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Kevri Island is kind of a bust. The island is poor, but not destitute, and politically stable. Even Luffy can’t find any trouble to stir up. He ends up chasing greased pigs with Usopp, Chopper, and the local children for most of their short stay.
It’s too small to even have a daily market. On the advice of the town’s sole tavernkeep, Sanji heads further out of town than he’d usually go for supplies, intending to scope out farm stands on the outskirts for better options.
He finds gravel and scrub and grape arbors with a few goat pens and cabbage fields between them. When the farms dry up, he loops back toward the more promising stands, percolating an idea about cabbage rolls made with a bit of that sharp wine they’d had back at the inn. He hasn’t gone far when he comes across a tiny old woman sitting forlornly on the edge of the dirt road.
She tells him she was returning from a delivery when her pony was spooked by a swooping flying possum, dumping her and her cart into the ravine near the road. Could a strong young man perhaps help her back to her home?
The pony is long gone, so Sanji takes hold of the hitches and pulls the cart in the direction she points; back from where he’d come and down a branch off the one main road from town. The pony had beaten them to the little farm house, so Sanji helps the granny corral the beast into its stall, only just avoiding its oddly pointed teeth and glinting hooves.
After all his trouble, she won’t let him leave without a reward.
She hefts two large stoneware jugs into his hands with an ease that makes him think she probably could have pulled the cart out of that ditch herself. She promises that this is the finest spirit from her own personal still, and that it would wound her pride if he refused it. Sanji wouldn’t dream of snubbing a fellow artisan, let alone a lady, and accepts her gift graciously before continuing back towards the farm stands.
When he returns to the tavern to thank the proprietor for his advice and buy a crate of wine, the man pales at the sight of the jugs tucked under Sanji’s elbows. The granny’s products are well known in these parts, apparently, and she’s already been told off for selling to unprepared outsiders.
Sanji’s a little offended by the man’s vehement caution, and glares a challenge at the jugs as he stores away the other groceries back on the Sunny. Alone in the galley, his curiosity gets the better of him.
The whiff just from pulling the cork damn near sandblasts his sinuses. The shot he pours himself has an unsettling diamond gleam and feels like it sets his ribcage on fire on the way down.
He’s a pirate! Well-traveled and a member of a crew of some of the most notorious partiers on the Grand Line! He can’t believe some grandma’s backyard still on a tiny, nowhere island has produced the most potent spirit he’s ever encountered.
Sanji doesn’t know what the hell to do with six gallons of undrinkable liquor. The Thousand Sunny is a masterpiece, but she is a ship, and space is at a premium onboard. He’s nothing if not resourceful, though, and given enough time, he’ll find a use for it. He stashes it under the sink, still wheezing from the burn of his tiny sample, sketching VINEGAR on the sides in grease pencil to hopefully ward off the others.
~~~
“Sanji-kun?”
Sanji pushes away from the railing where he’d been smoking his post-dinner cigarette. “Yes Nami, my sweet? What can I do for you?”
“I have a small request… Can you take it easy on Zoro tomorrow?”
“Of course, I’ll always do what you ask, but may I know why?”
Nami narrows her eyes, hesitating. “We’re going to be sailing through a pretty tricky weather pattern. There’s competing fronts moving into our path and it’s going to take all of my attention to thread the needle and get us through. I will absolutely not have time to pull you two apart, understand?”
“I’ll do my best. I don’t know if I can restrain myself if he starts something, though.”
“If Zoro picks a fight with you tomorrow, by all means.” That was suspicious, but far be it for Sanji to question Nami at this point. Maybe she knew the jackass wouldn’t listen anyway. “Just don’t start one.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it, dearest. Now, with that bad weather in mind, do you have any preferences for tomorrow’s meals?”
~~~
The next day starts off with Sanji already fed up with the swordsman. His conversation with Nami has him on edge, anticipating some sort of trouble from their resident grump. Then Zoro skips both breakfast and cleanup only to venture into the galley after Sanji is already starting prep for dinner. Unforgivable.
“Booze, cook.”
“Die in a hole.” Sanji keeps his eye on his growing pile of quartered onions, expecting the swordsman to respond in kind. He only hears a small huff, though. A sigh, maybe? Zoro is still shuffling around behind him, so he hasn’t given up and fucked off yet.
“Sake at ten in the morning is pretty pitiful, Mosshead.”
“Looking for something stronger if you’ve got it.”
Sanji sets his knife down with an irritated snap. Leapfrogging breakfast straight into hard liquor is a new low. If Nami hadn’t specifically forbidden it, he’d have punted the brute into the fucking horizon.
Sanji fumes for a moment until inspiration strikes. He ducks below the sink and pulls out one of the stashed jugs to ponder it. Make the weapons-grade grappa someone else’s problem and get the shitty swordsman off his ass? Two birds with one stone. Maybe Zoro’ll hate it enough to throw a punch and give Sanji license to beat his ass for treating his galley like a shitty dive again. Three birds!
Decision made, Sanji stands and thunks the jug down on the counter beside him, retrieving his knife from the cutting board.
“Thanks.” And that. That makes Sanji turn as Zoro rounds the island to grab his prize.
Zoro looks off. Tired. Wilting. Sad . He’s missing the crease between his eyebrows that Sanji sometimes likes to poke when they’re arguing. And for all that he gripes about Zoro’s hygiene habits Sanji’s never seen him with stubble outside of his few multi-day stints unconscious in the infirmary. Even his scruff is patchy and pitiful.
Zoro loops a finger through the handle of the jug and is out the door without making eye contact, Sanji struck dumb in his wake.
Sanji might be an asshole.
He’ll fix it when Zoro comes back to complain. Sanji wipes his hands and retrieves a bottle of rum and some sake from one of his better hiding places. They’ll be there on the galley island when Zoro gets back. It’s the only apology Mosshead deserves with his behavior.
The stew is simmering and the sourdough is set for its second rise. Cold noodles, cucumber salad, and iced tea are already portioned out in the fridge for lunch. Sanji smokes one cigarette, then a second, buffing the kitchen pristine. Then double-pristine. A half hour later Sanji’s running out of reasons to hide in the galley and Zoro still hasn’t come back to bitch him out. His initial pang of conscience is quickly blooming into a full-on crisis.
Each minute that goes by it’s more and more likely that the tasteless idiot is plastered on regionally-infamous hooch. The guy makes a game out of ignoring physical discomfort, so Sanji was absolutely fooling himself when he thought Zoro’d ever turn up his nose. Nami’s gonna kill him.
He lets himself delay enough to fry up two heaping plates of the greasiest sandwiches he can manage and grab the sake, hoping he can find Zoro before the captain catches him and confiscates his peace offering.
After some furtive searching, Sanji finds Zoro seated cross-legged, tucked away in a shady corner near the stern. Wado is propped up across from him against the supports for the surveying room. There’s a full cup set before the sword, though Zoro doesn’t seem to bother with pouring for himself, instead drinking straight from the jug without a flinch.
“Lunch, Zoro.” Sanji holds out one of the plates. It’s not even eleven, but Sanji is short on excuses for checking in on him. Zoro tilts his head and nods, but doesn’t move to take it. His eyes stay on Wado Ichimonji.
Sanji takes a closer look at the array. The sword, the cup, Zoro, seated straight upright, almost formally. It almost looks like a…
Shit.
It’s a memorial and Sanji is absolutely a bastard and a half.
He pushes past the stab of guilt and sympathy that Zoro definitely won’t appreciate and moves closer. Sanji isn’t a stranger to drinking away his sorrows, but he isn’t enough of a monster to let Zoro do it on an empty stomach.
“C’mon, you have to eat if you’re going to drink that stuff. You skipped breakfast, Mossball.” Sanji cringes at the softness of his own voice.
“I’ll eat in a bit, don’t fuss.”
Sanji groans in frustration. He may trust the man not to waste good food, but he does not trust him to care for himself.
Sanji takes a deep breath, sets the bottle of sake down, and levers himself to the deck with one hand braced obnoxiously on Zoro’s head, lingering a moment to ruffle through his hair. He shuffles all but one of the sandwiches to Zoro’s plate and gently places the last one next to the sake cup. Sanji twists around to reach for one of the little tinned candles Robin keeps by every chair on deck, lighting it and placing it beside the other offerings.
“Who are we dining with?”
Zoro cuts a glare fuzzier around the edges than usual, but humors him, finally looking at the food and sake Sanji has placed between them.
“A friend. Kuina.”
“Yeah? I hope sandwiches are alright.”
Sanji pushes the remaining plate into the swordsman’s side until he grumbles and takes one. Sanji selects one himself, taking a pointed bite, glaring. Zoro raises an eyebrow but thankfully follows suit. Sanji will babysit him through every bite if he has to.
“‘S fine. She wasn’t picky.” Zoro takes another long swig from the heinous jug and slumps a bit on an exhale, already looking a little tilted from the alcohol. The rest of the sandwich remains untouched in the limp hand in his lap. This won’t do.
“Tell me about her. While we eat.”
The demand and tone themselves are an out; Zoro can as easily bare his soul as fling Sanji into the sea as response. Sanji is almost hoping for the latter. Learning new things about Zoro makes him itchy in a way that he doesn’t really understand.
Zoro looks at him, hesitant. “We trained together as kids. Grew up in the same dojo. Wado’s hers.” Zoro shoves the rest of his sandwich into his mouth as if to dissuade further conversation.
“First love?” Sanji’s lips quirk at the thought. That would be strangely quaint for the swordsman.
Zoro’s scoff is more like a blown raspberry. “Hell no. First rival. She was so much better than me, though. I dunno if I can even claim that.”
Humility is a new look for him. “Oh, so you haven’t been the best since birth, then?” Sanji screams internally at his own assholery and lights a cigarette to hide his ashamed flush.
To Sanji’s surprise, Zoro doesn’t acknowledge his rudeness. “Didn’t matter if I was best in the class. She was too good to beat. If her dad’d let her join, she’d have been the ace of the dojo by a fucking mile.” Zoro’s voice is heavy with pride and bitterness.
“Why couldn’t she be?” Sanji’s own curiosity is going to get him in trouble, but he’s hooked now that Zoro’s talking for once. He holds out the plate again, calculating how much will be needed to soak up all the poison Zoro’s been gulping down.
“Sensei said it wasn’t worth her disappointment. Thought girls couldn’t be masters of th’ art. Jus took her decision away.”
“Bullshit.” Sanji flicks ash and exhales smoke through his nose. He bites his own sandwich just to have something other than his cigarette between his teeth. “She beat your ass, didn’t she?”
“Two thousand and one times,” Zoro pronounces the numbers slowly and precisely around his slight slur. “Once or twice a day from the first time I challenged her til the day she died.” It’s reverent. Like the way Zoro brags on Luffy to his opponents.
“She learned just by watching and practiced alone. Could understand just from seeing something once. Mihawk’s like that.”
“I figured that was how you did it.” Zoro has always seemed to learn pretty well on the fly. Cracking some sort of code in each fight.
“No.” Zoro takes another long swig and covers up a belch with his fist. “I learn by getting my ass beat. Need to feel the path of the force before it’s real. Drove her fucking crazy ‘cause I’d miss easy blocks on purpose to figure shit out. I don’t think I learned a damn thing in the year I stayed after she died.”
Sanji thinks back to the first time rumors of the Demon Pirate Hunter started flitting around the Baratie and the markets around the East Blue. He thinks he would have been about seventeen at the time. “How old were you, then?”
“She died when I was eleven. She was almost thirteen.” Shit. That’s young. That’s so young.
The same thought seems to strike Zoro and the naked pain on his face shocks Sanji out of his curiosity. He suddenly feels so ashamed, like a caught voyeur, drawing out secrets his friend wants to keep close to the chest. He scrambles to push up from the deck.
“I-I can go. Let you mourn in privacy… I’m… if you promise to eat. Seriously.”
“Oi.” Zoro’s hand circles his wrist, pulling him back down. “Wait… stay. Cook, it’s… I don’t talk about her.”
Sanji knows that feeling too well. He breathes out, settling back into his spot beside Zoro. He flicks away the spent butt of his cigarette and bites another out of the carton.
“Luffy told me that Wado is a promise.” Luffy came to Sanji with Zoro’s surviving swords while they were recuperating from the fight at Thriller Bark. This one’s precious. It’s a promise. Treat it like you would your own knives.
He spent hours maintaining that blade, making sure there was nothing to fault when Zoro eventually woke. If he has his way, Zoro will never know.
“Yeah.” He smiles his Luffy smile. “One of us has to become the greatest. Just me now, though.”
He doesn’t ask what happened, but Zoro answers anyway.
“Was just an accident. There was a stone stair between the dojo and the river. We ran up and down that thing a million times… Hell, we both fell down it a million times. She only had to fall wrong once.”
“She wanted to go watch one of the top students duel a challenger. It shoulda been her fight and she had to sprint to even hope to see it. Fucking wrong.” Zoro sets the jug down heavily, huffing in anger. “Don’t normally let it get to me. Just sucks that she didn’t get to prove ‘em wrong. Hits me today.”
Sanji could say a thousand things. About Zoro’s respect for his peer, anger about the injustice done to her. Could scrape for platitudes or comforts. He could keep a moment of silence for the death of a dear friend and of wasted talent and potential. He could. But…
He clears his throat. “I can’t believe you offered Kuina-san that rotgut.”
Zoro quirks a brow and hums, eyes glittering as he delicately picks up the shallow sake cup and tosses back its contents. He leans close and holds it out to Sanji with an intense but unreadable expression, his slab of a hand steady despite his intoxication. Sanji can barely stand to breathe into the scant inches between them. His own hands quake a bit as he retrieves, uncorks, and slowly pours the wine he brought with lunch.
“It ain’t bad. Kinda like drinking broken glass, though. Maybe she woulda liked it. Dunno. We didn’t get to drink together. Sensei wouldn’t let me.”
“I friggin hope not,” Sanji scoffs, finishing his careful pour and recorking the bottle, blessing the break in tension. Zoro mercifully retreats from his space and replaces the improved offering to its spot with a small, wobbly bow. “I thought you left the dojo at like twelve?”
“Shut up. Like you didn’t start smoking like a chimney as a fuckin’ toddler. Th’ well went bad right after all the men on the barrier islands got c’nscripted. Everybody that survived drank sake. Bad water’s how my mother went.”
“Shit, I’m sorry.”
Zoro waves the apology off, taking another pull off the jug. “I was like four. Don’t remember it much.”
“Still, Zoro…”
Zoro catches his struck expression and scrubs through his hair in frustration. “Ugh, fuck! I usually try and sleep through the sad backstory shit and ya got me spilling my stupid guts. What the fuck is in this stuff, cook?”
Sanji barks a laugh at his outburst. “Hell if I know. Got it from some granny a few islands back. But… wait... I knew you were doing that napping shit on purpose! Every fucking time, man.”
Zoro squirms, puffs out a breath. “Listenin’ makes me sad.”
Fuck. Fuck. Sanji could pull out his own heart strings to truss up a roulade and it’d sting less.
“Aw. Houseplant has a heart,” he croaks, barely above a whisper. He hopes the injected sarcasm masks his bleeding sincerity.
Zoro gets redder from ear to collarbone. Is it the booze, embarrassment? “Shut up. Ignore me. None of this shit matters. Still gonna be the greatest swordsman. Still gonna make Luffy king of the pirates. Stupid to dwell on it.”
“Shut the fuck up! We’ve all got shit like that. Even Luffy does. Don’t pretend you’re better, dickhead.”
Zoro growls and fists his hand into Sanji’s lapel, but gives up and sighs, dropping his head onto Sanji’s shoulder. “Twis-twisting my fucking words, fucker.” Zoro shakes his head, rubbing his forehead on the padded shoulder of Sanji’s jacket. “I…have not been this drunk… since...”
“Since you were four?”
“You are such a fu-cking dick. At least drink with me if you’re gonna learn all my shit.”
“Hah! Not a snowflake’s chance in hell. If this is affecting you , what’s it gonna do to me ?”
Zoro slumps harder into Sanji. “Dunno. Even the playing field, probably.”
A moment later, a red head of hair pokes around the corner, searching. Nami gasps and hurries over when she sees the two of them on the ground, Zoro still curled onto Sanji’s shoulder.
“Zoro! Sanji, what’s wrong, is he ok?”
“Heeey witch.” Zoro lifts his head and sketches a messy salute. Her alarm shifts to annoyance in the blink of an eye.
“Are you drunk? How are you drunk?”
“Cook’s been holding out on us, Nami.” Zoro holds up the jug, swishing it around a little and swaying with the weight of it.
“Is that so?” Nami fixes Sanji with her beautiful leonine gaze, assessing. Suspicious. Sanji begins to crumple under the weight of it.
“Yeah, want some? Think he saw I was down and broke out the good stuff. Thanks, cook.” Sanji jolts in horror, and manages to swipe the jug as Zoro holds it out to Nami.
“Don’t fucking thank me! I was being mean! And don’t give Nami that swill! How was I supposed to know you’d actually be able to choke this shit down?”
Nami’s stare was now heavier than the gavel of absolute justice.
“Aaah…”
“I think I asked you to stay out of trouble today, Sanji-kun.”
“Uh, well, Nami-swan…”
“No trouble here. He’s been good ‘nuff company.” Zoro is an unexpected savior, fair and merciful. “He won’t join me, though. Good alcohol should be shared .” Zoro is a traitor. His arm slings around Sanji’s shoulders like a hangman’s noose.
“Zoro, you know what? You are absolutely right. C’mon, Sanji, live a little!” Nami’s smile is blinding and merciless.
“Wait. Wait wait wait. We can’t both be three sheets to the wind tonight, Marimo. There’s a storm coming through.”
“Actually you can, Sanji-kun!” Nami’s voice dripped with poison sweetness. “I came back here to let you know we’ll be dropping anchor in about four hours. If I’ve timed it right, which I have , we’ll stop and both fronts will pass us right by. It’ll be cold and nasty, but we don’t have to worry about the swells. Other ships either.”
“You are undoubtedly a genius, Nami! I still have to finish up dinner, though, and…”
“Sanji, if you think we can’t manage to put a loaf of bread in the oven without your guidance, you’re going to insult me. Go on. And have fun. With Zoro.” Her perfectly charming tone has a murderous edge that enthralls and terrifies him. Sanji is going to pay one way or another.
Nami turns on her heel and strolls back around the corner to continue preparations for dropping anchor, waving blithely and ignoring Sanji’s ever more frantic pleas for clemency.
“She isn’t gonna save you, curly,” Zoro whispers, close, the alcohol lending his voice even more of a burr than usual. Sanji doesn’t even get to respond to the taunt.The feeling of Zoro’s breath on his ear shoots through his nerves like a match to brandy.
The thought that lurks in the deepest corner of his mind flares to life. The one he every once in a while touches and discards. Considers unconsciously and rejects with pointed intent. He’ll let himself be honest when the truth isn’t so pitiful.
The truth is:
He hates learning about Zoro because everything he learns makes him like him more. And he already likes him a lot. Too much.
And right now, Zoro is loose-limbed and flushed and trying so hard to banter despite the decade-old grief that’s still pinning him fast to the deck. He’s infuriating and impossible and maybe a little perfect.
Sanji hefts the jug of hooch and downs as much as he can handle, hoping the burn will push everything back down. He doesn’t get far before he’s bent over his crossed legs, hacking his lungs out.
“I deserve this,” he wheezes. The rush of blood to his face isn’t all from Zoro now, though.
“That’s the spirit, cook.” Zoro slaps him on the back a few times to try and stem his coughing.
“Shit.” His head is already spinning. He glares at Zoro sideways through his bangs. “How are you lucid enough to still be fucking with me?”
“Instinct.” Zoro takes back the jug and holds eye contact as he takes a slower drink. Sanji can see his heartbeat flutter in his neck as he swallows. Fast. Zoro clears his throat and turns back to the tokens to Kuina, offering back the jug.
It’s a little less rocky on Sanji’s second pull. “You gonna hate me tomorrow for making you talk about it?” Please don’t. Sanji’s going to ruin this, but he doesn’t want it to be today.
“You didn’t make me do shit, curly. And we both know how to shut up when it matters.”
The quiet beat that follows holds for a good long minute while they continue passing the booze back and forth between them.
They don’t and haven’t talked about the things that didn’t happen. Sanji has a dizzy premonitory moment where he thinks that might be what the second jug is for. He tries to let the silence breathe, the alcohol dulling his usual urge to say the wrong thing on purpose.
Tension can be sliced in any number of ways. Gripes and barbs and flaming roundhouses and… other ways that Sanji smothers before the thoughts fully form.
His reprieve this time comes in the form of Franky, who’s bringing around the lunches that Sanji completely forgot.
“So super to see you two bros day-drinking together. You both work too damn hard, I tell ya. Shirking your party-pirate duties.” He only bursts into tears a little bit before wishing them a good time and returning to the main deck.
~~~
“Two lunches?”
“Fffuck you.” Sanji slouches into the haven of his own cupped palms, hating how the darkness spins.
~~~
They eat some more, and drink some more, and share dumb little stories with Wado as their audience as the temperature and the barometric pressure drop steadily into the afternoon.
Once the weather starts becoming intolerable, it takes another fist in his lapel to get Sanji’s legs under him. Zoro isn’t much better off, falling back against the wall when he loses the counterbalance of Sanji’s weight. Zoro’s a softer landing spot than he’d expect. Like mochi with a cinderblock filling , Sanji thinks, snorting into the swordsman’s collar before pushing himself back upright with a fumbling hand on Zoro’s waist.
Zoro releases his hold on Sanji’s jacket and shakes his wrist out, clenching and unclenching his fist. It is getting cold out, he guesses.
They give the sake and the last sandwich to the sea with as much reverence as two shitfaced pirates can manage and stumble back around to the main deck.
The lawn is a fevered madhouse to Sanji’s addled mind. Luffy and Usopp are scrambling around in a modified version of Kevri’s greased pig contest with a large, confused eel propelled with the help of Robin’s devil fruit powers. This must have been what has kept them occupied all afternoon. The rest of the crew have migrated into the warmth of the galley; its windows are an inviting orange in the darkness of the gathering snow clouds.
The kitchen smells divine. The stew Sanji started early this morning is sure to be perfect by now, and the sourdough boule he’d been so worried about is cooling on a cutting board, scored with a wobbly smiley face on top.
Another large pot on the range reveals hot mulled red wine, with a few of Nami’s precious tangerines bobbing merrily alongside cinnamon sticks and star anise.
Zoro attempts to join the others at the table, but keeps fumbling the chair. Nami guides him to the couch and shoves him onto it, sucking her teeth. “Giant idiot man.”
Chopper chatters to Sanji about his task of studding cloves into tangerines to add to Nami’s mulled wine, going off on a little tangent about the preservative properties of spices and citrus oil. Sanji nods and hums, blinking hard against his doubling vision and realizing that he’s been unconsciously stirring the stew for the last however-long, half-turned towards the rest of the galley with an eye on the couch. Time is acting strange right now. He has a mug of wine and doesn’t know how he got it.
Zoro is staring at the ceiling, melting out of his seat, palms up and legs kicked out in front of him.
“This‘s fuckin nice, Nami.”
“Shut up.”
The first patter of sleet on the galley windows brings Robin, Usopp, and Luffy back inside. Franky shoos Sanji away from the stove and onto the couch before ladling a big portion of stew out for Luffy, who shovels some into his mouth as he crouches down to inspect the two drunks.
“Wo-ow, Zoro and Sanji are blasted!” Luffy cackles. “Franky, make sure they get lots of meat. They’re gonna need it.”
“Aye aye!”
Usopp coos over Zoro and Sanji’s flushed faces and drunken clumsiness, pinching cheeks and spinning away and cackling when Sanji tries to bite him. Brook tries unsuccessfully to get them to repeat tongue twisters as Franky serves them all their portions of bread and stew.
Sanji has to kick Zoro awake twice before he falls asleep right into his bowl.
After the meal is cleared away, Robin turns down the overhead lights and brings out their emergency oil lanterns. It’s cozy and dim; the Strawhats clutch mugs of hot wine and chat as the wind howls outside the cocoon of the galley.
“Yes, sir eel has been returned home to the depths.”
“I’m glad. He seemed kinda upset to have legs all of a sudden.”
“He’s a good sport. He earned his freedom. Shi shi shi!”
Sanji lets the voices of his nakama surround him like a warm bath, catching snippets and loving them all fiercely.
“What were they drinking, anyway?”
“Technically? Grappa. Functionally? Bottled coma.”
“Noo, Zoro! Sanji! They need a doctor!”
“They need a swift kick in the ass.”
It’s the mulled wine that finally does Zoro in. One of Robin’s disembodied hands rescues his fallen mug when he finally flops limp into Sanji’s lap. Sanji can’t bring himself to care, patting Zoro’s upper arm, near unconscious himself.
Nami stops by once more after Chopper tucks them both under blankets from the infirmary. It’s late, and the others have left or have been carried out already.
“Oho, you are gonna hate yourself when you sober up,” she whispers.
Sanji cracks an eye. “I don’t doubt’t, dear heart.” He'll worry about that when his head’s back within three feet of his body.
“Oh, you will too, huh?” Nami sniggers and blows out the last lamp. “Sleep tight, dumbasses.”