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Flirting Lessons

Zoro liked guys. He’d known that since he was fifteen, when he saw Kamura changing at the dojo. Kamura had been older, seventeen, and muscular in a way Zoro envied at the time. Zoro hadn’t really paid attention to anyone before that, as training had been the only thing on his mind. But Kamura caught his eye when he was horsing around with the other students, bumped into Zoro, and lost the towel wrapped around his waist.

Miles of muscle and Kamura’s junk right in front of him shot heat through Zoro in an instant. His whole body flushed, and he’d had to bolt to the toilet and hide until the hard-on faded.

He’d been taught about puberty, what those feelings were and what they meant. But he’d been told they were supposed to happen because of girls, not guys. So for a long time, Zoro was confused, uncertain, and kept his desires to himself. 

It wasn’t until his second meeting with Mihawk that anyone told him he wasn’t broken. Perona had made a big stink about Zoro being around, warning him about creeping or wandering hands, and Zoro – angry and cornered – had snapped that he didn’t like girls. That led to teasing, which led to a fight, which ended with Mihawk stepping in and saying it was normal. There was nothing wrong with liking men. But he’d warned Zoro to be careful. Not every man wanted to be approached that way, and it could get him into trouble.

Zoro had scoffed and said he’d beat the shit out of anyone who made it a problem. But he’d taken the point.

Being told it was okay allowed something to unclench inside Zoro, and gave him permission to really think about doing the things he’d only ever imagined. Like touching. Or kissing. He really wanted to know what it felt like to kiss someone. He’d come close once, during their stupid run-in with the Foxy Pirates, when he and Sanji had ended up nearly nose-to-nose. He could have gotten away with it, too, passing the blame onto Foxy.

But it hadn’t happened. And now he was in his twenties and had never been kissed.

He’d seen men and women do it, pressed together in bar corners and alleyways, hands gripping clothes and pulling closer. It looked intense. Messy. Good. But he didn’t know how to start something like that. He didn’t even know how to get someone to talk to him, let alone want to kiss him.

Zoro sat at the bar, nursing his beer, eye drifting now and then to the guy at the far end. He was good-looking, solidly built – though not as broad as Zoro – and had a neatly trimmed beard and mustache. There was an air of confidence about him, even though he wasn’t doing anything but drinking. Zoro wouldn’t mind trying something out with him, to see what it was like. But he had no idea how to make that happen.

The tavern was a well-worn establishment, with creaking floorboards and hand-sanded wood. Oil lanterns lined the walls, casting golden shadows that flickered when someone walked by. The scent of worn leather, smoke, and old whiskey soaked into everything. Behind the bar, shelves stacked with bottles glinted in the low light. A card game played lazily in the back corner. Piano keys sat quiet under a sheet of dusty velvet.

Zoro stared at the ring his beer bottle had left on the counter and wished he were different. Nami had told him once that he had resting bitch face, like he was always one glare away from starting a fight. She was probably right. Any time he tried to talk to someone, they either got nervous or pissed off. His words came out stiff, blunt, and he couldn’t keep a conversation going past a couple of lines.

He was awkward as hell when it came to people, with the social skills of a hermit. It just wasn’t something he was built for, and trying only made it worse.

So he sat there, gaze drifting toward the guy he’d never speak to, and kept drinking.

“Oi, dumbass.” Sanji’s gravelled voice slid into his ears just as Sanji himself dropped into the space beside him. He leaned one arm on the bar, cigarette already lit. “Nami-san said we’re leaving in about half an hour, so finish your beer and let’s go.”

Zoro glanced at him. “That means I can still drink for twenty minutes.”

Sanji exhaled a stream of smoke into Zoro’s face. “You’ve got ten.”

Zoro waved his hand, pushing the smoke away. “Bastard.”

Sanji turned toward the bartender as she stepped over, his face shifting like it always did when a woman was nearby.

“Hello to the most beautiful bartender in Barlow,” he said, smiling with hearts in his eyes. “How can someone as lovely as you stand to look at guys like this oaf every day?” He jerked a thumb toward Zoro.

Normally, Sanji’s fawning grated, but right now Zoro was more focused on the ease in which he spoke to strangers. How he could toss out compliments and banter like nothing. The words left Zoro’s mouth before he could stop them. “How do you do that?”

The bartender walked off after sliding a glass of dark rum toward Sanji, the rich scent of molasses and oak curling up with the room’s growing warmth. The air carried a low hum of conversation, clinking glasses, and the quiet scrape of boots on wood. Sanji took the drink without looking, fingers curling around the glass, and turned so his back leaned against the bar.

“Do what, marimo?” he asked, his gaze sweeping lazily over the sparse crowd.

Zoro hesitated. He thought about brushing it off, but another glance at the guy changed his mind. “Talk to people,” he said.

Sanji raised a brow. “Well, first you open your mouth, then words come out.”

Zoro scowled. “That’s not what I meant and you know it, aho-cook.”

Sanji smirked. “I mean, you are pretty stupid…”

Zoro’s fingers tightened around his mug. He fought the urge to crack it over Sanji’s head. “Never mind. Fuck off.”

“Aw, does wittle Zowo want to make a new fwend?”

Zoro’s katana was out in a flash, but of course Sanji blocked it before the blade got close.

“Hey!” the bartender snapped. “No fighting in this bar!”

“Of course, my darling! We would never disrupt the peace of this fine establishment,” Sanji cooed, dropping back into place. He shot Zoro a pointed look. “You heard her, shithead. Put it away.”

Zoro slid the katana back into its sheath and grabbed his beer again. “Asshole,” he muttered.

The bartender moved off. Sanji took a sip of his drink, still smirking faintly. “All right, who is it?”

“Who’s what?”

“The lady you want to chat up,” Sanji said. “Not the bartender, is it?”

“What?” Zoro’s shoulders went stiff. “No.”

“Hn.” Sanji scanned the room. “What kind of woman would catch an ape’s eye?”

“Can you not?” Zoro growled, heat creeping up his neck.

“Obviously you wouldn’t be asking me how to talk to someone if you weren’t interested in a woman.” Sanji grinned. “My little marimo’s growing up.”

The beer bottle creaked under Zoro’s grip. He let go before it shattered. “I don’t– It’s not–” He hunched forward. “Leave me alone.”

Sanji’s grin widened. “Must be really cute for you to get all flustered like this.”

Zoro shoved away from the bar. “Shut up. I’m leaving.” He stomped toward the door.

“Fuck, wait for me, dumbass, before you get lost!”

Zoro didn’t stop. He shoved out onto the street and picked a direction, any direction, just to get away from Sanji. From the bar. From the heavy weight of embarrassment and self-consciousness sitting on his shoulders. Of course Sanji thought it was a woman – he liked women. Zoro wasn’t about to correct that and open himself up to more ridicule.

But Sanji caught up anyway. “Surprisingly, you’re going the right way.”

“Whatever,” Zoro muttered. He just wanted to get back to the Sunny, climb into the crow’s nest, and pretend none of this happened.

Sanji stayed quiet for a while. They walked side by side through the streets of Barlow, weaving between horse carts and foot traffic. The dusty main road stretched between weathered wooden buildings with wide porches and swinging tavern doors. Shops beckoned with open displays and bright fabric awnings, their scents of bread, leather, and oil mixing in the summer air. A group of women passed them with a wave of perfume, causing Sanji to swoon and fawn. Somewhere nearby, a dog barked.

“I take it you’ve never flirted with anyone,” Sanji said eventually, as they stepped around a pair of kids playing jacks near the gutter.

Zoro’s expression darkened. “Why do you care?”

“I don’t.” Sanji shrugged. “But at the same time, I wouldn’t want to see you inflict yourself on a lady without at least learning not to scare her.”

That dug in deep, mainly because it was exactly the problem. Even if the gender was wrong.

“Just drop it.”

“No. It’s my duty as a lover of women to ensure they’re treated properly, with the reverence they deserve.”

“I’m not interested in women,” Zoro snapped, just to shut him up.

Sanji froze mid-step. “Then why did you… oh.”

Zoro kept walking, throat tight. He turned a corner. A light tug at his haramaki stopped him. Sanji’s hand dropped back to his side as they corrected course.

Zoro glanced over. Sanji said nothing, just smoked like he needed it to breathe. His face gave nothing away, and that made it worse.

Zoro’s shoulders tensed. If this turned into something, if Sanji made it into a problem, he didn’t know what he’d do. Their relationship had always been rocky, full of arguments and sharp scuffles, but Zoro trusted him, and that alone put Sanji in rare company. Still, too much time in the same space always led to a fight. And this felt like the kind of thing that could break something if handled wrong.

“Is this… a new thing? Or…?” Sanji ventured, sounding like he was walking on eggshells.

“No.” Why couldn’t Sanji just drop it?

“I didn’t know.” Sanji took another drag on his cigarette, which was nearly down to the butt. “Are you… okay with it?”

The pauses between his words hinted at something underneath that Zoro couldn’t quite parse. He thought about not answering, but it was out there now, and lying felt pointless. “Now I am,” he said, voice low.

Sanji nudged him around the next corner. The streets thinned as they headed toward the docks. He went quiet again, lost in his own thoughts, hands shoved deep in his pockets.

The docks stretched out before them, a modest harbor alive with the creak of wooden planks and the salty tang of the sea air. Seagulls called overhead, circling against a pale afternoon sky as fishing boats and merchant vessels bobbed gently in the water. The Straw Hats’ Jolly Roger snapped sharply from the mast of the Thousand Sunny, the black flag striking against the bright breeze.

Beneath their feet, the pier shifted with the rhythm of the tide, wood weathered smooth by years of boots and waves as they walked toward their ship.

Sanji broke the silence again. “Want me to help you?”

Zoro frowned, glancing at him in confusion. “With what?”

“Talking to guys,” Sanji said, then hurried to clarify. “Same principle as talking to women. I know what I’m doing.”

“What’s the catch?” Zoro narrowed his eyes. Sanji wasn’t nice just for the hell of it.

Sanji’s eyes darted around, as if searching for a good excuse. “Uh… you have to be on dinner dish duty for a month.”

Zoro considered rejecting it outright. Sanji was annoying, and this smelled like trouble. But Sanji knew how to talk to people. And Zoro was never going to get kissed if he couldn’t even manage that much. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

“Fine. But if you make fun of me, I’m going to cut up all your ties.”

Sanji’s posture snapped upright, offense flashing in his eyes. “Do it, and you’ll find out what it’s like to Sky Walk off my foot.”

Zoro snorted dismissively and headed up the gangplank. Sanji peeled off toward the galley, and Zoro nodded toward Nami and Jinbe at the helm before climbing the rigging to the crow’s nest. He’d be called down when it was time to cast off. For now, he wanted to lose himself in the familiar quiet of his training room and figure out what fresh hell he’d gotten himself into.

The Sunny set sail, leaving Barlow behind for the open sea.

Sanji didn’t bring up the offer again, and Zoro sure as hell didn’t, and he thought that was the end of it. A brief branch of friendship held out, reminding them that they were actually friends underneath all the biting remarks, but ultimately unimportant.

But Sanji surprised him.

At the next island, after the Straw Hats routed the local tyrannical governor and brought the people under Luffy’s freedom-loving banner, Sanji pulled Zoro aside during the celebratory feast that spilled across the town square. Paper lanterns swung gently above them on lines strung from building to building, casting golden flickers across cobblestone and carved wooden tables. The air was brisk with an early-autumn bite, scented with roasted chestnuts, firewood, and something spiced and sweet.

“See anyone that catches your eye?” Sanji asked, his voice just audible over the cheerful din of the crowd.

Zoro blinked, confused for a second, then realized what Sanji was doing. Awkwardness settled over his shoulders like a heavy cloak. “I… uh… maybe?”

He’d been half-eyeing one of the local militia. The guy had worked behind the scenes during the town’s upheaval – broad-shouldered, lean-muscle, short haircut and a square jaw under an anchor mustache and beard. Now he was sitting at a picnic table surrounded by laughter and clinking cups, finishing a plate of dessert.

Sanji followed Zoro’s glance, eyes scanning the crowd under the sway of soft fiddle music and clapping hands.

“He eating or drinking something?” Sanji asked.

“Yeah. Eating.”

“Go up to him and ask him what it is.”

Zoro frowned. “It’s cherry pie.”

“Okay, fine, you know what it is. Ask if it’s any good.”

“Why? I know what cherry pie tastes like. Don’t really like it.”

Sanji gave him a look like he was terminally stupid. Nothing unusual there. “Do you want to learn how to chat someone up or not?”

Zoro felt his ears heat. “Tch. Asking a question I know the answer to is dumb.”

“The point, idiot, is to start a conversation. Food and drink are easy.”

“Oh.” Zoro glanced again. “But what if he says it’s good?”

“Then you say maybe you’ll try some—”

“But I don’t want any.”

Sanji dragged a hand down his face. “If you’d let me finish. Then you introduce yourself.”

“Like… tell him my name?”

“Yes. That’s what introducing yourself means.”

“Then what?”

“Then he’ll tell you his name, and now you’re talking.”

“About pie?”

“About anything.” Sanji pinched the bridge of his nose. “Weightlifting. The weather. If he’s read any good books lately. Pick something.”

Zoro considered that. The guy looked like someone who worked out. “Okay.”

Sanji stared at him a beat, then gave a sharp nod. “What are you waiting for? Go.”

“Right. Okay.” Zoro pulled his courage together, nodded once, and set off through the square.

The celebration was in full swing, kids chasing one another under the hanging lights, women in shawls laughing at a dancing contest in front of the mayor’s house, fiddles and flutes competing with the rhythm of clapping and stomping boots. The scent of cinnamon cider and meat pies wafted through the crowd. Zoro weaved between groups, avoiding mugs and flailing limbs.

He passed Usopp and Brook entertaining a group with a musical story, Luffy practically inhaling dumplings nearby. Chopper sat on Jinbe’s shoulders, rolling dice and squeaking with joy.

Zoro closed in on his target and stopped beside him at the end of the picnic table. His heart thundered in his chest, throat tightening. His palms began to sweat.

The man looked up, fork halfway to his mouth. “Help you?”

“Pie,” Zoro blurted. “It’s good?”

The man blinked. “Sure is. There’s more at the dessert table if you want a slice.”

“No.” Zoro grew more nervous and awkward. “I’m Zoro.”

“Clive.” He set the fork down, now watching Zoro with vague confusion. “Something I can help you with?”

“Weightlifting.”

Clive’s brows rose. “You want help weightlifting?”

“No. Yes.” Zoro grit his teeth. “You like it, too?”

“Sure,” Clive said slowly. “Good way to keep in shape.”

“Yeah.” Zoro shifted on his feet, fingers tightening on the hilt of a katana. He had no idea what came next. He darted a glance at Sanji, who was across the square now, watching him with his arms crossed and a tight frown. Fuck, he was blowing this and Sanji could tell. What else had Sanji said to talk about? “The weather.”

Clive blinked. “What about it?”

Zoro choked. He had no idea. Absolutely nothing.

Clive got to his feet, polite but clearly unnerved. “Listen, I’ve got to head out. Nice meeting you, Zoro.”

He left quickly, boots tapping on stone. His half-eaten pie remained.

Zoro sagged in defeat. Great. He’d scared the guy off. He sucked at this. He was never going to get kissed.

Sanji suddenly appeared beside him, still frowning. “Well? How’d it go? Are you meeting him somewhere?”

Zoro barked a self-deprecating laugh. “No. He couldn’t get away from me fast enough.”

Sanji’s shoulders eased. His tone turned breezy. “That’s alright, marimo. They don’t all work out. You’ll just have to try again.”

Zoro wanted to say no, absolutely not, but he hadn’t become who he was by quitting. “I guess.”

“So? Anyone else here tickle your fancy?”

“No.” Zoro blew out a long breath. The adrenaline was fading, leaving tired embarrassment in its wake. “I just want to drink.”

“Well, maybe the next island then,” Sanji said, clapping him on the shoulder. “Let’s drink.”

The next island was as disastrous as the first. 

Trembol Island was caught in the bloom of spring, with warm sunlight poured through drifting clouds, dappling the cobbled streets of a small port town nestled against green hills and a calm, horseshoe-shaped bay. The open market was alive with color and motion: canvas awnings flapped gently over stalls piled with early strawberries, bundles of fresh herbs, and crates of citrus, while the scent of bread baking mingled with wood smoke and salt air. Chickens wandered between carts, children shrieked with laughter as they chased each other, and townsfolk bartered in soft voices over the clink of coins. 

Zoro followed Sanji into the open marketplace, pressed into pack mule service with two burlap sacks already slung over one shoulder. He’d rather be at a tavern with something strong in his glass and no one talking to him, but Nami had threatened to double his debt if he didn’t help, and arguing with her was as effective as shouting at the tide. Zoro just scowled and kept pace, trying not to trip over chickens or shove through too many people.

They’d stopped at a fruit seller when Zoro noticed a man at the next stall over. Shorter than him, but built just right, with lean muscle and a neatly clipped beard that blended into his mustache. Heat stirred low in Zoro’s belly, that unmistakable flicker of interest. He must’ve made a sound or shifted strangely, because Sanji caught it. One glance at the man, then back at Zoro, and Sanji pressed his lips together before muttering, “Go over there and say hello.”

Zoro stiffened “Tch. Why would I want to do that?”

“Because you’re obviously interested,” Sanji said, his voice laced with something unreadable. “Just go, you idiot.”

“But…” Zoro still didn’t know what to say, but Sanji gave him a shove anyway. He shot Sanji a glare, but kept moving.

The man was examining a head of cauliflower when Zoro stopped beside him, nerves twisting tight in his gut. Up close, the guy was even better looking, and the heat licked his spine, which only made him more anxious. Zoro shifted, gripped his katana, and forced himself to speak. “Hey.”

The man glanced over. “Are you talking to me?”

“Yeah.” Zoro shoved at the panic trying to choke him. “You like cauliflower?”

“Uh… yes?” 

Zoro nodded like that helped. “I like cauliflower,” he said, and tried a smile.

The man apparently took this as a threat, set the cauliflower down, and quickly backed off. “It’s all yours, buddy. Enjoy.” He turned and walked away in a hurry.

Zoro stared at the cauliflower with misery. “Fuck.”

Sanji reappeared beside him, mouth twitching between a frown and a smirk. “That was fast.”

“Shut up,” Zoro muttered, pushing the sting of failure into the quiet corner of his heart. “Let’s finish shopping.”

Thankfully, Sanji didn’t push or make fun of him, and they were able to finish out the afternoon with the normal amount of bickering and bloodshed.

The third attempt made Zoro question if it was worth it.

The club at Greaver’s Grove pulsed with life. Throbbing bass shook the floorboards, while strobes and colored lights sliced through the haze of smoke and sweat. It was everything Zoro hated. Too loud, too bright, and too damn crowded.

Luffy had insisted the entire crew go out together, and now Zoro was crammed into a booth between a slurring Usopp and a handsy Franky who kept forgetting Robin sat on his other side.

When Franky’s hand landed too high on his thigh for the fifth time, Zoro stood, rolled over the back of the bench, and bailed.

He pushed through the press of bodies, skirting the edges of the dance floor, trying to escape the noise, the flashing chaos, and the hot stink of over-perfumed patrons. He didn’t usually care about hygiene beyond the basics, but this was offensive.

He passed Sanji on the dance floor, flailing in rhythm with a group of women who inexplicably seemed into it. Sanji noticed him – a quick tilt of his head, a raise of his stupid curled brow in question – but Zoro waved him off. 

Zoro continued trying to get past the dancers. A light caught him in the eye then, a sharp strobe that blinded him mid-step. “Fuck a thousand ducks,” Zoro growled, squeezing his eye shut until the flare passed.

When his vision cleared, he saw a man dancing a few feet away. Shirtless, muscular without being overly so, with a chevron mustache and van dyke goatee. Confidence in his posture and movement. Heat bloomed in Zoro’s belly. 

Indecision gnawed at Zoro. Should he even try to talk to someone in here? The music was deafening, he’d barely be heard. Maybe that was a blessing in disguise.

Zoro glanced back and spotted Sanji watching from the dance floor. When Zoro pointed at the man, Sanji’s expression flickered – first a frown, then something unreadable, then some odd form of encouragement. He gave a lazy shooing motion, fingers flicking like Zoro was an unruly stray.

Zoro exhaled and decided to take a chance. He made his way toward the man, weaving through pulsing dancers and spilled drinks until he was close enough to speak. “Hey.”

The man turned, gave him a long once-over, and sniffed, “Oh, honey, no.” 

Then he pivoted away and kept dancing.

Zoro froze. For a beat, he just stood there, heat climbing up his face in sharp, scalding waves. Then he turned, shoved his way back through the crowd, and stormed toward the glowing EXIT sign. He slammed through the door, the metal cracking against the brick wall outside.

Cool night air slapped him in the face. He stalked halfway down the alley and leaned against the wall, fists clenched, head bowed. “Fuck. You’re so stupid.”

Why couldn’t he do this? He’d survived near-death, taken down monsters, fought for hours on end. And yet three seconds of conversation with someone attractive turned him inside out. What was wrong with him?

The exit door banged open behind him. Footsteps followed, then the clink of a lighter and the familiar drag of a cigarette.

“Piss off,” Zoro muttered without looking.

“Hn, can’t. Don’t want you to wander off and get lost,” Sanji said, coming to lean beside him, taking a deep drag on his cigarette. He smelled of sweat and alcohol and tobacco. “What happened this time?”

Zoro snorted with self-derision. “He took one look at me and said no.”

“Want me to go and kick in his head?”

That startled a laugh out of him. “When did you get so altruistic toward me?”

“When did you learn how to pronounce altruistic?” Sanji’s voice held a grin. “Do you even know what it means?”

Zoro rolled his eye. “Of course I know what it means, dart-brow.”

“I don’t know. Pulchritudinous and sapience rarely go hand in hand.”

Zoro had no idea what he’d just been insulted with, but he wasn’t about to admit it. “Tch. You don’t know shit. Stupid cook.”

Sanji smirked and let the silence settle, the tip of his cigarette glowing between his fingers.

Zoro shoved down his feelings of inadequacy and scrubbed a hand over his face. “Think anyone’s ready to leave?”

“Chopper might be. I caught him nodding off in his kiddie cocktail earlier.”

Zoro nodded and pushed off the wall. “I’ll go find him.”

Sanji made a sound of acknowledgement, not moving to follow. He just smoked, watching the alley.

Zoro headed back to the door and grabbed the handle. As he yanked it open, Sanji’s voice cut through the night behind him.

“Hey, shithead. His loss.”

Warmth unfurled in Zoro’s chest. He didn’t turn around, but a crooked smile pulled at his mouth as he stepped back inside.

“I think we need to try something else,” Sanji announced over the clatter of dishes, the evening after they’d set sail from Greaver’s Grove.

The galley was split between two halves: the efficient kitchen and the cozier dining side, separated by a polished bartop. Zoro and Sanji stood shoulder to shoulder at the double sink set into the prep counter beneath the bar. The faint aroma of seared fish still lingered, softened beneath the drifting smoke of Sanji’s cigarette.

Zoro handed over a clean dish, his brow creasing. “Huh?”

“You’re zero for three, meathead,” Sanji said, drying and stacking the plate with exaggerated care. “You’re making me look bad.”

“Huh?” Zoro repeated, because he had no clue what the idiot cook was talking about.

Sanji turned his head slightly, exhaling a slow stream of smoke through his nose. “So I’ve decided, you’re going to practice flirting on me.”

“HUH?!”

“It’s perfect,” Sanji continued, as though explaining something as natural as tying shoelaces. “You need all the help you can get, and you won’t get hurt if I shoot you down repeatedly for being abysmal at it.”

“I’m not hurt,” Zoro said stiffly, far too fast.

Sanji gave him a flat look. He didn’t bother replying.

“Whatever. Fine. We’ll do your stupid thing,” Zoro muttered, scrubbing at a plate with unnecessary aggression.

“Good.” Sanji nodded with too much satisfaction. “We’ll make a man out of you yet, marimo.”

Zoro took offense to that. Their water-foot-swordfight that followed was short but satisfying, and afterward, he felt marginally less like tossing Sanji overboard. Once the dishes were done, Sanji poured himself a glass of red wine and fetched Zoro a beer from the fridge. He slid onto the bench at the bartop, ashtray dragged closer, elbow resting casually on the counter’s edge.

“I am playing the role of a dashingly handsome gentleman that you are interested in,” Sanji began. 

Zoro snorted. “That’s a stretch.”

Something shifted in Sanji’s expression, a tightening around his eye, a faint pull at the corners of his mouth. “Right. Well, pretend I’m your type. I want you to approach me like you would someone at a bar.”

Zoro shrugged. “Okay.” He took a swig of his beer, moved closer to Sanji, and said, “Hey.”

Sanji looked down his nose. “Are you talking to me?”

“Uh, yeah?” Zoro frowned. “I thought that was the point. I try to talk to you and you tell me what I’m doing wrong.”

“I’m playing the role, dumbass.”

“Oh.” Zoro grimaced. “Let’s start again.”

“You think?”

Zoro glared and repeated himself with more force than necessary. “Hey.”

“Hey, yourself,” Sanji replied, shifting the script again and nearly throwing Zoro off balance. But he recovered and remembered what he was supposed to do.

Zoro glanced at Sanji’s glass. “You drink wine?”

“I do,” Sanji said, swirling the dark liquid with elegance.

“Um… good? I guess?” Zoro floundered. “I like booze.”

“Hn.” Sanji took a drag and tapped his ash into the tray, offering nothing else.

Fuck, was Zoro blowing it already? He scrambled to remember what else he should say. “Uh… um… oh! I’m Zoro.”

Sanji’s lips twitched. “Sanji.”

Zoro’s mind blanked on what to say next. Anxiety twisted in his stomach. C’mon, you idiot. This is just Sanji. You know how to talk to him. He twisted the beer bottle in his grip like it might wring out a good idea. “I… that is, you… uh…”

“Hm?” Sanji tilted his head, and a lock of hair slid aside, revealing the hidden swirl of his other eyebrow.

Zoro froze. He rarely saw both at once, and the glimpse felt… private. Intimate. Sanji was deeply self-conscious of his eyebrows and Zoro felt like he was intruding on something not meant for him. He jerked his gaze away and mumbled, “Your eyebrow is showing.”

“What?” Sanji blinked and quickly ran a hand through his hair, sweeping it back into place. “Um, thanks.”

Zoro grunted. “Know you don’t like both showing.”

Sanji looked briefly startled, like he hadn’t expected Zoro to notice. “Yeah. You’re right, I don’t.”

“Do we start again?” Zoro asked, shifting on his feet.

“Let’s start from you introducing yourself,” Sanji suggested, taking a heavy sip of wine. 

“Okay.” Zoro made sure only one eyebrow was visible before continuing. “I’m Zoro.”

“I’m Sanji,” Sanji said, looking at him expectantly.

Zoro stared back blankly. “Uh…”

Sanji smirked. “Really, marimo? Usopp does better than this.”

“Shut up,” Zoro growled. “I don’t know what the fuck to say. You’re the one who’s suppose to be helping.”

“I hadn’t realized you were this hopeless,” Sanji said. Zoro reached for his katana, but Sanji waved his hand. “Sit down. Let me show you how it’s done.”

Zoro glared at him and dropped onto the bench seat at the bar. Sanji stood, straightened his tie, and walked a few steps away before turning back. He approached Zoro like he owned the space, wine in hand, and leaned a forearm against the bar. “Hey,” he said in a low tone. “This seat taken?”

“Uh, no,” Zoro replied.

“Thanks.” Sanji slid in beside him and angled subtly toward Zoro. “I see you’re a beer man. I prefer wine, or hard liquor, depending on my mood.”

Zoro glanced at the wine glass. “What’s wine mean?”

Sanji smiled with a slow, sinful edge. “Means I’m in the mood for something soft. Intimate. Something that’ll last all night.”

Heat detonated in Zoro, burning through him from head to toe. He fumbled his bottle and sloshed beer everywhere. “Shit!”

Sanji was already moving, looping around the bar for a towel. “Clumsy ape,” he muttered, swiping up the mess. “Can’t fake take you anywhere.”

Zoro stood abruptly, voice breaking. “I’m going to change.”

He escaped the galley, practically bolting. He ducked into one of the small toilets tucked under the main deck stairs and slammed the door behind him, bracing his back against it. His heart thundered in his chest. His face felt like it was on fire.

What the fuck was that? How did Sanji learn how to talk that way? Holy shit. Zoro had never looked at Sanji like someone he’d want to kiss, but now… fucking hell! Zoro was aroused by just a few words, in that voice, with that smile. 

He likes girls, Zoro told himself. It wasn’t as if Sanji was actually coming onto him. The cook was just helping. But fuck, if Zoro wasn’t turned on by it. Shit.

He splashed cold water on his burning face and gripped the sink. This was a fluke. He hadn’t been expecting it. He’d thought Sanji’s flirting was all overdramatic words and coos, not… not this. Holy hell, he’d underestimated Sanji. By a lot. Sanji probably kissed someone at every port. Maybe even touched them. Shit. Zoro was leagues below Sanji in this. He must look absolutely pathetic. He couldn’t even string ten words together for someone he bickered with on a daily basis!

Zoro looked at himself in the small mirror above the sink. His face was still flushed, his eye wild. He had to get a grip. This was the cook for fuck’s sake. Zoro had never been attracted to him. 

But you are now… a teasing voice that sounded a lot like Perona whispered in his mind. 

“Shut up,” he told her.

But he could still hear her laugh.

Zoro tried to act like nothing had happened the night before when he showed up for breakfast. He’d spent the rest of the evening hidden in the crow’s nest, out of sight. Sanji didn’t say anything about it and treated him with his usual disdain, which helped. Even so, Zoro still felt his skin heat under the cook’s passing glance.

Nami announced they’d reach the next island by nightfall, which was surprisingly fast, but the Grand Line was like that sometimes. Since the log pose would only take a night to reset and their supplies were still stacked from Greaver’s Grove, the crew had the evening off.

Havala Island was a ragged knot of dockside sin. Clapboard buildings lined muddy, uneven streets. Taverns leaned into brothels leaned into gear shops, each one ramshackle and loud. Everything smelled like salt, iron, fire oil, and rot. Voices rang through alleys with too many shadows. Bright signs swung overhead, half rusted and flickering. The whole island felt like it had once been punched into the sea and was still shaking the blow off.

Zoro jumped ashore, tied the Sunny to a cleat, and took off before anyone could stop him. He needed space. He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about the way Sanji had smiled, or the sound of his voice when he’d leaned close last night. It was rattling him. He wandered off to clear his head… and promptly got lost. It took him over three hours to find a tavern. By then, he was thirsty, grumpy, and ready to drink.

The tavern was dim and sour, lit mostly by candle nubs on cloudy sconces. The floorboards groaned. Tables wobbled. The walls were pitted with knife marks and scrawled initials. Dice clattered, cards slapped wood, and laughter rolled in sudden waves. Painted ladies worked the edges, drifting like smoke from table to table. The air reeked of body odor, stale beer, and cheap perfume.

Zoro glowered at a guy on a barstool until the man took the hint and moved. He claimed the seat, signaled for a beer, and downed half of it in a single pull. His throat ached from the long walk. He waved for a second, then slowed down. He didn’t have endless beli.

Low conversations and the occasional clatter of dice against wood buzzed through the tavern, but Zoro barely noticed. The familiar stale scents mingled with flickering candlelight in a haze that dulled his senses enough to ease his mood. The beer was lukewarm and bitter, but it scratched a rough itch in his throat and settled comfortably in his gut.

His gaze drifted across the bar and snagged on a man who was exactly his type. Muscular, but not bulky. Neatly trimmed beard. An easy confidence in how he sat, one boot up on the stool rung. Zoro felt a flicker of attraction spark low in his gut. That was exactly what he needed, someone to replace the memory of last night. All he had to do was go over there and try.

Zoro took another drink, mentally going over what he knew to start a conversation. He waited until he’d built up the nerve, then pushed off his stool and crossed the room.

“Hey,” Zoro said, half-stepping into the space between the man and the next barstool. “I’m Zoro.”

The man glanced up from his drink, frowning. “Yeah, and?”

Zoro blinked. Not what he’d expected. Still, he tried again. “You like wine?”

The man snorted and gave him a look of open contempt. “What the hell kind of question is that?”

This wasn’t going well. But he had to commit. He twisted his beer bottle, the cool glass slick against his palm, and said, “I like wine. It… sets the mood. Intimate. Lasts all night.”

For a second, the man didn’t speak. Then his face curled with revulsion. “Great. A filthy faggot.”

Zoro didn’t know the word, but he understood the tone was meant to wound. “What did you call me?”

“You heard me, you damn homo.” The man leaned in slightly, breath hot and sour with beer. “Get the hell away from me before I knock your fairy teeth in.”

Zoro jerked back. That part he understood. His fingers curled around the hilt of a katana, the bar noise fading under the rush of blood in his ears. His chest tightened with a sharp, ugly hurt. Embarrassment, maybe. Or worse. “You could’ve just said you weren’t interested.”

The man sneered, voice rising. “And you could’ve kept your sick perversions to yourself. Disgusting. Walking around like it’s normal. Like anyone wants to be looked at by your kind.”

Murmurs stirred around them. A stool scraped back. Laughter – quiet and mean – flicked from somewhere in the dark.

“Freaks like you should be put down, not chatted up,” the man spat, louder now. “You’re what’s wrong with this whole damn world. Filthy degenerates. Should’ve been drowned at birth.”

Zoro’s blood pounded in his ears. A knot of confusion and fury twisted inside him, tight and sick. He’d never been called something like that. Never been looked at like he was wrong just for being who he was. His mouth opened, but nothing came out. He didn’t know what to say. Didn’t know how to explain that it had taken him years to even name the thing in himself, and now, this.

Then, with a sharp crack, the man’s face slammed down against the bar. A foot pinned him there, smoke curling lazily above him as Sanji leaned in, his voice low, quiet, and cold enough to frost glass.

“Apologize,” Sanji said, heel grinding a little deeper, “before I burn your face off. You’re fucking lucky this aurulent bastard even gave you a second look, let alone approached.”

Zoro stared at Sanji, warmth blooming in his chest. He didn’t know what aurulent meant, but he could tell it was a compliment. “What are you doing?”

“What does it look like?” Sanji said, shifting his weight just enough to drive the man’s face harder against the bar, wringing a squeak and a rush of babbled apologies. “Scum like this is why people live in fear of liking who they like.”

Zoro shifted, eyes flicking to the room around them. People were staring. His spine prickled with embarrassment and unease, but… also with something else. “I don’t need your protection.”

“No, you don’t,” Sanji said. “But that doesn’t mean you don’t deserve it.”

The warmth deepened, settling into a feeling that hit him square in the heart. “Cook…”

Sanji pulled back his foot and adjusted the fall of his coat. The man scrambled upright and bolted, one hand pressed over the blistered imprint on his face. The tavern held still, some watching with fear, others with awe.

Sanji brushed a fleck of ash from his cuff. “I need a drink,” he said. “I’ll get the next round. You grab us a seat.”

Zoro nodded, still stunned, still trying to get a grip on what just happened. He turned toward the tables and went to find them a spot. And if the grin on his face scared the locals out of his way, he didn’t notice.

“I want to try again,” Zoro said, standing at the rail while the Thousand Sunny slipped into Strident Meadow’s harbor.

The island was bright and wild, a brisk little seaport settled in late spring bloom. Tall grasses danced along the shoreline, wildflowers tangled in patches of gold and violet. The buildings were painted in loud floral shades. Colorful banners snapped above the harbor in the salt-laced wind.

Sanji glanced over, cigarette burning low between his fingers. “Try what, idiot? Use a whole sentence.”

“Try talking to a guy.”

It had been two weeks since Havala Island. Zoro had drifted somewhere between quiet upset and a reluctant, lingering pride over what Sanji had done for him, unnecessary, maybe, but not unwelcome. Eventually, he’d remembered Mihawk’s warning from years back, that something like this might happen. He’d brushed it off then, confident he could handle anything. But he hadn’t expected how much words could hurt. Zoro let most things roll off his back, but he wasn’t made of stone. He was still human.

Still, Zoro had come to terms with it. He knew it might happen again, but that didn’t mean he should stop trying.

Sanji’s expression tightened, almost imperceptibly. “If you want. You don’t need my permission.”

“Of course I don’t,” Zoro scoffed. He hesitated, chewing over his next words. “But I would like your help.”

Sanji raised a brow. “My help.”

“Yeah.” Zoro had thought this through. “I’m gonna find someone I’m interested in and sit next to them. Then you come over, sit beside me, and tell me what to say. But, you know, quietly.”

Sanji slid his hands into his pockets and turned his face toward the harbor. “What do I get out of it?”

“I dunno,” Zoro shrugged. “More dish duty?”

Sanji didn’t respond right away. The silence stretched, long enough that Zoro figured that was the end of it. But then Sanji murmured, “Okay, marimo. I’ll help you land your prince.”

Zoro grinned and punched him lightly on the shoulder. “Sometimes you’re not a total shit, cook.”

“Hn.” Sanji took a drag, then ashed his cigarette over the rail. “Go take a damn shower, stinky-assed swordsman. I wouldn’t be caught dead next to you in public.”

“Tch. Whatever.” Zoro pushed off the rail, the grin lingering. A shower wasn’t the worst idea.  With Sanji’s help, this time might actually go right. And maybe – just maybe – he’d finally get kissed.

The tavern near the docks was half stone, half wood, with flowering vines clinging to its faded shutters. Inside, candlelight flickered off brass fixtures and sea-glass windows, casting the room in warm gold. The air smelled of salt, liquor, and something herbal burning in a back dish. A long wooden bar stretched the length of the room, the surface smoothed by years of elbows and spilled drinks. Laughter rose from the corner tables where dice clattered and mugs slammed. Near the back, a worn piano played itself, some kind of wind-powered contraption clinking out a lazy tune that didn’t quite keep time.

The Sunny docked that afternoon at the seaport, and Zoro had readily agreed to Sanji’s demand to play pack mule. He needed to kill time until night fell and the bars grew crowded. All afternoon, a mix of anticipation and nervousness simmered beneath his skin. Now, with the real possibility of a kiss ahead, he felt both excited and unsettled. He’d hoped for this for a long time now, but didn’t know what to expect. He still couldn’t wait to find out.

Zoro let his gaze wander over the tavern’s patrons as he made his way to the bar for a beer. One man caught his eye, playing cards with a group. Lean but muscular, with a tidy beard and a confident smirk. Zoro wasn’t sure how he’d approach, though. If he joined that table, Sanji couldn’t easily slide in beside him. At the bar, Zoro ordered a drink and scanned the other barstools. None sparked his interest, which meant he either had to figure out how to talk to the man at the table or wait.

Zoro decided to wait. Maybe the card player would get thirsty, or maybe someone else would show up. He slid onto an empty barstool and sipped his beer as the low hum of conversation swirled around him.

A few minutes later, Sanji slipped in beside him and caught the bartender’s attention. He raised a brow at Zoro, who shook his head.

“I’ll grab a table then,” Sanji murmured quietly. “Signal me if anything changes.”

After getting his drink, Sanji left Zoro alone again. Zoro felt a strange flicker of disappointment but chalked it up to the plan already going off track.

Over the next hour, Zoro drank several beers, thought about tweaks to his training, wondered what the others were up to, and debated giving up and joining Sanji. He was just about to call it when the card player came up to the bar to order a drink. Zoro immediately looked over his shoulder for Sanji.

Sanji was seated in a corner near the piano, looking idly bored as he chatted with a pair of someones who’d joined him. But his eyes were on Zoro. Zoro gestured toward the card player, and Sanji nodded.

Zoro looked back at the guy and screwed up his courage. He could do this, with help. He stood, picked up his half-finished beer, and ambled over. “Uh, hey.”

The guy turned, paused, and looked Zoro over. “Hey, yourself.”

“I’m Zoro.”

“Zeke.” He extended a hand to shake, which was new, but not unwelcome. “Haven’t seen you in here before.”

“Just… just visiting.” Zoro tripped over his tongue, as he shook Zeke’s calloused hand. Where was Sanji? “You, um, local?”

“Sure am.” Zeke accepted the beer handed to him but didn’t move off.

Zoro floundered for something else to say, palms beginning to sweat.

Then he felt a warm hand at his back, followed by a quiet murmur. “Ask about the card game.”

Sanji’s voice. Relief swept through Zoro. His shoulders loosened. “Did you win? The game?” he asked.

Zeke chuckled. “Nah. Broke about even. Say, you play?”

“No–,” he started, then heard Sanji again.

“Say not really, but you’d like to learn.”

“I mean, not really, but I’d like to learn,” Zoro corrected.

Zeke’s grin deepened. “That might be something we can do,” he said, still lingering.

“Ask if he likes to do other things.”

Zoro echoed, “Do you like to do other things?”

“Quite a number of them,” Zeke said with a slow drawl. “Want to head to mine and learn a few?”

Sanji’s sharp inhale distracted Zoro. He glanced back. Sanji was gripping his glass, knuckles white, expression tight with something bordering on pain. Concern spiked in Zoro.

“Just a sec,” Zoro told Zeke and turned fully to Sanji, lowering his voice. “Hey, you good? You look kinda sick.”

Sanji schooled his features instantly. “I’m fine. Don’t blow your date, idiot. The guy’s looking to sleep with you.” His smirk was tight. “You’ll finally no longer be a virgin.”

“What?” Zoro’s eye widened. He glanced back at Zeke, a tidal wave of panic slamming over him. “I don’t– I’m not–” He’d just wanted a kiss. Maybe a little touching, to see what it was like. He didn’t even know what sex was between men. And he didn’t know this guy. He wasn’t going to get naked with him. 

He grabbed Sanji’s arm. “I can’t–”

“Hey, hey, it’s okay.” Sanji rested a steadying hand on Zoro’s shoulder. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want, marimo.”

Zoro’s heart pounded. “What do I do?”

“You turn around and politely decline. Say you wouldn’t mind paying cards or sharing a drink instead, if that’s something you still want.”

Zoro nodded, a little wildly. Sanji made a quiet, comforting sound. “It’s really okay, Zoro. I’ve got your back.”

Those words were like a balm. Sanji wasn’t just helping, he was protecting Zoro again, in a new way. Zoro forced down the panic and turned back. Zeke was watching, mildly amused. Zoro instinctively stepped back, brushing Sanji’s chest. Sanji laid a reassuring hand between his shoulder blades. 

“Um…” Zoro clenched the shaking bottle in his hand. “I’d rather not? We could play cards maybe? Instead?”

Zeke shrugged and relaxed into a different stance. “Sure. We can get a game going. Invite your friend.”

Zoro blinked, surprised, but Sanji stepped forward. “Works for me,” he said. “Let me grab us a couple more drinks and we’ll join you.”

Zeke nodded and wandered off.

Zoro slumped in relief. He looked over at Sanji with a weak smile. “That wasn’t pathetic at all.”

“Stop.” Sanji’s voice was firm. “You have every right to say no. I might come on strong, but it’s up to the other person whether it goes anywhere. You do what’s comfortable. Anyone not okay with that isn’t your prince.”

Zoro felt bolstered by Sanji’s words. “Yeah?”

“Idiot.” But Sanji’s voice was warm. He signaled the bartender for two more of their usual drinks.

Zoro watched Zeke take a seat a few tables down. “Still didn’t get my first kiss, though.”

Sanji made a short, strangled noise. Zoro frowned. “You sure you’re not sick?”

“I’m fine,” Sanji said quickly, tugging at his collar. The drinks arrived, and he downed half of his in one go. Then he smirked. “I’m going to enjoy watching you fail at cards.”

Zoro scowled and grabbed his fresh beer. “Can’t be that hard, shit cook.”

“Heh. Guess you’ll find out.”

Zoro sucked at cards – mostly because he kept muttering about which ones were worth more – but he still had a good time playing with Sanji and Zeke. Sanji carried most of the conversation, letting Zoro relax and just enjoy himself. Zeke turned out to be easygoing and sharp, with a dry wit that made Zoro laugh more than once. If they were staying on the island longer, Zoro wouldn’t have minded spending more time with him. But they had just the one overnight, and they’d be gone by morning.

When it was finally time to wrap up, Sanji waited by the door while Zoro lingered to say goodbye.

“It was nice meeting you, Zeke,” Zoro said, extending a hand.

Zeke smiled and shook it. “Likewise. If you ever pass through again and stay more than a night, look me up. Maybe we could get to know each other better.”

Zoro rubbed the back of his neck, gaze dropping briefly. “Yeah… I’d like that.”

Zeke glanced toward the door with a subtle nod. “You’ve got a good friend there.”

Zoro followed his gaze. Sanji leaned against the wall, cigarette balanced between his lips, watching him through a veil of smoke with that half-lidded, unreadable gaze. Zoro’s chest warmed. “Yeah. He really is, isn’t he?”

Zeke gave a casual two-fingered salute and headed back toward the bar. Zoro crossed to where Sanji waited.

“Surprised you didn’t try for your kiss,” Sanji murmured as Zoro stepped up beside him.

Zoro felt a blush creep over his nose. He glanced back toward Zeke. “You think he would’ve?”

“I would’ve,” Sanji replied enigmatically, pushing off the wall with an easy grace. “You still got time, if you want.”

But Zoro barely heard the second part. He blinked, thrown by the first. “You would’ve kissed Zeke?” he asked, brows knitting as he turned fully to face Sanji. “But… you don’t like guys.”

Sanji rolled his cigarette from one corner of his mouth to the other, hands tucked in his pockets. He studied Zoro’s face with an expression that was suddenly intense. Finally, he said, “I’m not opposed to certain men.”

Zoro’s eye widened. “Really?”

“Yes, dumbass. Really.” Sanji exhaled a slow stream of smoke, letting it obscure the sharp edge of his expression. “You gonna go kiss Zeke or what? I’d like to wash up and go to bed.”

“Um…” Zoro looked back one more time. Zeke was at the bar again, drink in hand, laughing at something someone said. Zoro wouldn’t mind kissing him, but it felt like that moment had passed. “No. I’m good.”

Sanji inclined his head and stepped into the street, the warm glow of the tavern spilling out behind them. Zoro followed him into the dark.

Pedro Island was absolutely ridiculous.

Zoro didn’t know where he was going half the time, but this island was just one maze stacked atop another, as if some smug architect had deliberately designed it to torment him. Thorny bushes clawed at his arms. Vines tangled around his boots. Worn, weathered stone walls sprang up in his path like they’d been waiting centuries just to block him. Every time he thought he’d found a way forward, it twisted into another dead end. The sun had gone from one side of the sky to the other while he stomped around in ever-widening circles, teeth grinding in irritation.

The island had the old-world feel of ancient ruins and forgotten civilizations. Robin had practically glowed when they dropped anchor, rattling off potential cultural implications of the ruins. Zoro hadn’t paid attention. Not when it was hot, humid, and he was already itchy before they’d left the Sunny.

The island wasn’t even on the log pose, just a sidestop between destinations. Nami had marked it on her Grand Line map as uninhabited, but that never kept them from exploring. Luffy sailed on the principle of freedom and adventure. The rest of the Straw Hats didn’t need convincing. 

They’d anchored just offshore and split into three groups to explore. Usopp, naturally, had come down with a sudden case of Uninhabited Islanditus and offered to nobly guard the ship. Zoro didn’t blame him. At this point, he wished he’d faked a fever and stayed behind.

He’d started out with Brook and Nami, but had lost them almost immediately after stepping into the undergrowth. He didn’t know how, it just happened. One blink and the jungle swallowed them whole. Maybe next time he should tie himself to someone with a rope. Or a leash.

His coat was long since stripped off and tied at his waist, the sweat soaking through his haramaki and dripping down his spine. Gnats buzzed at his face, and every branch seemed to scrape or sting. He swatted at a mosquito and muttered curses under his breath. The canopy overhead only made the heat worse, trapping the air in a steaming bubble that clung to his skin.

Somewhere above, birds cawed to one another like they were laughing at him. A bright blue frog plopped across the dirt path. Zoro’s boots squelched in the soft earth, the stone ruins increasingly overtaken by creeping moss and twisted growth. A faint rustle in the underbrush made him pause, but it was only a lizard skittering away.

Eventually, he followed the line of an old block wall, vines draped over it like bed curtains. A crumbling archway gaped open ahead, and Zoro stepped through.

The ruins opened into a clearing, a large, open area surrounded by cracked stone. The dirt floor stretched wide and bare, except for the high rings carved into the upper walls and the crumbling terraced seating on either side. It looked like a sports arena, or maybe a place for sacrifices, knowing their luck.

A thick cloud drifted across the sky, giving a moment’s mercy from the sun. The light dimmed, shadows stretching across the cracked earth as the wind picked up, carrying with it the heavy scent of ozone and dust. Zoro stepped further into the arena, boots crunching the dry soil, scanning for another way out.

The stillness broke with a low, rumbling growl of thunder. Then, without warning, the cloud split open and dumped a full-blown deluge.

Water slammed down in sheets. Within seconds, Zoro was drenched, his hair plastered to his face, and the dirt beneath his feet turned to ankle-deep muck. He stopped, chest heaving slightly, and tilted his face up to the sky with a groan. Of course it would start raining now.

His observation haki tickled, and he turned just in time to see Sanji descending from the heavens like some soggy, blond angel of disdain.

Sanji landed lightly, and immediately sank up to his ankles in mud. His expression twisted in familiar disgust. “Dumbass swordsman. Always getting your ass lost.”

Zoro glared. “Took you long enough.”

“I have better things to do than hunt down a malfunctioning compass,” Sanji replied, glaring through rain-soaked bangs. His once-crisp suit was soaked and clinging to him like seaweed. “And I definitely didn’t sign up to do it in the middle of a storm.”

“Not my fault it’s raining.”

“But it is your fault you got lost. Again.” Sanji stomped through the muck, grabbed Zoro’s bicep, and gave an impatient tug. “Come on. We’re leaving.”

Zoro yanked his arm back. “Don’t grab me like I’m some kid.”

“Don’t test me, mosshead.”

Zoro smirked. “What’re you gonna do? Cry over your ruined suit?”

The kick came fast. Mud splattered across Zoro’s chest as he blocked it with a blade. The rain ratatat-tatted against the earth, churning it to slop as they squared off.

Zoro was itching for a fight, blood running hot from the long, aggravating day. He pressed forward with a swing at Sanji’s thigh. Sanji twisted, launching a spinning kick, which Zoro caught on the edge of his katana. Momentum shifted instantly. Zoro slashed toward his shoulder. Sanji ducked and retaliated by flinging a toeful of mud at Zoro’s face. It slapped wetly against his cheek.

Zoro growled and flicked his blade, flinging a ribbon of muck across Sanji’s jacket.

Sanji froze. “My suit!”

From there, it devolved into chaos.

Boot and blade clashed, but the goal had shifted. It was no longer about scoring hits, it was about getting the other absolutely filthy. Zoro ducked, parried, and splashed up brown sludge. Sanji spun, launching arcs of muck with each kick, managing to nail Zoro’s chest and face with a few well-aimed blasts.

Soon, both were completely covered. Zoro was drenched and slick with mud, streaked head to toe. Sanji looked like he’d been dredged from a swamp.

Zoro wiped his katana on the least filthy patch of his backside, slid it into its sheath with a sharp click, and ditched all pretense of regular fighting. He bent down to scoop a double handful of mud and flung it dead-on. It splattered across Sanji’s chest with a satisfying splat. Sanji recoiled like he’d been stabbed, eyes going wide with scandalized outrage.

Zoro grabbed another handful of mud and hurled it with force. Sanji spun out of the way, slipped, caught himself, and then, with theatrical disdain, stooped down and grabbed his own ammo.

It was on.

Mud flew thick and fast as they scrabbled and dodged, each scoop and fling a deliberate challenge. Zoro’s hands smeared gloopy clumps across Sanji’s soaked suit, while Sanji’s feet flicked up jets of sludgy spray that splattered against Zoro’s skin. Their movements grew wilder, less careful, the slick mud coating every inch of them, mixing with rain, until they were nothing more than two mud-caked figures locked in chaotic battle.

Irritation melted into invigoration. Their grunts and curses shifted, somewhere mid-scramble, into breathless insults and reckless laughter. Rain slashed down in thick sheets, drumming on their backs, splattering off the mud-soaked ground. Then Sanji abruptly lunged, tackling Zoro hard enough to send them both sprawling.

They hit the ground with a wet squelch, carving a furrow through the soupy earth. Sanji came up straddling Zoro’s hips, fists full of sludge. With wicked glee, he smeared the mud across Zoro’s face, slathering his cheeks, jaw, and neck, then dragged the mess downward over his bare chest with both hands.

Zoro sputtered, blinking through grime. “You bastard.”

Not to be outdone, he surged up and locked his arms around Sanji’s waist, flipping them. They rolled, tumbled, wrestled, and slipped through the mire in a mess of limbs and laughter. Every inch of them was caked in wet earth. It was filthy, stupid, and fun.

Zoro finally wrestled his way on top, pinning Sanji flat on his back with a victorious huff. His thighs bracketed Sanji’s hips, heavier frame pressing him down, hands gripping Sanji’s wrists to the ground. Water dripped from Zoro’s chin as he leaned in, panting from exertion, grinning wide enough to split his face. “Ha. Got you.”

Sanji froze beneath him. His chest heaved with breath, but he didn’t move. Mud streaked his sharp cheekbones, his hair plastered in wet blond strands across his brow and temples. His eyes, both visible and startlingly blue in the rain, locked on Zoro’s face.

Zoro’s grin faltered, thrown off by the sudden stillness. The steady beat of the rain filled the silence between them. He leaned back slightly, wary now. “You okay?” he asked, voice quieter, uncertain. Though it rarely happened, it was possible that Zoro had hurt him.

Sanji looked away sharply, mouth drawing tight. “I’m fine, you heavy oaf. Get off me.”

Zoro hesitated, then let go. He rolled to the side and pushed up with a squelch, wiping mud from his face with one arm. Sanji was already on his feet, his back to Zoro, retreating with quick, uneven steps toward the edge of the arena, like he needed distance.

“This way, shithead,” he called over his shoulder, voice brittle with something he didn’t explain. “The others are waiting for us on the Sunny.”

Zoro stood, thick mud sloughing off him in heavy clumps, and trudged after him through the rain, suddenly not so sure what that silence had meant. But one thing he knew: he wasn’t about to get lost in that damn maze again.

Nami was unimpressed by their state when they finally got back to the ship. She rapped them both sharply on the head. “We’ve been waiting for you, and you’re off playing in the mud!”

The rain had stopped about three-quarters of the way back, replaced by the oppressive heat they’d briefly escaped. Mud dried swiftly, flaking off in clumps as they trudged through the ruins. Sanji smoked in silence, making sure Zoro didn’t veer off course, but otherwise stayed in his head. Zoro itched like hell and didn’t mind the quiet.

“To the shower, both of you!” Nami barked, and they both obeyed, too tired to argue.

The Sunny’s bathroom was perched atop the observation tower, above the library. Reached by ladder, it was split into two halves. One side held the water closet, sink, and cubbies for their things. The other, beyond a dividing wall, was for bathing, with a wide shower, a large tub, bubble-patterned tile, and a window that let in sea breeze and sunlight.

Zoro started stripping in the outer room, but Sanji made a disapproving noise as he pushed through to the bathing side. “Take it off in here. Easier to clean up.”

Zoro didn’t care either way – both floors would need mopping – but followed. He kicked the door shut behind him and set his katanas on the bench. He’d need to clean and oil them later. If not for his own grimy state, he would’ve started already.

Sanji toed off his filthy shoes, shrugged out of his suit coat, and loosened his tie. Zoro dropped his sash, coat, and haramaki in a messy pile and sat down to wrestle off his dirt-caked boots. He grumbled, already dreading the double chore of laundry and scrubbing his boots.

The shower hissed on. Zoro glanced up as he worked at his trousers, and froze.

Late afternoon sunlight streamed through the window, catching every ridge and angle of muscle on Sanji’s body. He stepped directly under the spray, letting it pour over him. Water streamed down his body, pooling briefly in the whorls of hair on his chest, arms, and thighs before trailing lower. Zoro drank in the sight the way the water clung to Sanji’s skin, the soft sheen highlighting each curve and line. The faint sound of the shower mixed with the steady drip of droplets hitting the tiled floor, filling the small space.

They’d showered together plenty of times, usually after battles or similar messy circumstances, sometimes with half the crew crammed in, too. Privacy wasn’t a given on the Sunny. But Zoro hadn’t really paid attention to Sanji before, unless it was to get into a fight over who got the shower first.

Now, Zoro’s attention was caught. His breath hitched. His gaze tracked over Sanji’s torso – defined, but not overbuilt – and up to his face. Droplets caught in his blond lashes, in the neat curve of his royale goatee. Even now, even naked, there was an ease to him, a confidence that made Zoro’s gut tighten. He was exactly the kind of man Zoro had always been drawn to, and the realization hit like a punch to the chest.

Zoro’s type was Sanji.

…Who was currently very, very naked, and Zoro was suddenly hard as stone.

Sanji reached casually for the tap, and the motion broke Zoro’s paralysis. He bolted, shoved out of the bathing room, and ducked straight into the water closet. The second door slammed shut behind him, and he threw the lock with a trembling hand. He braced against it, breath ragged. His trousers tented obviously. His mind raced as adrenaline surged through him, his heart pounding like frantic hummingbird wings.

How the hell hadn’t he seen it before? How had it taken this long to realize Sanji was his ideal? In hindsight, it was painfully obvious. And now that he knew, he couldn’t decide whether to laugh or slam his head against the wall. What was he supposed to do with this knowledge? Walk around the ship half-hard because the cook turned him on? Lock himself in the crow’s nest and die of starvation so no one would find out?

Zoro pressed the heel of his palm against his groin. The touch made his knees weak. He wanted desperately to get off, to release the tension coiled tight in his gut. But thinking about Sanji while doing it made his brain stutter. He and Sanji had always been nothing more than rivalrous friends, and imagining otherwise left him flustered. And it was wrong… wasn’t it?

He bit his lip. Was it wrong? Sanji didn’t always like girls. So maybe it wasn’t entirely out of line to be attracted to him. But what did that even mean? Was he supposed to say something? Or just keep it buried like some shameful secret?

The thought made his stomach twist. He wasn’t exactly open about anything, but keeping this hidden felt like a betrayal. Not after Sanji had tried to help Zoro get a date. Not after he stood up and protected Zoro in different, related ways. 

A rap on the door made him start. “You alive in there?” Sanji’s voice was muffled, casual.

Zoro cleared the mess in his throat. “I’m fine. Go away.”

He heard footsteps receding, and slowly slid down the wall to the floor, head in his hands, painfully, miserably hard, and somehow more lost than when he’d been wandering the island.

Zoro cut glances at Sanji from beneath his lashes at dinner. Sanji, for his part, ignored him aside from the occasional beratement over his eating habits. Zoro still felt flustered and out of sorts. He didn’t know what to do. Ignore this newfound attraction? Admit it? Throw himself overboard?

He opted to train instead, hoping intense exercise might help.

It did. The repetitive, meditative nature of his training cleared his head and allowed him to think. 

He was attracted to Sanji. Keeping it a secret didn’t sit well. So he was going to do something about it. If Sanji rejected him, he would figure out how to move on. But if Sanji didn’t reject him… 

Zoro tried not to think too hard about that. The very idea set a whirlwind of butterflies loose in his chest.

He didn’t get the chance that night. Sanji had already gone to bed by the time Zoro descended from the crow’s nest. And the next morning brought a battle between the Marines and another pirate ship. The fighting was brutal, and Zoro had been out cold for a few days. By the time he escaped Chopper’s clutches, the Sunny was docked at Forgewake Isle and already undergoing repairs.

Evening had settled over the island when Zoro hopped off the ship, bandages peeking out from beneath his long coat. Most of the crew had gone into town for food and carousing.

Forgewake was an industrial island, everything built of steel and fueled by coal. The air hung heavy with smog and the tang of oil. Buildings loomed close together, their riveted walls forming narrow alleyways and tight lanes. Coal-fired lamps flickered against metal siding, casting shadows across the streets. Locals mingled with sailors, laughter and footfalls echoing down corridors of rust and smoke.

It only took Zoro twenty minutes to find the bar this time, mostly because he overheard a group announcing their plans to go there aloud.

The place was dark and smoky, but not seedy. The floors were clean. The ambiance sat somewhere between refined and rugged. Tables and chairs were made of dark twisted iron. Booths curved into the corners like little alcoves, shadowed and more private. Overhead, chandeliers fashioned from repurposed ship parts cast warm amber light. The bar itself gleamed with polished copper on the front, the bartop finished in scorched blackened metal. Padded iron stools circled the bar’s square shape.

It was busy, but not packed, filled with the steady hum of conversation and the occasional burst of laughter. The scent of food hung in the air, mingling with alcohol, coal smoke, and the sweat of honest labor.

Zoro’s stomach growled. He wanted a drink, despite Chopper’s usual scolding about drinking too soon after injury. He was upright and walking under his own power, which he counted as healed.

Once his eye adjusted to the dim, he made his way to one of the few open seats at the bar.  A chalkboard menu hung behind it, mostly food that didn’t require utensils but with a slightly higher-class twist. When the bartender came over, Zoro ordered, then leaned his cheek against one fist and closed his eye. He was still tired – a sign that he wasn’t one hundred percent – and let the background noise wash over him like distant surf.

A tall mug of locally brewed beer arrived first, then his food not long after. It tasted good. Not Sanji-good – nothing ever was – but better than most taverns he’d wandered into.

He finished the meal and got a refill on the beer. Letting his gaze drift, he took in the room. Couples shared quiet conversations. Groups laughed and clinked mugs. Somewhere, soft music played. In a corner booth, he spotted Nami and Robin with a group of other women. They were relaxed, chatting and sipping drinks, and he smiled faintly at the sight. He wouldn’t interrupt girl time.

As his eye kept wandering, it caught on a familiar profile, half-obscured by a bar post. He leaned a little in his stool to get a better look. It was Sanji, chatting with the man seated beside him.

Zoro’s stomach flipped, and his palms grew damp. Sanji was right there. He should do something.

He focused hard on his beer, trying to scrape together the courage to move. It was stupid, because this was Sanji and Zoro interacted with him all the time. But now everything felt changed. He saw Sanji in a new light, and he had no idea how to navigate that. He was still terrible at talking. He couldn’t flirt. He didn’t know how to do romance. He was still just a big, awkward, socially inept idiot.

He glanced at Sanji again. Sanji laughed at something the man said, head tilted, his smile bright against the shadows. Zoro’s stomach twisted. He wanted that smile to be directed at him. 

Someone came into the bar, drawing greetings. The pair beside him got up to move to a booth. A customer waved down the bartender. A group across the room erupted in snorts and chortles. A basket of onion rings was delivered three seats down.

Zoro grabbed his beer, drained most of it in a few gulps, and wiped his mouth on the back of his wrist. He set his jaw.

He could do this. 

He was going to get up, walk over there, and say something. And if it was awful, he’d blame his head injury and then try to get plastered to forget. 

He stood, squaring his shoulders, mug in hand. He marched around the bar and came up behind Sanji. His throat felt tight, but he forced a word out. “Hey.”

Sanji turned on his stool. A smirk curved his lips. “The walking cactus lives.”

“Um, yeah.” Zoro shifted. His nerves buzzed like wasps. “I’m good.”

“Surprised you’re still wearing your bandages,” Sanji said.

Zoro looked down at the open vee of his coat. “Oh. Uh, just… haven’t bothered yet.”

“Chopper would be proud.” 

Silence fell, and Zoro clutched his beer like a lifeline. He glanced at the guy beside Sanji, but the man had turned to chat with someone else. Anxiousness clawed at his neck. He should say something. Why was this always so hard?

Sanji raised a brow. “You okay there, marimo?”

“Yes,” Zoro said immediately, even though the answer was decidedly no. “I’m fine. Don’t ask stupid questions.”

“Tch.” Sanji dismissed him with a huff. “Did you need something, or…?”

“What are you drinking?” Zoro blurted, trying to do this right. 

Sanji blinked, a little surprised. He lifted his glass. “Cinnamin spiced rum and cola.”

“Is it– is it good?”

Sanji’s brow arched. “It is. Not something you’d like, though.”

“Oh, yeah. No. Don’t really like cola.”

“I’m aware.” Sanji studied him now, head tilted slightly.

“I’m– do you–” Zoro blew out a nervous, frustrated breath. He’d talked about the drink, and now he was supposed to introduce himself, but they already knew each other. But if he didn’t introduce himself he didn’t know what he was supposed to say next. 

Fuck it. “I’m Zoro.”

Sanji’s lips parted slightly, realization dawning in his expression. A dozen emotions flickered across his face before it settled into a soft smile. “I’m Sanji.”

That smile knocked the air a little sideways in Zoro’s lungs. Sanji knew what was happening. And he wasn’t shutting Zoro down. Zoro flushed. “Um, do you like, uh, weather?”

He sounded so stupid, but Sanji’s smile only grew. “I think I enjoy it best when it rains and I get into a mud fight.”

“Yeah? Me, too.” A real grin stretched Zoro’s mouth. “It was a lot of fun.”

“That, it was,” Sanji agreed, sipping his drink and watching Zoro over the rim.

Zoro fumbled. “I… uh… that is, do you… er…”

Sanji murmured, “Ask if you can buy me a drink.”

“Can I buy you a drink?” 

“I’d like that,” Sanji said, as if he hadn’t prompted at all. It was ridiculous, and nice, and warmth spilled through Zoro that eased his nerves. 

Sanji turned to the man beside him. “Oi, shove off. I’ve got a date.”

The guy looked like he was about to protest, but then he saw Zoro grinning behind Sanji – Sanji said date! – and he quickly vacated with fear in his eyes. Sanji pointed at the now empty stool. “Sit, marimo.”

Zoro sat, and smiled, and the butterflies swirled. “You said date.”

“Hn.” Sanji signaled the bartender. “You flirted so well, I had to give you a chance.”

Zoro scoffed. “I flirt like shit.” 

“Yeah, you really do.” A grin curled Sanji’s lips, the corner of his visible eye creasing with it. “It’s fucking adorable.”

Zoro sputtered. “I’m not adorable!”

Sanji hummed disagreement with a bastard’s smirk.

“Shut up,” Zoro muttered, but there wasn’t any bite in it. Because he was on a date.

Sanji ordered two new drinks and leaned on the bar, turning toward Zoro. He sipped his almost empty rum and cola, tilting his head slightly as he studied Zoro. “I didn’t think you’d be interested in me,” he said.

“Me, either,” Zoro said honestly. “Because, you know, except for that time you said that wine-stuff, I just never looked at you like that. Plus, I thought you only liked girls until you said you didn’t.”

“And I didn’t know you liked guys until you said something.”

Zoro chewed the inside of his cheek before admitting, “I didn’t know it was normal until Mihawk told me it was.”

Sanji’s face softened. “Guess we both learned some stuff while we were apart.”

Their drinks arrived, and Sanji paid. “I thought I was supposed to buy,” Zoro said.

“You can get the next one.” 

Which meant there would be a next one. Which meant Sanji wanted the date to last. Which made Zoro feel tingly inside. He was sure he was grinning like a fool. 

Sanji lifted his new glass in a toast. “To your terrible flirting.”

Zoro clinked his mug against the glass. “Worked, didn’t it?”

“That it did, marimo,” Sanji replied with a smile. “That it did.”

They talked well into the night. It was easy, because Zoro didn’t have to try with Sanji. Not anymore. Sanji didn’t care if he was blunt or less than articulate, and the way he grinned didn’t scare Sanji off. They bickered like normal, in between sharing stories prompted readily by Sanji’s deft way with conversation. Zoro never felt like he was lagging behind or being made a fool of, beyond the usual mocking between them. He didn’t tire of talking, either, or have the desire to be doing anything else. He’d probably said more to Sanji in one evening than he had to everyone in a year.

And Sanji was alive and animated and interesting, flowing from biting to warm in seamless turns. He didn’t coo or act all romantically overdramatic, but he still sprinkled in affectionate words and light touches to Zoro’s arm or shoulder. Zoro liked that it was there, but toned down. He might not know how to do romance, but he still liked it.

The bar gradually thinned out, one table at a time. The clatter of silverware dulled, and chairs scraped softly across metal floors as the last patrons trickled away. Overhead, the wrought iron chandeliers dimmed. Someone put on slower music. Behind the bar, staff began wiping down counters and flipping stools. Nami and Robin had slipped out hours ago. Sanji hid a yawn behind his hand. Zoro, the night owl, was wide awake, but Sanji well past his usual bedtime.

Sanji seemed to agree with Zoro’s silent observation. “Time to head out, marimo. I still need to make breakfast later this morning.”

They left the bar and stepped out into the hushed streets of Forgewake. The midnight air was cool and damp with lingering industrial haze. Somewhere distant, a steam pipe hissed. Metal creaked underfoot as they crossed a footbridge. The stars overhead shimmered like steel filings spilled across black velvet. They walked slowly, shoulders brushing now and again, Sanji lighting a cigarette as they meandered back toward the docks.

The gas lamps grew sparser as they neared the wharf, replaced by the orange flicker of ship lanterns swaying in the harbor breeze. Their shadows danced on the gangplank as they climbed aboard the Sunny. The deck was quiet, only the soft lap of water against the hull and the rhythmic creak of rigging filled the stillness. Even the lawn beneath their feet held a hush, as if the ship itself was asleep.

Sanji stubbed out his cigarette in the tin by the railing, the final glow dying with a hiss. He cleared his throat, voice softer in the night air. “Hey, Zoro?”

“Yeah?”

“Alright if I kiss you?”

Zoro’s belly exploded with butterflies and his skin went hot all over. He nodded, mute, because he couldn’t find his voice. 

Sanji stepped into his space, gaze searching Zoro’s as he reached up to cup Zoro’s cheek. “I really wanted to be your first kiss,” he murmured.

Then he leaned in and pressed his lips to Zoro’s.

Everything seemed to swell and contract at once, and Zoro couldn’t breathe. He stared cross-eyed at Sanji, his hands flexing uselessly at his sides, uncertain whether to reach or retreat. He trembled faintly. He never imagined that it would feel like this – warm and firm and perfect. Fire lit low in his belly. He never wanted to end.

When Sanji finally drew back, he lingered a moment before stroking his thumb again over Zoro’s cheekbone. “Beneath all that muscle, you’re downright precious.”

Zoro flushed. “Am not.”

Sanji chuckled softly. “Don’t worry your bonny head. You’re still a brutish ass.”

Zoro didn’t know what bonny meant, but he was ninety percent sure it was insulting. He folded his arms and glared. “Keep making fun, and you’ll be making breakfast in bandages.”

Sanji scoffed, stepping away with smug satisfaction. “Who’s the one in bandages?” he said pointedly.

Zoro’s glower deepened. “You didn’t put them there.”

“I also don’t have any.” Sanji shot him a look over his shoulder and strutted toward the men’s quarters. “Night, shitty swordsman.”

Zoro stood there, staring after him, face locked in a scowl until the door clicked shut behind Sanji. Then he couldn’t stop the grin that bloomed across his face. A stupid, ridiculous grin.

He’d been kissed. Actually kissed. And it had been awesome.

The Sunny rocked gently at her berth, sails drawn and lanterns dim. A gull hooted once from somewhere on the shore, and the metallic scent of saltwater mingled with coal smoke from the nearby shipyard. Above, the stars twinkled on like proud witnesses.

Zoro climbed the rigging toward the crow’s nest, feeling lighter than air.

Usopp handed over the watch with a yawn, but paused when he got a good look at Zoro’s face.

“Your smile is both terrifying and great to see,” Usopp said warily. “I’m going to have very confusing nightmares.”

Zoro just laughed.

Breakfast was called shortly after Zoro finished cleaning up, and he ambled down to the galley with anticipation low in his gut and something dangerously close to giddiness creeping up his throat. He was still having trouble containing his grin, and Usopp shuddered dramatically when Zoro dropped into his seat at the table.

“Why do you look like that?” Usopp muttered, eyeing him with mock horror. “What did you do?”

Zoro shrugged, but the grin widened. He stuffed his mouth with eggs before he could say something stupid.

Sanji was already busy, moving around the galley with practiced ease, setting down plates, topping off mugs, flicking glances at Zoro every time he moved. He looked amused when he caught sight of Zoro’s face, but didn’t say anything. Zoro didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed.

The meal passed in a hum of easy chatter, the crew talking about their plans for the day since they were staying on Forgewake. Nami mentioned shopping. Franky wanted to source more parts. Robin had spotted an old bookstore. Zoro listened without hearing much of it, too busy fighting the urge to blurt out across the table that Sanji had kissed him. Kissed him.

Zoro liked to keep some things private – mostly everything, really – but part of him still wanted to shout it from the rigging. Sanji had kissed him. That had to mean something. Only, he didn’t actually know what. Were they together now? Or had it just been a one-time thing, and Zoro was reading too much into it? He hoped it meant they were together. But it might not, because he probably sucked at kissing just as much as he sucked at flirting. 

Then again, Sanji had seemed to like his terrible flirting. Maybe he liked the awful kissing, too.

“You owe me dish duty, marimo,” Sanji said as the meal wound down, wiping his hands on a towel. His voice was casual, but the look he shot Zoro felt pointed. An excuse to stay, whether intentional or not.

The others filtered out one by one, some with work they wanted to do, some with plans to hit the town. Sanji stacked dishes and didn’t rush anyone out. When the galley finally quieted, Zoro stood so fast his chair spun in circles.

“You need to give me kissing lessons,” he blurted. “Like the flirting ones.”

Sanji blinked, caught off guard for all of two seconds. Then a sly, slow grin curved across his face. “I can do that.”

Zoro’s breath left him in a quiet rush of relief. “Okay. Good.”

Sanji turned toward him, abandoning the plates on the counter. “But I want something in return.”

Zoro’s heartbeat jumped. “Like what?”

Sanji closed the distance between them. He reached up and laced his fingers into Zoro’s hair, tugging just enough to make Zoro go still. “You.”

Something akin to joy burst in Zoro’s chest. The stupid grin he’d been trying to hide finally won. “I’d like that.”

Sanji’s answering smile was quieter than usual, but somehow brighter. Like it was meant just for him. “Good.”

They stood there, neither of them moving to break the moment. The air between them shifted, warm and expectant, like something had just tipped over into new territory. Zoro could’ve stayed like that forever, but the longer Sanji looked at him, the hotter his face felt.

Eventually, he glanced down, blushing fiercely, and mumbled, “Can we start now?”

Sanji laughed, quiet and delighted, and brushed a knuckle under Zoro’s chin like he couldn’t help himself. “So fucking precious.”

Then he kissed Zoro.

And Zoro, bless his inept, awkward heart, was terrible at it.

But Sanji kissed him anyway. Again. And again. And again.

End