbeing unpredictable, and Zeff could not stomach the thought of Sanji getting hurt further in the kitchen because of their negligence.

Sanji wasn’t happy about it, but he accepted just to ease his old man’s mind, looking forward to having dinner like a family and hoping that all this doom and gloom would blow over.

-----

The wind no longer howled outside, now delicate with the soft whispers from the locked balcony doors. The calm before the storm, or perhaps there was no storm when it was a candle that had been burning to the end of its wick for a long time, nothing but a puddle of wax to signal it had ever existed in the first place.

The creaking of the floorboards that were once grating had now ceased, no longer cracking underneath his feet when he moved. Was it because he was no longer as warm, the contrast between his temperature and the outside world decreasing in stark difference every day that ticked by.

The smell of a bright and linen scented air freshener had permeated throughout the air, giving a sense of freshness to the apartment. A reminder of the Spring that was to come shortly, a prelude to the better weather and warming climate. It was a heavy contrast to the staleness that he felt, the disturbance in his heart and the decay of his health.

“Curly?”

The world continued to turn, and yet he felt as if in that moment he was a movie that had been put on pause. He was still processing everything that had just been told to him, but while he ruminated, nothing seemed to be progressing forward. Not even at a snail's pace, not even at a hair’s width. Just suspended in time, as he grappled with his fate.

Sanji never thought his life was a guarantee to be fulfilling and long lived. He had been through his fair share of horrors throughout his life, and now was not the first time he had pondered his own mortality.

“Oi, shit cook!”

In spite of all that, of having to consider if he was going to survive another day when he was suffering from his biggest trial of prolonged starvation, he still couldn’t quite believe what he had just heard.

“Sanji!” Fingers and palms curled around his upper sides of his arms near his shoulder, holding him together like a toppling stack of boxes. The hold was tight enough that fingers sunk into the fabric of his shirt and created creases. His attention was attempting to be gained via being shaken back and forth, like dye being attempted to be shaken into water. To dispel whatever haze had come over him and encaptured his mind like it were full of opaque stormclouds.

“Zoro.” His eyes were no longer diluted like staring off into space, his lips moving around the name as if it were natural as cooking in the kitchen for him. He knew his bottom lip was wobbling, the crease between Zoro’s eyebrows only growing more pronounced. His lips were downturned, but not the regular rest of his face, more in a grim downturn. His eye was searching his, that blaze of concern with that backburner of fear was almost too much for Sanji to stare at. Sanji was not the only one reeling from the news, it seemed.

It was supposed to be a happy meeting today, a celebration of sorts. The Strawhats had finally taken down the Vinsmokes and their reign of terror. No longer slithering in the shadows like a bunch of venomous snakes. Sanji had wished not to know the circumstances of how they were defeated, and Luffy had taken that wish seriously. Luffy had promised him, when he had returned, that they would never harm Sanji ever again.

While that was certainly fantastic news, Sanji knew that wasn’t all. He could tell by their strange lacklustre attitudes that was reducing the joy over Zoro being avenged draining by the minute. The lovely Robin had a darkness in her eyes, the lovely Nami having a tenseness in her shoulders and her fingers clenched into fists. Chopper was trying to withhold from shaking, biting the insides of his cheeks to stop himself from spewing out something in worry. Luffy’s hat had shadowed over his eyes, only a bleakness left in the lines of his expression.

They found the cause of Sanji’s illness, they found out what had been injected into Zoro that day he died, and they had found out that Vinsmoke Judge was nothing if not a scientist. An overly ambitious mad scientist, in fact, trying to conquer concepts that could not feasibly be done. Something like death, it seemed, since once someone was dead there was no way to bring them back. The Vinsmokes had been experimenting in the last couple of years, finding out if it was ever possible to defeat death, but the conclusions in the research lab that Robin had found was that the project was dropped.

It was dropped because it was conclusive that, no matter what they tried, death could not be defeated.

The injection they had designed in the experiment would cause too much strain in the body in any regular person, something that could not be counteracted. They had found this out recently a few months ago by testing it out on a genetically modified participant after there were no signs of success on those who were mere normal people. That participant, they had found out… was Sanji himself. The last time he had been back in the Vinsmoke manner against his will, apparently, and he had been unconscious when he had been injected hence why he had no memory of it.

It apparently was a fast acting agent that was similar to something like an anaesthetic and in the end no one came back from it. It apparently was the same thing Zoro had been injected with on that fateful day where his life was taken away. Robin theorised that the only reason that Zoro was a ghost was because of his unbeatable will, the determination the only thing that had kept him in the form of a spirit. That was only a hypothesis, the best she could conclude from the research notes she had read, but everyone seemed to accept that for the truth.

That begged the question, though, why was Sanji okay? It now made sense why Sanji and Zoro could interact with one another while none of the other Strawhats could interact with Zoro. Simply because both of their bodies were introduced to the same injection that had caused Zoro to become a ghost in the first place. But if every other test subject had died, why hadn’t Sanji? He was just a regular human being, like everyone else in the room.

Except Sanji wasn’t okay, was he?

He was told that his mother had intentionally drank poison to try and reverse the genetic modifications Judge had wanted for Sanji and his brothers. The poison had only worked for him, hence why he was a normal human being who could experience emotions. Except that injection when injected into Sanji’s body the last time he had been at the mansion, it had an unintended effect. One that even the scientists hadn’t predicted. The poison that had laid dormant in Sanji’s body that his mother had taken many decades prior had been reactivated by the injection.

It meant that Sanji was dying via a poison that held no cure.

It meant he was going to die from the same illness that had taken his mother’s life.

Everyone reacted to the news differently, but none of it was anywhere near positive. Chopper had burst out into tears, crying and incessantly apologising to Sanji that he was sorry there was nothing he could do. Nami was vibrating with pure fury and rage, eyes glassy with tears but refusing to let them spill from the utter depths of her despair at the unfairness of the situation. Robin had let her eyes fall closed, a soft worded apology ending her recount of the details and letting herself stew in the overwhelming defeat of what they had learnt. Luffy had taken off his hat, placed it oh so gently upon Sanji’s head of hair, and had said that Sanji and Zoro would have to return his hat when he finally saw them again.

Sanji and Zoro were so swamped and burdened by the overflow of information told to them, like they had been backhanded from it all, that they had not known how to respond. Their visitors had decided to wrap up their visit and give them some much needed time to process, reassuring them that if they wanted to talk they were all simply a phone call away. That now left Zoro and Sanji in the apartment, alone, grappling with everything and deciding on how to process it all.

Letting the pressure go, he let himself fall forward until his forehead hit the perch of Zoro’s shoulder and the rest of his frame was held up by his arms. He could feel the tears rise up like drifting waves, and he was just getting so sick of crying at this point. Not that that would stop the tears from cropping up and rolling down in salty streaks, but it did mean he felt a little pathetic with the amount of times he had been crying lately. He supposed it was fair considering the circumstances, though. “I don’t want to die,” he whispered shakily into Zoro’s shoulder, sniffling as the arms that had caught him slowly wrapped around him hesitantly.

“I know,” he muttered back to him, arms constricting further and further until they were tight. Tight enough that Sanji felt stable, tight enough that he would not wither away right where he stood if his eyes fell closed.  He wished not to fear the thought of every second of exhaustion, the paranoia that had receded only swerving back in like it had been waiting for its time to shine. Sanji knew Zoro was fighting against his body’s instinct to shake and shiver from the emotional burden, even someone as strong as him being unable to bear it.

“I haven’t even gotten my own restaurant,” He said again, as if it would make a difference how much he had left he wanted to achieve. It was ironic, many times in life he felt utterly useless, but now that his fate was hanging over his head there was so much he wanted to do. So much left for him to reach for. Is this how Zoro felt, when he realised that his dreams of becoming the world's greatest swordsman could no longer come to fruition?

“I know.” It was said softly, the words tickling his ear as Zoro nosed into his flaxen hair on the top of his head. Sanji could hear the beautiful tinkling of his golden earrings like the windchime that would sway on the balcony in the Spring time. He could feel them lay and weigh down some of his hair from where Zoro was similarly hiding his face away, but instead of a shoulder it was Sanji’s golden locks. It wasn’t a reassurance like a platitude, or something said out of sympathy. It was just a quiet acceptance. It wasn’t just a fake smile and an attempt at laughter. It was like his hand was being held, but no condescension. Just that understanding that underlies the action.

“I haven’t even seen the All Blue. I’m not ready .” His voice broke, the next inhale felt like a task of pushing a boulder up a hill. Then a quick sob, then another, and then the boulder was tumbling down the hill with any of the progress made being obsolete. Grief was all he could describe he felt, the grief of his ambitions and dreams never being able to be fulfilled by him. The despair that he was losing his life the same way that his mother had lost hers.

“Sanji.” Zoro’s arms loosened, now with those shakiness present that he had been fighting so hard against. His hands moved up and down, not fighting against the hiccups bursting out of Sanji but instead corralling them to be lighter, less extreme. His own breathing was meticulously deep but Sanji could feel the wavering, the blockage in his throat that must have grown and grown until it was restricting his breathing just as Sanji was experiencing.

All Sanji could do was weep in Zoro’s arms as the news settled like dust over a windowsill. It was a slow unravel of understanding the weight of the situation, and still even further until true acceptance over the circumstances came about. He wept and wept until his head throbbed like it had been smashed against a wall. Until the quivering of his hands settled back to that steady precision. Until that gasping and wheezing of breaths became sniffles and deep exhales, lungs fully expanding and deflating. Until he let the hopelessness subside, at least for a moment, as the tears had started to dry.

“I’m sorry,” he had finally said after many minutes, though Sanji had no clue how much time had passed. He gently backed out of Zoro’s hold, not enough that the arms drew away but enough that they both had some space. He no longer hid himself away in the crook of Zoro’s neck. He had to face reality, it was inevitable, but at least the first thing he could see after such agonising news was Zoro’s gorgeous face.

“Why?” Zoro asked, head tilted and expression shifting to one of serious confusion. He took Sanji’s words seriously, with no trace of their usual joking present. Now was not the time or place, attuned to one another and their haywire emotions. Sanji noted the redness present in Zoro’s eyes, but the lack of moisture dabbled on his cheek or having fallen into Sanji’s hair atop his head.

“Crying to a dead man about dying? How pathetic.” It was self deprecating, a scoff as an attempt to be light laughter at the end but falling incredibly flat from the mark. Sanji knew he was being harsh on himself, but he felt a sense of guilt. One that was thick and acrid like smoke from a wildfire.

“Curly.” It was a warning, but not one that signalled Sanji had offended Zoro in any way. It was more of a warning for him to stop berating himself, to cut it out. Zoro didn’t feel any resentment, how could he? He had accepted his death months ago.

“I mean, you didn’t even get to know it would happen! Just one day, bam. Gone. Fucking hell.” He roughly rubbed his fingers against his cheeks and chin to remove the tears attempting to soak into his skin.

No one had been there to comfort Zoro when he had died. The Strawhats were only able to be there after the fact, especially since they hadn’t known. But Sanji, while extremely unlucky, was lucky in the sense that he had someone by his side. Someone to keep pushing him forward throughout. Someone who felt like an equal, no sympathy or false apologies. Just someone who completely recognised what it felt like to have your future taken away by your own unexpected death. The only difference was Sanji’s was impending, the anticipation something that could quite literally drive him crazy if he was not fortunate enough to have the support systems he did.

Sanji wished he had known Zoro before his death a few months ago, but would it have made a difference? There was no point having what ifs and wishes, Sanji supposed. Not when he could still be there for Zoro now, not when he could cherish the time they had left with one another. He hated that his time was now limited, but being in despair about it wasn’t going to change a thing. It was a bitter pill to swallow, and yet while it was rational, Sanji still felt sorrowful and like his stomach was filled with stones.

Then, Zoro broke the pestering back and forth of his thoughts that had been like a ball in a ping pong match. “What’s your favourite food?” He asked in utter seriousness, like the question itself was the most important thing in the world right now. Not the news they had been told, but what Sanji’s favourite thing to eat was.

“What?” Sanji blinked before bursting out in laughter at the utter absurdity of the question. How could he not laugh at such a dumbass question? “Why?” he managed to get out after his laughter had subsided, a small smile on his lips as he raised an eyebrow in curious amusement. It was such a huge fucking shift from their previous conversation, but Sanji was very willing to make the change. Thankful, really, Zoro always knew how to make him laugh in such a stupid fucking way.

“Does it matter? Just answer,” he grumbled, his cheeks dusting with pink embarrassment at being laughed at. He removed his arms from around Sanji to instead cross them, an instinctual reaction to make himself look like Sanji’s ridicule wasn’t getting to him and instead was being annoyed. Sanji’s smile only stretched further, almost wanting to reach forward and pinch Zoro’s cheek between his fingers.

“Spicy seafood pasta,” Sanji answered honestly, giving Zoro a break by not teasing him further. What a strange turn in conversation, but Sanji wasn’t going to judge. He had a feeling he knew why Zoro had asked, prompting Sanji to answer that specific question. Sanji would much rather talk about this than wallow in the sadness that was only being abandoned for the time being, lurking in the shadows.

“Show me how to make it,” Zoro said to him, eye intense as he leaned forward and sandwiched Sanji’s hands between his own. Their noses were inches away, Sanji almost overwhelmed by the unwavering conviction in Zoro’s voice. The man had never shown a single shitty shred of interest in cooking before, very content to lean against the counter and watch while Sanji danced and ran the show by cooking up something delicious. This was the first time he had even wanted to step in there to cook something, and with such certainty that clearly could not be destroyed.

“What?” was all Sanji could manage to say, although it was more incredulous if anything. He blinked at the other, wondering if he had actually passed out or something and this was a figment of his imagination. However, nothing seemed to change the more he blinked, instead Zoro’s face still greeted him with that same earnestness.

“Show me. I want to know how to do it.” Zoro continued to insist, surprisingly not getting impatient but instead waiting for Sanji to concede defeat and give in to his request. The absolute genuineness and kindheartedness behind Zoro’s actions made any form of futile resistance just for the sake of being a nuisance fold like a piece of paper. It was actually really sweet, wanting to be taught how to make Sanji’s favourite dish in spite of it all, in spite of likely never being able to cook it for him.

“Okay, if you’re sure you can keep up,” Sanji challenged because he was nothing if not a teasing shithead, and the resulting grin enrapturing Zoro’s face was utterly worth it. It made Sanji feel, just for that moment, that it was just these two back to normal again as if their world had not been shattered to pieces. Instead of pondering that, Sanji decided to ignore it in favour of moving on and doing something that actually made him enjoy his life.

You may as well make the most of your life while you still have it. Zoro hadn’t said it, but he was right. Sanji knew that was what he was getting at, even if he had a limited time left, there was no use in wasting it. That’s not to say he suddenly felt like the world was all sunshine and rainbows, or that he wasn’t allowed to feel like shit. Those were all natural, but he was also allowed to not want to stay feeling like shit as well. And Sanji was nothing if not a person who could not sit still, always wanting to be productive for the sake of helping others.

So they cooked together, Sanji teaching Zoro how to make the same spicy seafood pasta dish that Zeff had first made for him the day they had gotten the Baratie. It was his ultimate favourite comfort meal, the one dish he would make that would settle in his stomach warmly and make him feel at home. Then once they had both created it together, Zoro’s utter attention at following every step and taking mental note of how to do every part to utter precision, they sat down and ate together as they usually did.

While eating together and enjoying the meal, Zoro finally asked what Sanji would like to do. What he wanted to do for the time he had left. There was no judgement, there were no expectations. It was simply a question, and it was clear that if Sanji said he didn’t want to do anything, he would freely accept that. Sanji, as much as he still couldn’t wrap his head around the thought of his fate, much less cope with the thought just yet, he knew he didn’t want to do nothing.

So, Sanji says he wants to complete his journal and fill it with all the recipes he has cooked, adjusted, or created. Almost like an unofficial cookbook of all his life's work of cooking, he thought. Fitting, Sanji absolutely adored cooking, it was the only thing that had kept him tethered to his sanity throughout his life. The one thing he could always rely on to bring that spark of joy back to his life. Plus, it felt like something that he could leave behind, something that he could grant Zeff as a thank you for putting up with him for all those years, his real father.

Zoro had said nothing at first, simply smiling over his empty plate, and then asked if this recipe would be in the book too. And if it was, then one day, Zoro promised he would make it for Sanji all by himself.

Sanji could only smile back, heart fluttering like the wings of a butterfly, as he promised in that case that he would have to write it down, just for Zoro.

-----

It was the last day of Winter.

The blanketing snow and whirlwind of storms had settled down into something more benign. The sun was peaking out through the clouds like it was saying hello, reminding them that the next day they would be gracing the world with a warmer embrace. The leafless branches creaked and swayed with any remaining harshness, standing up valiantly while waiting for the new season to slink over and for the regrowth to begin. Outside the world continued to move along, only mindless chatter and simple conversations about the change in season like it were nothing of major significance.

Just a change in season, just another day rolling by, just the world continuing to spin.

Sanji had woken up that day, and something in him had known. Something about Zoro had known too, his eye never having left him. For once, Sanji had no desire to cook, instead had something else on his mind. A whim that he could not ignore, that was whispering him and beckoning him forward with gentle gestures and soft promises. Wordlessly, Sanji had intertwined his fingers with Zoro’s and led him out into the living room, the largest free space they had shielded away from the frostiness outside attempting to crawl in and grasp his ankles.

Once he had surveyed his surroundings and assessed it was ready for the task, Sanji asked Zoro if he would grant him the luxury of dancing with him. Zoro had tilted his head like a puppy, although his facial expression was more harsh lines than the soft fluffiness of such. Sanji still found it cute regardless, watching the cogwheels turn in Zoro’s dumb little head as he tried to figure out the reason Sanji had asked such an unexpected request. Sanji had used his free hand to reach up and cup Zoro’s cheek, thumb reaching up and gently sweeping across the scar.

Please? Sanji had asked adoringly, the confusion in the crystal grey being swept away into something reverent. Of course, Zoro had answered back as easy as breathing, as easy as walking, as easy as being in this moment with one another. Sanji had laughed breathily, eyes crinkling in amusement as he could sense the nerves coiled tightly in Zoro’s chest. If Sanji had to guess, Zoro had likely never danced before in his life, nervous at the challenge but determined to see it through. It was a curveball Sanji had requested, he knew, but there was nothing more that he wanted to do in this moment than hold Zoro close, be held close in return, and sway mindlessly together like two leaves dancing in the wind.

It was bittersweet, romantic and almost a beautiful farewell all tied up neatly in a nice little bow. Sanji did not care, he just simply wanted to enjoy the moment, thrive off of the comfort of Zoro’s hand in his own and their feet moving in coordination with one another. Equals, standing on the same two feet at the same height as one another. Even if Zoro had no clue how to dance, something that became extremely apparent as they had started to move and his janky and uncertain movements lead away to mistakes, Sanji felt that they were still meant to be equals.

“You’re a bad dancer,” Sanji teased, eyes alight with life from the mischief of his words. His lips slipped into a cheeky grin, eyes taunting with fondness as he waited for the others' response. It was like a tug of rope, he pulled and waited for the other to pull back harder in retaliation. It was simply the way their dynamic worked, and neither would change it for the world, not even at this moment. It was a language only they could acknowledge, interpret and value, understand one another inside and out.

“I’m fine at dancing, we haven’t tripped,” Zoro had responded in petulance, wrinkling his nose in an attempt to not pout. Sanji knew if he tugged just a little more on that rope, he would fully pout all grumpy and cute like some sort of hissing and upset cat. Sanji knew he was insane, and had been told so by the lovely Nami when he confessed to her in secret one day that he actually found Zoro’s pouting rather cute. Nami had fake vomited the second he had said it, telling him he was crazy and wishing he would never say those words to her again.

“You keep stepping on my foot,” he prodded further, eyes tinkling with the same sort of golden joy that Zoro’s earrings shone with. Sanji’s voice carried that same sort of sweet and melodic windchime quality that the golden teardrop metal made when they hit against one another. Sanji let his hand wander from Zoro’s shoulder upwards and across his cheek until his fingertips could touch the gorgeous and intricate earrings. Just to hear the noise once more, he gently flicked at one of the earrings which created that tune that was solely unique to Zoro’s.

“Your foot just keeps being under mine,” Zoro huffed, and Sanji got to witness firsthand the way Zoro’s attempt at anger folded and instead he was now pouting. Sanji’s heart fought as light as a feather as he laughed, once again cupping his free hand against Zoro’s cheek and bringing his head forward so that their foreheads leant against one another. He enjoyed the closeness, the unwavering attention as they continued to rock back and forth in a mimic of the dance while they joked around. Zoro may attempt to appear displeased, but the second Sanji had laughed and their foreheads touched, it was as plain as day to see the tenderness.

For once in a long while, Sanji felt utterly warm. From the inside out, like a pool of honey that had been heated in a saucepan. His legs felt stable, not like his knees would fail him. His body felt settled, no fear or a tremble overtaking him. His mind felt present and thankful, not faint like in a seconds breath he would find himself losing his balance. “Thank you,” Sanji said earnestly, grin dialing down to be something of a small but heartfelt smile.

Zoro seemed to stare, so obvious from how close their faces were from the leaning of foreheads. Sanji traced his fingertips against the skin on the side of Zoro’s face, starting from his temple and slowly dragging it down to the scar on his eyelid like a feather, landing back onto its rightful throne of cupping Zoro’s cheek affectionately. “For what?” Zoro asked, but he didn’t sound confused, more like he was humouring Sanji. More like he already knew, but was happy to hear whatever Sanji would say.

“For a lot, but mostly for the dance.” He was thankful he had met Zoro, and he was thankful that he had his blind and willing faith. He was thankful for this dance together, the two of them getting to just exist in this time and space. Not worry about everytime Sanji closed his eyes in a blink, or every sunray that would sometimes shine through Zoro as if he were translucent and not opaque. Zoro had no clue how to dance, but he had decided to do so because Sanji had asked, and that was more than enough to be thankful for.

“Anytime, Curly.” He said it in a way that insinuated he would do it again, and again, and again. If Sanji asked for another dance, to let their feet just move and dictate where the next dance move was, Zoro would simply grab his hand and let them move, sway and twirl with the music of their own heartbeats. He was content with the simplicity of the two standing in the apartment together forehead to forehead, hand intertwined as they danced back and forth.

“Hey, can you make me a final promise?” Sanji moved his forehead back, only so he could see Zoro’s face a little better. The hands that were intertwined now loosened, instead Sanji now framing Zoro’s face with his hands. Zoro, quick to adapt to not fully lose the slow but sweet rhythm they had dancing around the free space of the living room placed his hands on Sanji’s waist, always there to steady even though Sanji didn’t need it. Sanji recognised both of them dancing around the very limited space in the apartment in their warm and fluffy winter pyjamas and slippers was a little ridiculous, but he couldn’t help but find it adding to the endearment of the situation.

“What is it?” Zoro had unintentionally tilted his head slightly to one side again, Sanji’s palm supporting the weight of it. He seemed willing to indulge Sanji and his want for a promise form him, and Sanji was grateful. Zoro was a man of his word, he would honour a promise if he agreed to it. This promise, Sanji hoped he would, because it would bring him peace of mind.

“Can you promise to stay with me?” He knew it held a sense of selfishness, but Sanji was not just asking for his own sake. He did not want Zoro to wander off and be lost, to fade away. If it were too much of a burden, he knew Zoro would say no. If it were an ultimately unfair task, Zoro would say no. Sanji would be completely okay with that. It meant that Sanji knew if Zoro accepted, he was doing it out of his own free will and not because of guilt or pressure. Those things didn’t seem to weigh on Zoro like they did Sanji, anyway.

“I promise. I won’t leave your side.” Zoro turned his face, lips moving against his palm as he mumbled those words into his skin. Almost as if he could seal it there, into his hands and leave it like a tattoo in commemoration of the promise. So, so sweet, Sanji could feel his eyes water minutely, but not out of any sense of sorrow.

“Thank you. Now I know you won’t get lost.” Zoro would have someone to tether him from disappearing completely, from getting lost and being unable to find his way home. That alleviated the weight in his heart, his concern for Zoro. He knew it was ridiculous, most people in this moment would not be concerned about the living ghost but the person slowly succumbing to their fatal illness, but Sanji was nothing if not a man with a heart of gold.

“And you won’t be alone.” He said again, pressing a tender kiss against the precious skin of his palms before moving back so they were both face to face. Sanji hummed lightly, hands losing their strength like a battery draining away to its last percentages. They slid down Zoro’s cheeks, lightweight and harmless, until they hit his shoulders. Gathering the strength left within him, Sanji stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Zoro’s back, keeping himself tethered. Zoro’s arms wrapped around him, too, ensuring he would not fall even if he lost consciousness.

“Hey, Zoro.” The words were becoming more laborious to form, taking more concentration to think of what to say. His movements from where they were still stepping side to side in a dance were getting sluggish and less precise. His breathing became shallower with every breath, but neither commented on it. They both had already acknowledged what was happening, they didn’t want to waste more time and dwell on it now when they could have a moment of happiness.

“Yes, Curly.” Zoro was more than patient in this moment, not frustrated at the questions, at the talking, at Sanji asking him to dance together in the apartment. He didn’t seem bothered in the least, he looked like he was exactly where he wanted to be. Perhaps it was not patience, then, perhaps it was simply enjoyment in being able to share this moment together.

“I’m really tired.” Sanji hadn’t wanted to admit it, but it was no longer ignorable. He didn’t want to break the loveliness of the moment, didn’t want to break his joy. But a little piece of him felt that terror trying to zap him, like he had touched a lightning bolt.

“Do you want to stop?” It was considerate, letting Sanji decide what he wanted to do. Zoro was happy to stop dancing, he was happy to continue, whatever made Sanji happy. He didn’t want him to be anxious, though, not when the air felt so mellow and peaceful.

“No, I don’t want you to let go.” Sanji admitted it quietly, a tremor in his voice that he wished was not there. It was true, the last thing he wanted was Zoro to let go. He didn’t want to be apart, he liked the two just stepping side to side in a facsimile of a dance in their apartment. He didn’t want to be alone.

“I won’t.” The simple conviction, that unspoken promise that Sanji had not even needed to ask for, made that terror be batted away like a pesky fly. Once more, that harmonious energy settled back in easily, as if it had never been disturbed or displaced in the first place. The devotion had never even been budged a bit, permanent and ensured in the space that was carved out in each other's hearts.

“Maybe I’ll just close my eyes for a bit.” Sanji craned his head forward and let the temple of his head rest easily on Zoro’s shoulder. He felt comfortable, blanketed and safe, and he could feel through his sleepshirt the way Zoro’s palm moved up and down along his back. Soothing, as if trying to keep any possible panic at bay.

“I’ll be right here when you wake up. I promise.” Zoro laid his head very gently on top of Sanji’s. Zoro let his eye fall closed, too, as if leaning into the sentiment that everything would both be okay even if their eyes lay shut. They would still be together, and none of the love that they held now would fade.

“Okay. I love you.” Despite having to focus to get his words to come forth, those words felt like they were written on the back of his palm. Natural and easy, since even if his words were starting to fail him, his heart and soul would not. And he loved Zoro. He truly did.

“I love you, Sanji.” Zoro tilted his head, placing another gentle kiss against his golden hair where his temple lay underneath. It was said with such honesty, a truth that was not hard to admit. Wholesome and dulcet, an act of affection that Sanji’s romantic heart would hold dear.

Sanji lets his eyelids fall close, eyelashes batting as they finally rest against his cheeks. Eventually, the exhales of Sanji’s breath brushing against Zoro’s neck from where his head rested on his shoulder ceased. With it, Sanji’s body lost all strength, slumping into Zoro, officially signalling that the time has finally arrived like a door being unlocked and finally opened.

With Sanji’s eyes now closed, he does not wake up.

-----

There was a myth that surrounded the mysterious and beloved gardens. The gardens, or more like an ornate and breathtaking park filled with life, blossomed on an old apartment building site. One that had been run down and shoddy, breaking at the seams and essentially moments away from being torn down. In their place, the owner of said apartment block, along with some help from many friends, had decided to create a public garden in its place. It had been to commemorate two who had died, names engraved in gold on the back of an oak bench underneath a beautiful cherry blossom tree.

Some had heard whispers that the two who had died and were now remembered via their names carved into the gold were lovers lost to an unfortunate demise. A myth had spurred forth from this chatter, that late at night in the middle of the gardens that airy and light laughter would resonate throughout the air. It was full of life and joy, the sound not unlike the tinkling of bells or the cadence of a windchime. Some had even proclaimed that they swore they saw two figures dancing in the moonlight together, holding each other close as they swayed side to side. Romantic and sweet, the dancing was always described, but as soon as they noticed it in their periphery, there would be nothing besides a soft warm breeze. 

Some had even claimed that they had seen what appeared to be the shadow of two men sitting on the bench underneath the cherry blossom tree together. Again, this would only be during the night, when the lanterns adorning the park pathways would be lit up and giving it an ethereal glow. The two figures' hands would be intertwined with one another, as if it were meant to be, shoulders pressed together as they rested their heads upon one another’s shoulders. Like a moment of respite away from the world where they could simply sit and enjoy each other's company, but once again, as soon as people had seen this in the corner of their eye they would supposedly disappear.

Beautiful and vibrant flowers adorned the entirety of the gardens, well kept and looked after. Besides the one and only cherry blossom tree standing tall and providing protective shade for that lone bench on the hill, jacarandas, frangipanis and magnolias were often seen gracing the gardens. Most prominent for flowers were the delphiniums that seemed to flutter and sway in the breeze, often seen with a thistle infiltrating the families of delphiniums and growing nearby like they were meant to be next to one another. A multitude of other flowers bloomed and flourished within the garden, a few such as lilies, tulips, sunflowers and cosmos to name a few, but none of them seemed to thrive as much as the delphiniums and thistles.

Another tale had been born from the strange, but appreciated, mix of flora that graced the gardens. No matter the time of year, it seemed, the flowers always stood strong and were at full blossom. The trees only lost little leaves to the seasons, and even when changing their colours, they never seemed to be without any. It was almost as if the garden itself was suspended in time, away from the elements of winter and in an eternal state of spring. The main tale surrounding this unexplainable phenomenon was that the love that the two who died here held for each other was so valiant and strong and the dedication and generosity of their souls and bond alone kept the very land they died on thriving and alive.

Flowing in many routes were small channels of water that would flow into the many small ponds within the garden. There was a bridge or two built for people who wanted to walk over the steadily streaming water and peer down below to enjoy the serenity of it all. The ponds were neither entirely shallow or deep, hosting a few fish swimming around to their hearts content. However, at night, those who had a particular interest in the sea or the wildlife surrounding it had commented that at night in the water they could see shadows and reflections of fish and other small marine wildlife they had never seen before. Supposedly fictitious fish that were only theorised to be seen in the All Blue, a mythical part of the ocean that no one had managed to find.

However, much like all the other strangeness surrounding the park, there was no indication of proof that this was true, and many said that the lateness at night could have made them misinterpret some of the koi swimming around as something else in the shadows of night.

One of the offered amenities in the garden was that there were small barbecues for people to cook on, always kept up to good maintenance and can be used all year round. Nearby were shaded pergola’s where people could sit with one another amongst the enjoyable scenery and have a picnic with one another. It allowed for people to enjoy the gardens beyond just walking around and appreciating the flora and fish, instead being able to cook and have a moment to spend with others.

At night, some had recounted that they could smell utterly delicious aromas of food wafting around the gardens nearby the vicinity of the barbecues and pergolas. However, whenever this happened, no one seemed to be cooking, but the scent always remained. It always reminded every person who had encountered it that it was like their favourite home cooked meal, hearty and special. It always was perfect, as if someone with a special talent for culinary cooking had just been there prior and cooked something delectable, and yet there were no traces of anything being cooked as all the barbecues were stone cold. Just another strange myth surrounding the gardens, it seemed.

Similarly, in a clearing nearby the pergolas and barbecues some had said that they saw the two shadows once more. This time, one of them seemed to be doing something almost akin to a performance, three swords within their grasp as they moved with fluidity. It was precise and deliberate the way they moved, deadly but also with a sense of grace. Oftentimes, alongside this dancing shadow of a swordsman would be another shadow fighting them with ferocious kicks. The kicks were so strong that they deflected the attacks from those of metal and steel swords, a fighting style that was not as well utilised but fascinating nonetheless. On rarer occasions, though, the second shadow with the powerful kicks would be sitting on the grass, watching with an air of amazement at the pure talent that the swords wielding shadow seemed to hold.

A flurry of myths and rumours had spurred from the gardens ever since it had been created, but anytime someone decided to bring it up to the people who owned the place, they always seemed to laugh and tell them not to worry. The rumours were all harmless either way, and it seemed that everyone had accepted that it added a certain charm to the place. It strangely made it feel more protected and special, like the gardens were something sacred and safe. It seemed many felt their hearts feel lighter in the gardens, such as the old chef who would hobble with his peg leg and sit on the bench below the cherry blossom tree with a bento box.

Or the owners of the gardens who would gather together and have a picnic by the pergolas, the rambunctious man whose straw hat now rested right at the foot of the cherry blossom tree would always eat all the food he could. The red headed woman would always tell him off for being greedy, and the others would all laugh at the antics, as if they had no other expectations in the world. They simply wanted to enjoy their time in the gardens, as if it was the only place they wanted to be.

Overall the gardens had become a gorgeous place filled with light, life and laughter. A beautiful memorial for two people who deserve it the most.