It was late at night on an entirely pink island, in an entirely pink room, and Sanji in pink dress leaned over his pillow. In one hand, a cigarette, his daily dose of poison, on the other, a blond strand from his curly wig. An eye as blue as the ocean staring at the wanted poster hanging on the wall. The silence of the dawn giving space to the thoughts in the blonde's head. From time to time, Sanji found himself thinking about that night, just before they got separated. He didn't remember exactly how it'd happened, or many details, for his memories had drowned too much in the alcohol. He remembered that they had emptied several bottles of sake celebrating some random victory, he remembered feeling incredibly good, and he remembered Zoro's voice vibrating in his ears.
Early in the evening, their dynamics were the usual: they were quietly drinking, the company of each other comforting and sufficient. Then, the tension mounted and the two started exchanging insults for whatever little thing. But Sanji was relatively weak for liquor, and even Zoro, who had always been a monster on that merit, had his cheeks tinged lightly pink and was already more pleasant than usual. Sanji then began talking non-stop, spilling drunken and excited words into the swordsman's ears and being excited to see Zoro more receptive and less grumpy. After hours of conversation, Sanji was seeing the swordsman smile constantly, and although he had already seen the man smile a dozen times before, it made him feel a strange satisfaction. Even more so for being a sincere smile, not a grin or a smirk, and without any bit of arrogance or debauchery, as if alcohol had stripped the swordsman of his stoic and indifferent persona. In response to this, Sanji spoke even more, desperate for more of that genuine attention, and already quite lightheaded with the alcohol in his veins. Zoro laughed and Sanji felt his cheeks burn from the sake and the comfort that the sound brought. It was contagious. A little higher-pitched than his usual tone, the swordsman's laughter seemed to rejuvenate him a few years, and Sanji found himself facing a teenage version of his companion, as if he had escaped from reality and entered a time machine, though most of this was the sake's fault, of course. Still ... there was something that was strangely attractive about it.
Apparently, Sanji had been in that strange trance for too long and since Zoro's laughter had died in the air it was a bit embarrassing for Zoro to be watched closely for so long. And they really were very close. The noise of the rest of the crew had long gone, indicating that everyone probably was sleeping soundly after having partied hard. There was only the sharp silence between the two men and the noise of the wind and the waves of the sea. The silence between them had many facets. Sometimes, it was filled with mutual understanding, with more meaning than any word that could be uttered, in battle, in situations of life or death, the emotions between the two used to be transmitted with few gestures saturated in silence. Sometimes, silence was comfortable, like the best of friends who know they don't need to do small talk all the time just for education, sitting next to each other enjoying a good drink and absorbing the taste of victory after battle was enough. And, sometimes, it was an agonizing thing that carried a strange tension, and it was abruptly interrupted by the incessant quarrels they had. For some reason being close to one another brought frustration, and the fact that one found the other the most annoying man on the planet only made the tension explode in the form of rage, kicks and clash of swords and feet, as if it could be relieved by releasing a little raw energy. This night was one of the times when the two shared a moment of truce, talking and drinking all night, without a fight, without getting sulky and uncomfortable. However, that strange familiar tension remained ...
"Oi, Cook ?!" Zoro stammered, hoping to cut the cook's trance.
But when he heard the silence being cut off by that voice uttering his nickname Sanji seemed even more shocked. The low tone was close enough for him to almost feel the vibrations in the pronunciation of each syllable. Too close. Sanji felt every hair of his arm rise and looked at the shivering arm exposed by his pulled sleeves. He leaned forward, staring at Zoro, and traced a long, thin finger down the swordsman's neck, feeling his Adam's apple on the way. The sudden contact of the icy finger with his warm skin made Zoro let out a groan and Sanji felt the vibration on his finger. Zoro gripped the blond's wrist tightly, with the intent of breaking that strange physical contact, but he did not push him away. Instead, he stood still, holding Sanji's wrist against himself, his gaze fixed on the blond's single uncovered eye. Like a rehearsed dance, they both moved toward each other, their lips searching the other's magnetically. It was a tender kiss at first, lips barely touching and rubbing slowly against each other until finally they came together in a single movement, in a wet synchrony. They deepened the kiss, letting their lips parted just enough to make room for tongues to meet. Zoro still held Sanji's wrist firmly, like an anchor, as if his hand needed to be there, otherwise he would not control himself and it would be doing something the sober swordsman might possibly regret later. Sanji's body was warm, his cheeks burning now, his hand immobilized by the firm grip of the slightly larger hand on his wrist. He wanted to get rid of the tightness, but he was stuppored by the alcohol and the excitement of feeling that mouth on his and, especially, by hearing the soft, deep moans between the kiss. With each vibration his body trembled.
The Thousand Sunny suddenly swayed to the rhythm of a slightly stronger wave and the men parted, panting, Zoro with a tone of pink deeper the one from earlier on his cheeks and Sanji red up to his ears. Both with their hearts beating fast, they were astounded each one with arched eyebrows, feeling all the accumulated tension had seemed to have been resolved just with that awkward initial contact between the two men. It seemed so simple now, but it had taken all this time for the two idiots to realize. The cook, leaning against the wall, put his head against Zoro's shoulder and, nested himself in the natural heat of the swordsman and almost instantly fell asleep. In fact, it was surprising that he had endured that long, Zoro thought, he knew Sanji was not a very strong drinker. So they both slept on the deck's lawn leaning in a fraternal way, but which would still be strange as soon as they woke up, and that's exactly what happened.
Sanji woke up with a tremendous headache and got up cursing because he was late to prepare breakfast (not that anyone would wake up at the right time that day) and they continued their routine of silences and fights. Though both had tried to ignore that strange night with a taste of sake, Sanji's marked pulse was still present evidence of that night for a day or two and the blush on Zoro's cheeks in Sanji's presence in the days that followed did not deny that he was failing miserably at hiding his interest in the cook. And after that, came despair. Tricky as fate can be, as soon as he and the Neanderthal finally figured out how to resolve the tension between them, they were sent away.
Sanji took a longer drag on the cigarette, already at its end, trying to mask the tightness in the chest from the memory of the last time he saw the swordsman. After seeing the swordsman covered in blood from head to toe and waiting in anguish for him to wake up, after being more afraid than he had ever been in his entire life, Zoro vanished before his eyes that day in Sabaody and it was like a horrible materialization of his most recent nightmares. The worst silences of all. Zoro's silence on the infirmary's bed and the silence after he evaporated like smoke in front of Sanji. And the fear of these silences never being broken. The fear of death and separation. Fear of him never waking up again and fear of him never coming back again.
Shortly afterwards, however, he himself was also sent away. The memory of the anguish in front of Zoro's bloody body was still very recent and it took some time for Sanji to convince himself that he was fine, so Zoro was fine, they were all fine. They would meet again.
Now, they had been separated for several months. It would still be a long time before the date of their reunion.
"Two years of silence is a lot to endure." He thought to himself.
And Sanji was alone in hell. He stared at the wanted poster next to his bed every day, always thinking of the idiotic brute in the picture. Sometimes, he even talked to it, even though the photograph remained mute. Sanji discarded the cigarette in the ashtray on his dresser, and smiled. The thing that gave him the most strength to endure hell, beyond his commitment to his captain, was the certainty that after these two years he would finally hear Zoro's voice again.