I wanted to write a horror for Halloween but it kind of ended up more angsty than scary... oops. However there's still things you should be careful of - here there be mentions of suicide, murder, fairly graphic depictions of gore, and lots of (non-permanent) character death. Hopefully that won't put you off too badly?
Anyhow, happy Halloween! :)
Found the Place to Rest My Head
The television in the other room squealed static into the air, out the open windows, weaving through the humid midnight streets below. For the fourth time in the past hour, the neighbors pounded on the kitchen wall and shouted at them to keep it down, but the only thing Sanji could hear was the heavy heartbeat pounding and fading ever so slowly. His eyes watched the trickle of blood flowing through the hole in Zoro's throat; it made rivers of concentrated red and pooled in lakes where he folded at the waist, turning the green fabric there into a mottled dirt color. Death was beginning to overpower the scent of soap and mint in the bathroom, and Sanji tried not to breathe it in too deeply.
"Next time?" Zoro asked. In a few minutes, he'd be dead, but Sanji didn't have the heart to tell him to stop talking.
"Next time," he said, instead.
Zoro made a contented noise, and Sanji sighed, burying his nose in the soft, spiky hair on top of Zoro's head. "Next time," he whispered again, and barely even choked on the lie.
Thirty-one hours earlier
Sanji tapped his cigarette on the edge of the ashtray and watched the flecks of fire fall to the glass before putting themselves out. It was going to happen again soon. He could feel it, almost as if it were a physical presence - a bearer of bad tidings, a menacing aura settling around the room.
Of course Zoro denied it. Of course he kept saying to Sanji that nothing was off, he didn't feel strangely the way he normally would when death came to call.
Sanji wondered what the hell it was going to be this time. Car accident? Sudden illness? A rare instance of going peacefully in his sleep? Or would it be one of the sinister deaths, the street stabbings, the kidnappings and tortures, the gruesome accidents?
Worst of all, would Sanji suddenly find himself losing control? Would it come on like a spell, would he have to watch himself, as if in a dream, taking Zoro's life from him? Those were the most terrible situations; he could never quite allow himself to look Zoro in the eye for a while afterward.
Maybe, Sanji found himself thinking, Zoro would figure it out in time, and he'd take his own life. That was hard for Sanji, but in the end, it always turned out for the better when that happened - at least Zoro looked a little less strained and haunted when he put himself together again.
With a sigh, Sanji leaned forward and turned the television off. Zoro would be back soon with groceries (hopefully, if he hadn't gotten lost), and Sanji would make dinner. But now he felt restless and uncomfortable, almost as though something was twitching, panging inside of his brain, telling him to be more alert.
He read for a while, the only small entertainment he really bothered with anymore. Strange how the days always seemed so long and boring no matter what when you were waiting for someone important to die - waiting for the moment when, yet again, you had to watch their heart get ripped out, their soul shredding and rending itself, and then the cycle would repeat. It hurt just to think about, but Sanji couldn't stop.
The door clicked open, interrupting him. "Welcome home," he said, clambering up from the sofa and dusting himself off, trying to look like he hadn't been thinking disturbing thoughts again.
"Ah, thanks," said Zoro, dropping four grocery bags on the floor next to the side table. They mostly hid the dark brown spot of old blood that had permanently stained the carpet. It was hard to remember how long ago now it was that Zoro had laid right there, slowly bleeding out while Sanji had been off picking up dinner. When he'd gotten back, he'd had to sleep in the hallway outside of the apartment, waiting for Zoro to come back to life the next morning. The stain had been impossible to get out by then.
With a tired sigh, Zoro put his keys in the glass bowl, his wallet beside it, then picked the groceries up again. Sanji followed him into the tiny kitchen. "Didn't run into any shit on the way home, did you?" he asked, shuffling through the bags for the things that needed to be refrigerated.
Zoro scoffed. "No, but even if I had, I could have handled it."
Saying nothing, Sanji bent his head low, hair cordoning off his expression so that Zoro couldn't see. Zoro was the strongest person he knew (aside from himself), but that had never stopped death from happening before, so he felt he could be pardoned for having his doubts.
"What's for dinner?" Zoro asked.
"Beef bowl," said Sanji. The rice had been soaking in the cooker for a while now, and he'd get around to the beef and veggies once it started to steam. He folded his fingers together, scratching punishingly at his palm in the hopes that perhaps it would ward the bad thoughts away, but they just kept coming.
When would it ever stop? He'd lost sight of his life by now, though at some point, he was sure he'd had a purpose, things that made him happy, responsibilities. They'd all been abandoned in the face of this. Now he found himself following only the path that had been forged for him instead of the one he made himself, waiting with bated breath to see what would happen to Zoro next.
To be quite honest, they were stuck in a rut. Sanji knew something felt wrong about the whole thing, like his life was supposed to make sense of some kind, but it didn't. It was just how he lived these days, sitting in this apartment, waiting for Zoro to die, waiting for it to end. Wondering if it would end.
The rice cooker beeped, and he snapped out of his revery again, self-conscious that he kept zoning out over this. Zoro stood a scant few feet in front of him, putting a box of crackers in the cabinet. His back was broad and Sanji could see the shift of muscles through his t-shirt. A bit of sweat clung to the back of his neck, dripped down to soak into the fabric. He looked so strong and alive, something that was comforting even in the knowledge of what would happen soon, and Sanji could only force himself to turn away from the sight when Zoro was finished putting the remaining groceries away.
Then Sanji stepped forward, grabbing the package of beef from the fridge. He slit the plastic open and dropped the meat onto his cutting board. A long slow breath was pulled into his lungs, and he gripped the handle of his knife tighter, forcing each of his fingers to feel the heft of the blade - forcing his brain and his hand to correlate that this time, they were forbidden from hurting Zoro. He was meant to help, meant to stop this, and as futile as it felt, he would do it all the same.
After all, Zoro was important.
The following evening, after discovering that they had nothing for a meal despite Zoro's grocery run the previous day, they got on the train to one of the nicer parts of the city for dinner and liquor. Sanji liked going out, and he liked getting drunk with Zoro, but he hated actually traveling places with him, especially when the train was so full that they had to sit right next to each other.
Their knees knocked together with the swaying movement. Their legs pressed against one another's, their shoulders brushed, their hands touched. Already, it had managed to fray Sanji's nerves, not because he hated human contact, but because it was Zoro, who was just so irritating. He was never grateful for anything Sanji did, and liked to start fights over trivial matters. They didn't get along at all, and yet there was something that tied them together, drawing them toward each other whether they liked it or not. And Sanji definitely didn't like having to be in such close proximity with Zoro; he felt uncomfortable and jittery, and contemplated going to stand against one of the rails rather than remaining here.
But it was hard to resist the urge to get back at Zoro for pissing him off within his thoughts. He shifted his knee to the left, bumping it up and down against Zoro's until his frown had turned into a scowl, and further still until the addition of flared nostrils and lowered eyebrows. This expression of Zoro's discomfort satisfied Sanji and he stilled his knee, gazing around instead at the people on the train. Most of them were so plain, as if they had been drawn in the background of a piece focused on someone else entirely. And the others seemed to have no facial features at all, just expanses of skin.
Unnerved as he always was by this phenomenon, Sanji turned his gaze back to Zoro, who'd fallen asleep. His head lolled toward his chest, and his eyelids fluttered. Sanji wondered what he was dreaming about, if anything. Maybe it was about a place far from their reality, where neither of them suffered the constant worry that something evil was just around the corner, waiting to take them by surprise. That sounded like a nice dream. He wanted that for Zoro, no matter how much Sanji disliked him some days.
The train slowly glided to a halt, and Sanji leaned over, nudging Zoro until he blinked one eye open enough to glare at Sanji. "What?"
"We're here."
Zoro took a moment, gathering himself, and then stood up. His face was drawn and tight now that he was awake, and Sanji wished they could have taken the train to the end of the line. Maybe they could have stayed there, safe and sound, forever. But he knew that wasn't possible; even if they ran far away, even if they hid, even if they stayed as still as they could, it would always end.
He blew out a long breath, tucked his hands in his pockets, and took his place beside Zoro as they made their way onto the platform.
No matter how lovely an evening turned out, it could never truly distract them from what they knew was coming. But when they stepped into the apartment, both of them more than a little inebriated from all the bars they'd stopped at after dinner, it felt like, at least for a little while, they'd managed to be happy. Even the static noise of the television and the realization that Zoro hadn't turned it off before they left wasn't enough to ruin Sanji's pleasant mood.
That all ended when he saw the person standing in the living room. His eyes felt suddenly fuzzy, and it was hard to focus on their face, no matter how he squinted and tilted his head. It was a feeling he'd encountered too many times to count, but it would never be something he became accustomed to. He wasn't going to let it distract him though, not like it had the first several times he'd come face to face with this strange occurrence.
It was instinct that had him stepping forward, though he had no weapon. Really, he didn't have to worry about defending himself, because they never seemed even to notice him, let alone want to hurt him.
Sure enough, the person's body language was oriented only toward Zoro, but that didn't mean Sanji had an opening of any sort. He stumbled drunkenly, tripping over the rug's edge where it had rucked up at some point during the day. As he fell to the floor, dizzy and unbalanced, he prayed that he hadn't just made a fatal mistake, that Zoro would still be alive when he got his feet back under him. It took far too much effort to do so, and when he finally rose, it was to find the living room empty.
There was a clattering in the kitchen, and he startled, stumbling toward it. It seemed as though he couldn't go fast enough, even with his hand pressed to the wall for balance, and he halted altogether in the kitchen doorway to see Zoro pressing the person into the corner of two counters, knife in one hand.
That's not right, Sanji's brain told him, but he had no idea what about this situation wasn't right, and anyway, not enough time to dwell on the answer. His arm out to catch himself, he hurtled toward Zoro, uncaring for safety or caution. Along the way, he grabbed the first thing he laid hand on that could deal some damage (which, luckily, turned out to be a heavy-duty meat tenderizer).
It was a strange feeling, watching someone prepare to die. On Zoro, it was a look of determination rather than a look of resignation - the look of someone who knew they might die in the act of trying to accomplish something, but also of someone who was prepared for that consequence.
Sanji wasn't quite sure what it looked like on himself. Probably similar, or so he hoped. How dearly he hated to feel inferior to Zoro, and how hard he strived to be better, stronger.
None of those things quite mattered at the moment though. This was all about making sure that Zoro stayed alive for just a second longer, and though he'd rub it in Zoro's face later that he'd had to come to his rescue, right now it was more important that Sanji focused on doing all he could to stop what was coming.
He pushed Zoro out of the way, stepping between him and the blur-faced person. The tenderizer was heavy in his hand, and his wrist twinged as he swung it forward and up as hard as he could. He didn't wince though, didn't cry out. He let it hurt, because that meant he was using all the strength that he could muster.
It landed solidly, with a sickly crunching noise that could have been his wrist - or, and this was what he believed, it was the person's jaw breaking with the initial impact, and then their neck snapping on the follow-through. In such a stricken bout of adrenaline, he couldn't be sure, and he couldn't quite care.
Sanji's breath was loud, wheezing through his lungs, and finally, his wrist gave out. The tenderizer dropped to the linoleum, spattering blood across its clean white surface, and across Sanji's expensive leather boots. The person crumpled to the floor, adding even more blood to the mix. For a few moments, he could only stare. Behind him, the floor creaked, and he smiled, whipping around.
And any words he'd been prepared to spout about his victory, about how wonderful he was at protecting Zoro, died in his throat.
Time seemed to slow as he watched the other figure, and in the next second, it sped up all too quickly, lurching forward before Sanji could even think to move. A silver glint, a touch of a hand that didn't belong on Zoro's shoulder, and then, a steady line of red tracing down Zoro's tan throat, the sharp point of a knife thrust through.
Sanji felt just as ill as he felt suddenly sober. As the person ran for the front door, he was rooted to the spot, staring at Zoro, who stared back at him.
"Your hand," Zoro said after a moment. Or at least Sanji guessed that was what he was trying to say; blood burbled in his lungs, making his words sound liquid, flowing in all the wrong ways.
"What?"
"Your hand."
Sanji looked down, first at his left hand, which was entirely normal, and then at the right, which was already swollen and bruised. It twinged painfully as he lifted it to his face. "So what?" he asked.
"It's," Zoro choked out, "your livelihood."
"You're going to drown in your own blood in a second," Sanji scolded, finally managing to uproot himself. He rushed toward the bathroom, hands fluttering around Zoro's neck hysterically. What was one even supposed to do in a situation like this? What could he do to save Zoro?
"It's important," Zoro said.
"No it isn't," Sanji said adamantly, though something in the back of his mind told him that it was important, that it was incredibly important - a matter of life or death for him. "Should you... s-should you lay on your stomach?" he asked.
"No. Just... sit me down."
Sanji guided Zoro down to the floor, careful not to jostle him too much. When he was finally on the tiles, Sanji went to the tiny closet in the hallway and pulled out a towel, which he wet in the sink. Then he went to his knees beside Zoro, pressing the cloth tightly over the wound in his throat.
His hands trembled in their hold. It shamed him how weak he was in the face of Zoro's death, and yet every time, unbidden, he became a wreck at the prospect of seeing Zoro leave. Even knowing that he'd be back in little time at all wasn't enough to stop the dread settling inside of him.
Zoro's breathing was heavy now. It would have rasped if not for the blood dampening it. Sanji scooted in beside him, carefully elevating Zoro's head on his thigh. He closed his eyes, right wrist throbbing painfully as he pressed the towel to Zoro's throat. His left stroked Zoro's brow, which was damp with sweat and furrowed in pain.
"Next time?" Zoro asked.
"Next time," Sanji promised, the same oath he always took.
Zoro made a soft rumbling noise of acknowledgment. "Next time," Sanji repeated, almost as if he was trying to convince himself. And then they were silent. There was nothing more to say, and anyhow, both were aware that they had failed each other and were thus too ashamed to apologize on the chance that it'd start a fight. Zoro was always strange about dying in anger - said it made it harder for him to find his way back to life.
"Shit," Zoro groaned after a while, slamming his fist against the bathroom wall. "Fuck. Taking... forever."
"Yeah," said Sanji, from where he'd buried his nose in Zoro's hair. Honestly, he'd thought that Zoro had at least lost consciousness, and so he felt suddenly irritated with himself that he'd been so at ease in touching Zoro any more than he had to. "You should really be dead by now."
Zoro kicked out against the far wall, unsettling a rack of bath products. The neighbors on the far side yelled for them to shut up, but Zoro just kicked harder. "It hurts."
Sanji nodded. He had no first-hand experience with what Zoro could possibly be going through (even as there was a distant pull of pain in his body's memory, pain beyond what anyone should be able to tolerate), though he'd seen Zoro through some terrible moments; he was strong, but no one should have had to endure this just to prove it. "Do you want me to help?" he asked.
"No," said Zoro. "I don't need it."
Again, Sanji nodded, knowing Zoro was too headstrong to accept anything from anyone, mostly because he was the same way. His gaze settled on Zoro's throat and the orange towel pressed to it, which was so soaked through with blood that it had colored the once-pleasing amber tone an ugly shade of brown. His own hand had Zoro's blood on it too, striking against the faint purple of his bruising wrist. He blinked, suddenly coming to the realization that he'd lost Zoro again, despite all effort.
It didn't take long after that. He felt when it happened, felt the fight leave Zoro only to be replaced by the unsettling sensation of being alone. His hand tightened in the towel, and after a few beats for breath, he pushed himself up, broken hand on Zoro's empty, dead chest.
He propped Zoro against the tub, slung the towel toward the laundry basket, and then stood quietly in the middle of the room. Everything inside of him was silent: his thoughts, his emotions; and then they exploded, all at once.
"You shitty... shit," he accused of the dead man on the bathroom floor. "You shitty fucking idiot! We wouldn't even be in this mess if-" He choked off just as suddenly as he'd begun, unable to continue, unable to keep shifting the blame onto Zoro. It was his fault for being so optimistic, thinking that just because he'd killed the immediate threat, that they were in the clear.
So instead he kicked the laundry basket over. He kicked the towel rack over. He kicked the cabinet under the sink, the wall, and then he kicked the side of the tub. He kicked until his feet and legs hurt just as bad as his hand and wrist did, and then he stood, silent and alone, staring at Zoro. The neighbors shouted for them to stop fighting.
But there was no fight - only loss, bereavement for the most important part of Sanji's life. He felt nothing as he piled Zoro into the bathtub, and when he was done, he turned his back to wash his hands - even though he knew the feeling of that heart beating under his palm could never be washed away.
Quietly, he turned the bathroom light off. He glanced at the dark shape of Zoro's body lying in the bathtub, and hoped that perhaps the next time Zoro's eyes opened, it would be the last time he'd have to worry about the prospect of them closing.
Sanji walked down the hallway. He climbed into bed, feeling the usual strangeness of knowing that he was alone in the apartment. It was always hard to sleep on those nights when Zoro hadn't regenerated, hard to feel secure here when Zoro didn't have his back. He closed his eyes, and each time he jolted awake that night, he refused to get out of bed.
There was excitement in him for the coming morning, yes, and dread.
"You're up early," Sanji said, crouching down beside the tub. Zoro's eyes flickered beneath their lids, but he said nothing. Probably his body was too busy working on reforming itself to pay attention to outside stimulus, though even when it was whole again, it would still be covered in blood, and Sanji was anxious to be able to clean the bathroom.
That would come later, after they'd both been fed, but for now, curiosity got the better of him, and instead of heading back to the kitchen, he lingered. He had never actually seen Zoro come back to life, and had to admit that it sounded interesting. But when Zoro started groaning in pain, he was shocked from his quiet observation, standing uncomfortably.
"Wash up, breakfast is almost ready," he said as he left the bathroom. He came to a pause in the entry of the kitchen, straining his ears for the sound of Zoro literally rising from his grave. It had never occurred to him that both death and rebirth could be painful, but the way Zoro made it sound, it sure seemed as though that was the case. Absently, he rubbed at his right eye with the back of his wrist while waiting, until he realized that he'd used the injured one. It ached and twinged, and he winced, turning once more toward the bathroom.
The door wasn't closed, and so he was prepared for Zoro to still be lying there in pain as his body awoke again. Instead, he was standing naked in the tub, having dropped his bloody clothes in the sink.
Bewildered and flustered, Sanji could only stand in place, staring. He was struck once again by the broadness of Zoro's back and shoulders, and the way his muscles stood out with the smallest movements. Even halfway covered in blood, it was a pleasant sight. Zoro really did have a nice body; Sanji supposed it was because he worked out so much, though there was also the advantage of a nice starting template. He even had nice hips, and a nice ass, and...
"What?" Zoro asked, not even bothering to turn around.
Sanji averted his eyes, irritated at himself for getting caught up. "Nothing. Where's the ace bandages?"
"Oh yeah, your wrist," Zoro said. He turned around then, and without permission, Sanji's eyes dropped down, getting more than a good eyeful before they snapped right back up. Zoro hadn't seen... probably. At least he didn't say anything about Sanji quite literally sizing him up. "They're in the medicine cabinet, I think. If you can wait for me to rinse off, I'll help you put it on."
"I don't need any help," Sanji growled out, though more than being an affront to his masculinity, he was concerned with his ownbehavior. In all of Zoro's deaths that Sanji had encountered, he'd never once seen him naked, and it was a shock to his system to see it now.
He snatched the bandages out of the medicine cabinet, then turned tail and ran back to the kitchen. By the sink, he wrapped his wrist tightly, setting it in place to heal. After all, doctors weren't much help here. He'd have to tough it out. Hopefully it wouldn't leave his wrist all fucked to hell, though he still wasn't sure why Zoro was so concerned over the wellbeing of his hands. It wasn't like Sanji did anything important with them.
When that was done, he got a couple plates down from the cabinet and loaded them up. Zoro got more slices of bacon than he normally would - a treat from Sanji, for being such a trooper - then two eggs, sunny side up, and a piece of toast with a pat of butter in the center.
Sanji sat the plate on the table along with a glass of orange juice. His gaze stuck on the centerpiece there, which was made out of a beer bottle with some kind of cruddy weed-flower that Zoro had picked earlier in the week. It was close to dead, and Sanji wondered idly if there were any florists around, amusing himself with the thought of how pissed off Zoro would get if Sanji sent him a 'sorry for your loss' arrangement. He chuckled to himself as he went back and loaded up his own plate, as well as refilling his mug of coffee.
When Zoro came back in the room, all the blood had been washed away, and he was wearing a white t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants. He took a seat in his usual chair, not looking at Sanji. They ate quietly, as they always did on the morning after; Zoro was usually too frayed around the edges, and Sanji found himself melancholic and disappointed with lack of progress. After breakfast, they cleared up the kitchen and went their separate ways - Zoro to do whatever it was he did, and Sanji to clean the bathroom.
Really, it only hit how absurd this whole situation was as he watched Zoro's blood washing away down the drain half an hour later. How many times had he done this now? How many times would he do it in the future? And how fucked up was it that he was so used to the sight of Zoro's blood at this point that it may as well have been water?
He sighed, wiping one last smudge of red from the shower curtain, then stood up and shucked the rubber gloves off, tossing them in the sink.
"You need to stop making huge messes when you die," he said as he passed by the couch on the way to the kitchen.
"Oh, sorry, I'll keep that in mind next time I'm getting stabbed in the throat."
"You better." Sanji grabbed a glass from one of the upper cabinets and filled it with tap water, swallowing it down in a few quick gulps. Once he was satisfied, he placed it down to take care of later. "How do you feel?"
Zoro was silent. Sanji wasn't quite sure why, until he rounded the bar and found that Zoro was staring at him with one eyebrow raised.
"What?"
"You've never asked me that before," said Zoro. Slowly, his eyebrows lowered back to their normal state of severe archedness.
"Oh. I take it back then."
"No. I'm fine. How's your hand?"
Sanji looked down at it. Bandaged up, he couldn't see the bruising, but he knew just how dark and swollen it had been before he'd wrapped it up that morning. "It's fine."
Leave it to the both of them to be too headstrong to make complaints, as if one of them hadn't just died the night before, and the other hadn't shattered the bones in his wrists (and probably torn a few ligaments as well, by the feel of things) to prevent just that from happening.
Things were normal, for a while, and it was a day just like any other when Zoro sat up on the couch from his nap, clutching at his stomach.
"What's up?" Sanji asked boredly, muting the television.
"It's coming."
Sanji jumped up from the kitchen table. "Now?"
"I don't know," Zoro coughed out. "Fuck, it's strong."
Scrambling across the room, Sanji came to kneel beside Zoro. "Are you gonna have a heart attack or something?"
"No, I feel like I'm gonna throw up," he said, and immediately his hand came up to cover his mouth.
Sanji's hands fluttered by his sides. "I think there's some anti-nausea stuff in the medicine cabinet," he said, and didn't even wait for a response before he was darting back to the bathroom.
There was a speck of blood still on the floor, and for some reason, that made the panic quake up a little bit higher in his chest. His hands shook as he snapped the medicine cabinet open, and he managed to dump several bottles of pills into the sink in the process of trying to find what he was looking for.
He tore down the hallway the second the bottle was in his hand, but it was all for nothing. Zoro was already gone, and the putrid stench of blood and bile filled the room. By nature, Sanji didn't think of himself as a squeamish person, but as he rounded the couch to find Zoro's hand nestled amidst the gorey remains of his stomach, he nearly vomited.
It was as if Zoro had clawed through his own abdomen, and now there were entrails hanging out and - Sanji heaved, putting his hands on his knees and breathing frantically. This had never happened before, and though there had been some truly disgusting and shocking deaths, Sanji didn't think it had ever affected him quite like this.
He hoped that when Zoro regenerated, he'd at least have the decency to recycle his innards. This wasn't something Sanji wanted to clean up.
After a few minutes of regaining his breath and his control on his gag reflex, Sanji retreated to his bedroom. As always, it was hard to sleep, and he couldn't stop thinking about how Zoro was in the living room, insides hanging out. It was horrifying, terrifying, and even the knowledge that the slate would be wiped clean in the morning wasn't comfort enough to let him sleep anytime soon.
Sanji woke just before noon the next day, his head throbbing and his wrist blaring pain at him. He sat back from the position he'd been sleeping in, laid on his stomach with his injured hand underneath him.
With a sigh, he crawled out of bed and headed into the bathroom, grabbing a couple aspirin and swallowing them dry. It was not until he heard the shuffling in the living room that he realized Zoro had probably already been up for a while now, so after brushing his teeth and dragging a hand through his hair to make it look less like he'd tossed and turned the whole night, he headed out.
Zoro was laying on the couch, looking pure and whole and untouched. There wasn't even a speck of blood on him; he'd probably already had his shower. "Where's breakfast?" he asked as Sanji came into the room.
"You could just make yourself a shitty bowl of cereal, you know," Sanji muttered. There was some strange, uplifting feeling in his stomach at seeing Zoro well, something he hadn't quite ever felt before.
"I'd rather eat your food," Zoro said, unperturbed.
That wasn't pleasing at all, Sanji told himself. Zoro treated him like a servant, and what the fuck did he get in return? Pain and suffering. Not pleasure, not the feeling of being complimented nevertheless.
Being careful of his hand, he got out a mixing bowl and set to making pancakes. Zoro didn't like them, but who cared what Zoro liked. Sanji had just been through an ordeal too, after all, and deserved some comfort.
Throughout the process, he fumed to himself, irritated all over again that he was being taken advantage of, and he didn't even have a choice in the matter. Trying to walk away from Zoro was impossible, and not just because Sanji felt sorry for him.
"What did you even do to yourself anyway, dumbass?" he asked, when he'd put the plates down on the table and gotten butter and syrup from the fridge.
"Hn?"
"Your fucking entrails were hanging out," Sanji said, nearly dry-heaving just at the thought.
"My stomach itched."
Sanji rolled his eyes, putting the butter dish down more forcefully than he'd intended to. It clattered loudly and nearly bounced right off the table, but Zoro caught in nonchalantly.
"Maybe you should resist the urge. You're not a dog with fleas," Sanji said, sitting down with a huff.
Zoro was too busy shoveling down his pancakes to answer, and Sanji was sure that he was only eating so quickly because he wanted to get out of dealing with this. Reluctantly, Sanji let it go, if only for the time being, because he wasn't that enthusiastic about coming to the conclusion, yet again, that everything was ultimately out of their hands. Still, the least Zoro could have done was offer up a pleasant conversational replacement, but instead, he snuck off the moment his plate was cleared.
It left a very irritated Sanji to do the dishes alone - not that the lazy musclehead ever helped with much of anything, but at least sometimes he kept Sanji company. Now all he had was the silence, punctuated with the splash of water in the sink and the ticking-over of the refrigerator.
When everything was cleaned and drying in the rack, Sanji headed to the bathroom and got in the shower. The hot water loosened up some of his tense muscles, but just barely, and he got out feeling only a little more human than he had getting in.
He was in the middle of toweling his hair dry when he saw the piece of paper taped to the mirror. Curiously, he took a couple steps closer, hand out to rip it down. It wasn't in Zoro's handwriting, or even a stranger's - it was Sanji's own, but he didn't remember having ever written this at all.
This is your last chance, it read. Make it count.
Confused, he turned the paper over, looking for any kind of context, but found none. He balled it up, tossed it in the trashcan, and left the bathroom to get dressed, only to find himself sidetracked into a much-needed nap after putting on a pair of boxers.
It wasn't until Zoro shook him hard that he awoke with a start, nearly leaping up out of bed. "What?" he groaned instead, upon seeing Zoro whole and in no immediate danger.
"It's gonna happen again," Zoro said, sounding agitated for the first time in much longer than Sanji could recall.
"So soon?"
"Yeah. It's strong, too, just like last time."
Sanji scooted over and patted the space beside himself on the bed. Zoro gave him a strange look, but sat down after a moment. His posture was stiff, almost pained.
"Does it hurt?" Sanji asked.
Zoro shrugged. "Mostly it just feels different. It hasn't felt like this before."
"What's that mean?"
"I dunno. It's heavy."
"Oh," Sanji said lamely. His injured hand lifted, tentatively stroking over Zoro's tense shoulders in an attempt to comfort him even a little.
"Before, it just felt like a dream. This feels real," said Zoro, sliding down into the bed. Sanji surprised himself by lifting up the far edge of the comforter so that Zoro could get in beside him.
"I'm sorry," Sanji said. His voice came out weak and strained, knowing that he'd been kind of a bastard for assuming this had ever been easy for Zoro. He should have thought about himself less.
"It's okay."
"Maybe it'll all just go away tomorrow," Sanji continued, thinking of the strange note he'd found earlier that day. "And then things'll go back to normal." Nevermind that neither of them even knew what normal was anymore.
Zoro made a pained noise in response, clutching tightly at his stomach.
"You're not going to start taking out your guts in my bed are you?" Sanji asked. "At least use your own bed if you're going to do that."
Zoro tried to laugh, but it came out haunted and desperate. "Touch me again," he demanded.
Shocked, Sanji said nothing for several moments. Just when Zoro was starting to look like he wished he'd never said anything, Sanji reached out, settling the injured hand on the back of his neck, fingers petting the short hairs there. He found that it was just as comforting for himself as he assumed it was for Zoro.
For a while they stayed like that, shoulders pressed together. Zoro was warm, always had been, and it was making Sanji sleepy. He remembered how, some nights, when Zoro's watch had ended and his own had begun, he could still feel the heat of Zoro's body on the blanket that sat in the crow's nest...
His eyes snapped open, confused. Where had that even come from? He could swear he'd never experienced it, but at the same time, it felt more true than anything had lately. Hand falling still to rest on the sharp point at the top of Zoro's spine, he glanced around himself, suddenly wary.
"What?" Zoro asked drowsily.
Sanji scooted closer to him, until their legs touched beneath the sheets. "I don't think it's safe here."
Zoro snorted. "It's not, but you already knew that."
"No, I mean... I feel like we can't trust anything that happens here."
With a sigh, Zoro reached over and took Sanji's opposite hand, holding it between his warm, rough fingers. Rough from swords... Sanji rolled his pounding head back, feeling like he was losing his mind. Only Zoro's hand clutching tighter around his managed to soothe him to sleep, in the end.
It was surprising for Sanji to feel a warm body pressed to his upon waking; more surprising still to realize that the arm slung over his waist, the leg wedged between his own, the chest against his back, all of it could only belong to Zoro.
Sanji didn't move. He felt too content to, even knowing that he shouldn't, and it was all too easy to feign that he was still asleep. Zoro's firm status as a late riser could be used to Sanji's advantage, and he had every intention of doing so. After all, it wasn't like he got much human contact, and though he often touted and reiterated how very much he disliked Zoro, he couldn't even convince himself of that much most of the time.
Only when Zoro began stirring did Sanji tense up. He kept his eyes squinted closed and waited for Zoro to extricate himself from their tangle, then listened to the padding of his feet out of the room. For several minutes, he lay there pretending to be asleep, even as he heard Zoro's bedroom door click shut. When it opened again, he deemed enough time to have passed, rolled out of bed, and headed for the bathroom.
Zoro was already standing inside brushing his teeth, and Sanji was ashamed to realize that he could feel a blush rising on his cheeks just at the sight of him. But he was determined to say nothing. Instead, he grabbed his toothbrush out of the cup on the sink, squeezing a dot of toothpaste onto it and taking his place beside Zoro. It was almost surprising to see that he'd made it through the night without death coming for him, but Sanji was glad for it.
Still, that didn't stop him from anticipating it as the day went on. Sanji's anxiety tempered each of their interactions; he could barely look at Zoro without imagining some frightening new happenstance, nor could he pass him a plate of leftovers at lunch without nearly dropping it. And Zoro wouldn't stop giving him strange looks, as if he couldn't understand why Sanji was acting this way. By the time dinner rolled around, Sanji felt like he was either going to burst out of his own skin or kill Zoro right then and there. He retracted that statement as soon as he'd thought it, feeling guilty.
But it didn't take long for Zoro to figure out that Sanji was reaching the breaking point. After managing to burn his already-injured hand on a pot of pasta, Sanji's arm was snatched by Zoro, and he was pulled away from the kitchen even as he protested loudly.
"Calm down," Zoro commanded, placing his hands on Sanji's shoulders and squeezing them hard.
"I told you," said Sanji. "There's something wrong."
"You think I don't know that?" Zoro asked. "I know it better than you do."
"Yeah, it's so fucking easy for me! Constantly dealing with you dying, having to clean up after you, having to try to prevent it and failing?" Sanji burst out. He'd never really complained about the situation as if it were Zoro's fault, and it was clear that it came as something of a shock to Zoro.
"Then why don't you try leaving?"
"I have tried! I don't want to keep watching this happening, I just want things to be normal!"
Zoro shook his head, laughing sardonically. "Don't make this all about you."
"It's not," Sanji said, quieting. "You don't deserve this situation either."
Long enough for Sanji to begin feeling quite uncomfortable, Zoro stared at him. Sanji wanted to turn away, but he didn't. He held Zoro's hard gaze, unwavering.
"Thanks," Zoro said finally, relenting.
Sanji didn't know why he gave in to the urge. He leaned forward, right into Zoro's personal space, and pressed his lips to Zoro's, desperate to convey whatever it was that he had been feeling.
Zoro didn't even hesitate, his lips parting, tongue pressing to Sanji's. He was forceful, and didn't relent easily under Sanji, which he'd expected, and liked very much. Everything was hot, and the skin of Sanji's back prickled uncomfortably.
It took him a few moments to realize that the heat was unnatural. He backed out of the kiss, wary, and barely had time to step away as Zoro went up in flames. There were ashes scattered across the floor before he even had a chance to do something about it, let alone figure out what had actually happened.
He'd never seen anything like this before. Yes, Zoro had died almost too many times to count, but his body had never disappeared. Hysterically, Sanji thought back to the note he'd written to himself and left on the mirror, and finally, he realized what it meant.
The howl that escaped from him was animalistic and pained. It dragged at his throat, tugging his vocal chords taut, leaving him so lightheaded that he had to lower himself to the floor for fear of fainting. At the same time, his eyes stung with tears of frustration, and his fingers felt like claws as he dug them into his own thighs. His wrist throbbed warningly, but he didn't heed it.
He sat there for a while, staring at the ashes that dusted the living room floor until his eyes blurred over. When he stood, he felt drained, wanting nothing more than to collapse into bed.
If this was really the end, then Sanji was free - but he found that freedom was useless so long as Zoro wasn't there to share it with him. After all that they'd managed to clear up, Sanji had missed his chance anyway. He'd had one tiny taste of Zoro, and now, nothing. Perhaps he would have been happier without it, and he knew that he selfishly would have given up on the chance of something more with Zoro and accepted having to deal with all future deaths if it meant Zoro would come back to life in the morning.
But he didn't. Not the next morning, not the next night, not the morning after that. Sanji found himself giving up, an empty shell. He had nothing to look forward to, and no one to pass the time with. He spent more time sleeping than ever, dreaming haunted dreams of Zoro and another place where they didn't get along well at all, but at least they were both alive. And there, they had ambitions and responsibilities, connections aside from each other. He craved desperately for that place.
The days passed. Soon, they turned into weeks, though Sanji wasn't counting it anymore. All he knew was that the sun rose and set, and it kept doing it whether or not Zoro was around. He went through the motions, feeding himself, bathing himself, sleeping, though anything else seemed like too much. It was lonely and confusing and aimless, and where a well of strength had once existed in him, there was now something barren and empty.
A month had passed, probably, before he was shaken out of sleep late one evening. For some reason, his first thought upon awakening was that, now that Zoro was gone, death was after him. But then his eyes flickered open to see Zoro standing above him, looking none the worse for wear.
"Hey," he greeted, rubbing the back of his neck.
"What the fuck!" Sanji yelled, kicking out. His foot caught in the sheets, but still, he managed to land a blow against Zoro's upper thigh. "What took you so long?!"
Zoro shrugged his shoulders. "Dunno."
"I thought you were dead, shithead!"
"I was," Zoro said, starting to look a little disgruntled.
"Don't fucking take that tone with me," Sanji said, glaring as he kicked the sheets down. Wiping at his forehead, he sighed, trying to find some measure of calmness again. "This is a dream, isn't it."
"Nah. I'm here."
Sanji said nothing as he clambered out of bed, pulling on a pair of sweatpants. They were Zoro's, because it was easier to get through the day with Zoro's scent around him. "... Did you seriously spontaneously combust over me kissing you?" he asked at last.
Zoro chuckled. "Yeah, I think so."
With a roll of his eyes, Sanji headed to the bathroom to brush his teeth. From the mirror, he could see that Zoro was lingering in the doorway, and he stood up straighter, puffing his chest out under the scrutiny. He wondered if it was obvious that he'd spent the past month wallowing in misery.
"What?" he asked once he'd spat the toothpaste out and rinsed his mouth.
"Nothing," said Zoro. "Just waiting for you."
"Huh?"
"You look like you want to say something."
Sanji refused to look away as the words came out of his mouth. "Do you think it'll happen if I kiss you again?"
Zoro raised an eyebrow. "Only one way to find out."
Nodding, Sanji stepped forward into Zoro's personal space, angling his head so that he could press his lips once again to Zoro's. This time he paid attention to more than the actual act, registering that Zoro's lips were surprisingly soft, and warm just like the rest of him. They were nice to kiss, and this kiss was much nicer than the one the other day. Still, Sanji was gentle, as if afraid that any wrong step would take Zoro out of his hands again.
But Zoro wasn't satisfied by that. He pulled Sanji in, arm wrapped around his shoulders as he nearly devoured Sanji's mouth, and he didn't let him go again until he was satisfied that Sanji had given him everything he had. And then they were stuck staring at each other once more.
"Well, you seem fine," Sanji said, awkwardly fiddling with the waistband of the sweatpants he wore. He was more aware than ever that they belonged to Zoro.
Zoro smirked at him. "You don't."
"What's that mean?"
"You seem like you need to lay down."
Sanji kicked him in the shin. "Fuck you, I don't need your shitty help." And he proved it by walking back to the bedroom himself, plopping down on the bed.
Zoro followed moments later, looking all too amused. He crawled over Sanji, pressing a couple kisses to his face, and though Sanji wanted to be irritated by it, he found that he couldn't, so he wrapped his arms around Zoro's neck, pulling him down.
His body was a heavy, comforting weight. Sanji thought he could fall asleep just like this, but he didn't want to waste a moment on that, not when he had Zoro back, not when he'd been so scared just hours before. It was a time for soothing wounds rather than for sleeping them away. They'd both had far too much of that.
And anyway, this was something new and just a little exciting for Sanji - he wanted to figure out what it was all about, and that meant tumbling Zoro off of him and onto the other side of the bed. Sanji didn't feel bad about abandoning him, because he followed a moment later, shoving Zoro's shirt up, nearly ripping it in his enthusiasm. His hands tracked the bare, unscarred expanse of Zoro's stomach and chest, watching interestedly the way Zoro's stomach jumped under his touch.
When he was bored of that, he let his hands wander to the waist of Zoro's jeans. "Do you mind?" he asked.
"Not at all," Zoro replied immediately.
Sanji grinned, unbuttoning and unzipping them, then tugging them down and off. Underneath were plain black boxer briefs, and Sanji took only a moment to hesitate about pressing his hand over the bulge they covered.
Zoro let out a quiet noise, and all hesitation disappeared from Sanji. He stroked his palm over it in firm motions until Zoro moaned, and, feeling quite satisfied with himself, Sanji leaned in to kiss him again.
There he remained, held tight by Zoro's arms. Though it took him a few seconds to realize why Zoro was rolling his hips up against Sanji's, he eventually got the point, tugging the sweatpants and his own underwear down just enough so that Zoro could wrap his fist around their cocks.
It was heated and Sanji couldn't help the shiver that ran through him at the first stroke. He drew his knees in closer to the outsides of Zoro's thighs, gripping them just enough so that when Zoro pressed up against him, he wasn't unseated.
Zoro's rhythm was good, steady, but better than that was the way his face set in concentration. For someone with such serious features, it was surprising how sexy he could look.
When Sanji began shaking ever so slightly, Zoro changed tactics, releasing the hand holding them together, and he encouraged Sanji to lay against him. They started a new movement together, cocks pressed between their bellies. It was toe-curling, far too good, and Sanji came biting his lip to keep from crying out. A few minutes later, Zoro followed, and they rolled apart, slick from sweat and come, both of them satiated.
Though they were silent, they faced each other, and a smile was just on the edges of both their lips.
"I love you," Sanji admitted finally, on a burst of bravery, and he found that it was true. He loved Zoro even when he didn't think, when he charged headfirst into bad situations, when he slept his way through dinner and Sanji had to set something aside to take to him during watch, when he gave Sanji as good as he got. He loved watching Zoro practicing, and he loved testing that strength, and he even loved when Zoro shoved him overboard into the ocean after fights.
He loved Zoro, and he was so sick of mistaking that love for something different, something bad.
Sanji's eyes opened, and for the first time in too long, he stared up at the wooden ceiling in Chopper's office. The sheets were sweaty and scratchy under his back, and he sat up suddenly, though his back protested.
Chopper was sitting in his chair, a book in his small lap, and across the room, Zoro was leaned up against the wall, snoring.
Sanji's heart dropped. He felt lost, all too confused, looking down at his hands - both of which were fine, uninjured, though once again covered in the tiny scars typical of those who did kitchen work.
Some sort of noise must have come out of him at the realization that it had all been a dream, because both Chopper and Zoro leapt up and crowded around him.
"You're awake!" Chopper got out through tears, his hooves coming up to clutch Sanji's face.
Sanji said nothing. He caught Zoro's eyes, but they were nothing like he remembered. They didn't look upon him with amusement and endearment, they just gazed blankly at him. This Zoro didn't love him, but at the same time, Sanji realized that this wasn't the Zoro he had come to love in a dream either. This was the Zoro that he had spent countless days with, who he'd grown to love in a different, more fierce way. This was the Zoro who really had Sanji's affections, though he hadn't truly understood the whole depth of that until just now.
"We were so scared!" Chopper continued, rushing over to grab the things he needed for a check-up.
"What happened?" Sanji croaked. The dream had seemed so long and recent that it was hard to really remember what had happened in the time leading up to it.
"The atmosphere around this island is really strange," said Chopper. "From what I've gathered, there's lots of reports of people falling into a deep sleep and only awakening when they've accepted what their dreams try to tell them."
"That's not possible," Sanji said, though his denial was weak.
Chopper's eyes lit up. "What did you dream about, Sanji? It must have been a really tough lesson, everyone else has been awake for days."
"I had a nightmare," Sanji said, his breathing slowly evening out. He stared at Zoro, not knowing what to do or say, feeling suddenly even more lost than he had in the dream. Taking a deep breath, he averted his gaze from Zoro and relaxed back into the pillow. "Just a nightmare."
"Ah, well. I guess we can talk about it later, then; it's more important to see if you're in working order!"
Two hours later, Sanji had been released from Chopper's care, but he was still a bit stiff and found it hard to want to move around much just yet. He'd made himself a comfortable perch up in the crow's nest, resting on several pillows and curled under a blanket, cigarette hanging out of his mouth. Apparently even in such a long sleep, his body had missed the nicotine he hadn't been giving it, and it eased much of his anxieties just to have it in his mouth.
He stared out across the ocean as the sun set, coloring the water in shades of red and purple. When he closed his eyes, he could only imagine a pool of Zoro's blood rushing up to meet him, and he clamped his hands around his ears at the same time as his eyes closed, as if that could possibly force the image from his head.
He couldn't stand having to remember the dream. Tomorrow he'd get his mind on other things, work in the kitchen whether everyone else liked it or not, but the next ten hours were going to be torture.
When something cold pressed against his forehead, he startled, eyes opening to find Zoro standing above him with a glass of orange juice and a bottle of pills.
"What?" Sanji asked.
"Chopper wants you to take them," replied Zoro, waiting for Sanji to hold out his hands before dumping a few pills in one limp palm and thrusting the glass into the other.
Sanji tossed the pills into his mouth and sucked down a gulp of orange juice, nearly choking in his hurry to swallow them both. When the glass was drained, he stood, muttering a quick thanks to Zoro before clambering down from the crow's nest under the guise of washing up. He wouldn't admit that he was turning tail and running from Zoro, but that was basically what it amounted to.
A strange chain seemed to start from that night, of Sanji avoiding Zoro nearly every time he saw him. At first, it wasn't a conscious thing, but over time, he realized that seeing Zoro at meals was about as much as he could take. Any other time, he began to feel strange and unsettled, which was so opposite to his usual reactions around Zoro that he found it better not to even question his avoidance. Besides, he knew that he'd already gotten himself in too deep, and that if he became any closer to Zoro, it was going to hurt even more when he really did die. The debacle at Thriller Bark had been horrifying enough.
But he had to wonder, was he really meant to let go of Zoro? Was there a possibility that he was supposed to cling tighter than ever? Not that he had done anything like clinging in the first place, though it was true that he'd always sought out Zoro's company in a way he hadn't done for anyone else. He liked provoking Zoro, but he also liked just being near him, feeling an aura of calm washing over him when the fighting was done. He liked that they didn't really have to say anything to each other to reach an understanding. If he was meant to let go, it was going to be hard, because despite everything, he'd rather grown to like Zoro.
That was when the final horrible realization truly struck. He didn't just like Zoro. He'd grown to love him. This was going to be like ripping a limb off, having to sever himself from Zoro. But he would try. If he just let go of any attachment, then he wouldn't have to worry about a situation in which Zoro died and he was left to himself, burdened by that kind of pain.
Still, it was hard to convince himself of this. Sometimes, his body naturally just seemed to gravitate toward Zoro, and Sanji missed him more than he thought he would. He had confidence it would go away with time, but the first few months of it were going to be terrible.
At the very least, he didn't feel that heartbroken when he watched Zoro, Usopp, Chopper, and Brook horsing around outside one afternoon a couple days later. He just hummed absently as he peeled potatoes for dinner, letting his gaze follow them across the deck. When the door opened, he didn't glance up to see who entered, didn't even find a part of himself hoping that it was Zoro, come to corner him at last over his avoidance.
But it was Luffy, of course, searching for meat. Sanji held him off with one foot while he searched around for the plate of leftover bacon he'd kept out earlier, passing it off to Luffy once he'd found it.
"Hey Sanji," Luffy said, after he'd dumped the contents of the plate into his mouth. He was still chewing loudly, and Sanji grimaced, disgusted at Luffy's ever-present terrible manners. "Why're you so quiet around Zoro lately?"
"Am I?" Sanji asked, hoping that guilt didn't shine through his voice.
"Mhm! I think he's sad about it."
Sanji scoffed. "His brain is made of moss. Moss doesn't feel sadness."
"Well, whatever. But I still think he thinks you're mad at him."
Sanji scowled.
"Just remember he's nakama," Luffy continued. "He's important."
Heart thumping fast and painful, Sanji felt suddenly constricted, remembering just how important Zoro was. Hell, it was probably the constraints of a dream, but Sanji had stuck around him, gravitating toward him, knowing that he was important.
Maybe that was the lesson after all - to accept that, while the whole of the crew was undeniably important, Zoro was important in a different way, and Sanji was meant to stick with him. They were two sides of the same coin after all, and Sanji had refused to accept that before, thinking he was better. But he wasn't, not really. Zoro was important, just as important as Sanji.
Important to Sanji.
He bit his lip, nodding. He'd make it right, just like he'd promised to in the dream.
"Oi," Sanji said, pushing the trap door open and pulling himself up into the crow's nest. "Dinner's ready."
Zoro blinked his eyes open, looking momentarily confused before he nudged the blanket off of himself and climbed to his feet. "You could have just shouted like you normally do."
Sanji shrugged lamely. Leave it to Zoro to criticize him for reaching out again, after he'd apparently complained so much that Sanji didn't like him anymore. "Whatever," he muttered, and had started to climb back down again when Zoro called out a thanks to him. It was almost shocking enough that he lost his grip, but in the end he made it back to deck without damaging himself.
In the kitchen, everyone had already seated themselves, filling their plates from the bowls Sanji had placed out just before heading up to the crow's nest. Nami was doing a good job of keeping Luffy from taking everything, so Sanji headed to the sink, determined to get a head-start on the dirty dishes.
He didn't turn his head when the galley door opened and closed and the sound of heavy boots thumped across the floor. Quietly, he listened to the chattering at the table, but he didn't pitch in, nor did he call any attention to himself at all, happy to lull in the security of his crewmates.
It wasn't until they brought up the dreams that Sanji stiffened. For a few moments, he contemplated feigning a bathroom trip, or illness, and then he remembered he wasn't Usopp, so he went back to scrubbing dishes as he attempted to hear everything that was said.
"I had a dream that I didn't have any meat," Luffy was saying dejectedly. "Ah, and you guys were gone. But I woke up pretty quick, so I didn't have to be without you for long!"
"Well I dreamed that I was the strongest pirate on the seas, and I had millions of followers, and even an island named after me!" Usopp declared. "Oh, wait. That's reality."
"Bullshit," Zoro muttered under his breath, but still, Sanji heard it, and quietly chuckled to himself.
"What did you dream about, Chopper?" Usopp asked, pretending not to have heard Zoro's input.
Chopper was quiet for a few seconds. "I didn't really have a dream," he said. "I wonder if it doesn't work on animals?"
This possibility was discussed for several minutes, and then the conversation moved on to Robin's dream (something about being unable to use her powers for spying purposes), then to Nami's (and she called it a useless thing about how money wasn't truly important, but then she'd apparently been one of the first few to awaken, so Sanji was sure she'd taken it a little bit to heart). Zoro's lesson was learning not to sleep so much, though he refused to divulge the actual details.
Franky's dream consisted of some bizarre, psychedelic trip where he ate a lot of fruit (and this, he surmised, was a lesson to eat healthier), while Brook's didn't seem to have a lesson at all, or at least nothing that any of them could figure out. He suggested that the dead didn't dream quite the way the living did, and maybe that was what got in the way.
And then Luffy called out for Sanji to tell what his dream was about. He paused, hands deep in the soapy water. "I don't want to talk about it," he said confidently.
"Aw, come on, Sanji!" Usopp wheedled. "Everyone else did!"
"I learned my lesson, I don't need to share it around." And even as Usopp continued to plead with him, he said nothing. The subject was closed, as far as he was concerned.
That was what he told himself, but under everything, he still felt guilty every time he saw Zoro's face, and he had the strangest compulsion to tell him what had happened. Not like Zoro would really care though, probably.
And so for days, he was silent about his dream, even as he slowly settled himself back into Zoro's life. More often now, they spoke to each other - short words only when they needed them, but similar enough to the way it used to be. They fought just as much as they ever had, and Sanji went back to taking Zoro tea in the morning to warm him back up from watch. Outside, the temperatures were dropping fast, and it was important for everyone to be in their best shape.
On this particular morning, Sanji prepared to head back down to deck from delivering the thermos of tea when Zoro stopped him with a short, "Oi."
"What is it, marimo?" Sanji asked guardedly.
"... Thanks," Zoro said for the second time since Sanji had awakened, looking slightly pained.
"Yeah, yeah," Sanji replied, shuffling down onto the first rung of the ladder. "Bring it down and wash it when you're done. I'm sick of having to do it for you."
Zoro made an affirmative noise, and Sanji ducked down, disappearing from sight.
An hour later, the kitchen door bumped open, and Sanji prepared himself for having to hold Luffy off once again. But it was Zoro who came to a stop next to the sink, thermos under one arm and an expression on his face that showed he was still half-asleep.
"When's breakfast?" he asked, as if he couldn't see that Sanji was nearly done shifting biscuits from the pan they'd been baked on. Sanji gave him a sharp look in reply, and on a stroke of inspiration, passed the full serving tray to Zoro.
"Take these to the table and I might tell you."
Zoro was surprisingly obedient when he wanted to be, and soon he'd dropped the biscuits off without spilling any. Pleased, Sanji passed him the pot of sausage gravy, leading the way back to the table so that he could tuck some pot holders down. After, he gestured for Zoro to place the pot on top of them, then passed a plate to him. "Here, get yourself some. Just leave enough for the ladies."
He turned away, listening as the ladle clinked against Zoro's plate, and went back to tidy up after himself.
"Thanks," Zoro said, ducking out of the kitchen to wander off to wherever it was that he liked to hide.
Sanji called the others in for breakfast a few minutes later, and for once, he didn't wait until they'd all finished eating to serve himself. He made himself a plate, and with that in hand, he went off in search of Zoro, a freshly-refilled thermos of tea tucked under his arm.
It didn't take long to find who he was looking for; sitting out on the grass in the bright sunlight, the shitty marimo looked perfectly at home in his natural habitat. Sanji snickered at his own inner dialogue as he took a seat next to him.
They ate in companionable silence, elbows occasionally brushing, and their fingers met once on the thermos. It wasn't until that moment that Sanji realized he'd indirectly kissed Zoro about seven times now, considering that they were just drinking out of the bottle one after the other. He couldn't help the flush that rose to his cheeks.
"Problem, curly?"
"No," Sanji said firmly. He put his plate down, lifting a pack of cigarettes out of his shirt pocket, along with his lighter. With a quick flick of his thumb, he lowered the tip of the cigarette into the flame, and inhaled slowly, feeling a comfort wash through him.
Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Zoro as he ate. He was a messy, quick eater usually - probably a product of having to defend his meals against the wandering hands of Luffy. But now, he was eating slowly, neatly, and though Sanji was offended to see that he still wiped his mouth on his arm, at least he seemed to have some measure of manners.
By this point, Sanji wasn't startled to find that the Zoro he'd dreamed of often overlaid the Zoro he saw everyday. It wasn't in the manner that he missed that Zoro - because even if he'd had that one (and couldn't have this one), it was so much better to spend time with a Zoro who was real.
And in all honesty, it was easier to love this one. Where the Zoro in his dreams had been the focus of Sanji's every waking hour, here they had their own goals, their own duties to pay attention to, so many things to distract them - but nevertheless, they still chose each other for company. It was easier to admire and respect Zoro here, easier to want to know him.
He sighed out a cloud of smoke. "That nightmare... you kept dying in it," he said. "It kept happening and I couldn't stop it, and I hated you for it because you should be strong enough - you are strong enough, why the fuck wouldn't you stop dying?"
Zoro said nothing, though he didn't have the excuse of eating or drinking to cover for him.
"It was stupid. You definitely wouldn't have died if it was reality, but I guess it was a dream after all."
"Where's the lesson in that?" Zoro finally asked.
Sanji inhaled on his cigarette, taking time to come up with an answer. "I don't know. Maybe I was just still stuck on what happened at Thriller Bark." And even knowing the answer, it was too hard to say that it had been a lesson to learn to accept the love he was blessed with.
Zoro took a sip out of the thermos, wiping his mouth again. "Why'd you want to hide it from the rest of the crew?" he asked.
And here was the embarrassing part. But Sanji owed it to Zoro to be honest if he'd come this far, and anyway, he couldn't see Zoro actually getting angry over some dream about a sexual relationship between them. Yeah, he might tease Sanji about it just because it was common knowledge that he was particularly sensitive about his status of being a ladies man, but he wouldn't be angry.
"Because it only ended after we had sex," he admitted, finally.
"Ah," Zoro replied with a laugh. "Now I'm jealous."
Sanji rolled his eyes, puffing on his cigarette quietly. Somehow it wasn't surprising to him that Zoro at least felt attraction to him, but it was surprising that it was now out in the open.
"So why did we do that?"
"Because," Sanji said. "Because I wanted to."
Zoro nodded, and Sanji couldn't help the anxiety that bubbled up in him. It almost would have been easier if they had awkwardly avoided the topic; now he had to wonder whether or not it would be acceptable to make a move. Either that or wait for Zoro to make one, and he wasn't going to do that. He refused to let Zoro have the satisfaction.
"Almost sounds better than my dream," Zoro said eventually.
"No way in hell, marimo. It was awful," said Sanji. Except maybe for the end.
"Did I leave you hanging or something?"
"Wh-what!" Sanji sputtered. "No!"
"Then what was so bad about it?"
"Oh, I don't know. It wasn't exactly pleasant watching you die so many times."
"Hm."
"What did you dream about, anyway?" Sanji asked.
"I already told you."
"You told us that your lesson was to stop sleeping so much. But what was the dream actually about?"
Zoro closed his eyes. At first, Sanji was annoyed, thinking that he'd decided to go to sleep right then and there to get out of the conversation, but then he spoke. "I started spending more time with you. And I found out we're a better match for each other than I thought."
"Yeah? How do you figure that?" Sanji asked. Traitorously, his heart skipped a beat. His fingertips tingled with the urge to reach out and touch Zoro.
Zoro's shoulders shrugged, muscles rippling just as they had in Sanji's dream. "I guess because there's surprising depth underneath all that woman-chasing. And it's a depth I like."
Sanji rolled his eyes at how terrible that explanation was. But still, it warmed him, and he gave in to the urge to reach out and touch Zoro's hand, which met him halfway. His wrist throbbed, a phantom pain that refused to disappear just yet.
"Yeah, yeah. I love you too," he said.
Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the smile that lifted Zoro's mouth. His fingers were just as warm as Sanji remembered, twitching slightly every few minutes. And it was comfortable in a way that made Sanji feel as though he'd finally made some kind of breakthrough. As frustrating as it was to have to be taught a lesson, and as horrific as that lesson had been, he was glad of it anyway. After all, it had gotten him to where he belonged in the end, and sooner than he'd have made it on his own.