He never saw it coming, because they all started out perfectly normal.
He'd be in port by himself, eating a skewer of grilled bird and enjoying the windless weather, with the street vendors around him trying to attract him to buy with all types of outlandish bargains and sales pitches – the usual mundane things that people's subconsciouses came up with in the dead of the night.
But then somewhere along the line – somewhere between the faces and venues blending into each other seamlessly, like they always did in dreams – things would get weird real quick.
In one dream, he was whittling in a dark forest clearing, basking in the faint glow of a dazzling sheet of stars, when the shitty cook suddenly showed up and started giving him a lecture on the optimal cooking temperatures for various meats, after which they were suddenly fly-fishing together on a giant, red, lobster-shaped dinghy.
In another, he was a lone warrior fighting off countless faceless enemies in a dizzying flurry of blows and kicks, drenched in the blood of his foes, when the cook suddenly materialized, leaning against a pile of dead goons and made several snarky comments about personal hygiene, completely ruining the tone of the dream.
And then there was the one where in the middle of his lovely meal at a tavern in port, the chef, suddenly sitting beside him (when did he get there?) leaned in toward him like a co-conspirator in some kind of scheme, and casually intruded Zoro's plate to steal a bite. The gesture was so impertinent it made several veins bulge in Zoro's forehead, but also somehow so jarringly intimate that he had trouble meeting the chef's lazy gaze in the real world for days afterwards. Every time the man served him a plate, he would picture Sanji's bony fingers reaching for a taste, his ever-yapping mouth strangely quiet, eagerly anticipating the arrival of the stolen goods.
"What the hell is your problem", Sanji snarled at him on one of those uncomfortable occasions, having mistook Zoro's discomfort for incivility.
Even so, Zoro did not lift his gaze to answer to the challenge, mumbling his retort at the floor instead.
Sanji shot an incredulous stare at the man, but quickly relinquished any interest in whatever was going through the weirdo's head and returned to his previous task in the kitchen. Zoro poked at his food, eating it half-heartedly, compulsively glancing at the cook's back every few moments, a squirming, uncomfortable feeling mounting in his chest with every glimpse.
This nonsense really needs to stop, he thought, and continued staring at the cook's hands as he served extra dessert to the women and – grudgingly – their hungry hippo of a captain.
He tried meditating right before sleep, first. He figured clearing his mind of all dumb ideas would result in a more peaceful, even sleep, free of crazy disruptions.
The following dreams did have a more tranquil and somber tone, but the shitty cook was still there, smoking quietly beside Zoro in the fields, forests, and mountains he dreamed up. Ignore him, Zoro thought, assuming a lotus position within the dream. Sanji tapped on his knee like a kid. "Hey, teach me how to do that." The flat sincerity of his request weirded Zoro out so supremely that he woke up immediately in a state of confusion and anger. Sanji never talked to him that way.
For some reason, his mind was messing with him. Zoro contemplated on how to fix it long and hard. People were always trying to read meaning into dreams, since they were supposed to come out of your unconscious mind. Maybe his unconscious mind was punishing him for his lack of discipline?
He tried adding several hours of training to his schedule right before sleep. At the point where he was one push-up away from passing out, he finally lay down on the sofa in the men's quarters, ready for a refreshing, dreamless sleep he reasoned he'd earned by now. It took several hours for him to actually fall asleep, drifting restlessly somewhere on the border of consciousness, but when he finally did, he found himself in the galley as the shitty cook's appointed taste tester.
"I don't even like sweets", Zoro moaned with exhausted incredulity at the veritable feast of cakes and confections spread before him.
"Oh please, you like everything I make", Sanji responded and literally shoved a spoonful of something in Zoro's mouth. He was right, of course. It was really good. With an air of defeated reluctance, Zoro took the spoon and tried a rich-looking chocolate cake. Sanji laughed.
"Idiot, you got it on your face", he said and brushed the corner of Zoro's mouth with his thumb. It would've been intrusive enough a gesture on its own, but then chef absent-mindedly placed the chocolate finger in his own mouth. Zoro woke up with a groan.
This has to stop, he cried in his head, too tired to get up.
"Stop it with the grunting", the real Sanji's voice complained from somewhere.
"Shut the hell up, you shitty pervert", he stated mechanically, no energy left for heartfelt insults. A pillow came flying at him in response.
I will dream of something else, he thought to himself firmly. He started repeating it in his head like a mantra.
"Give me back my pillow, algae head."
"Shut the hell up", Zoro said again and drifted off to sleep.
He dreamed of a sunny port town. He was sitting on an old, sturdy pier that had nothing in its near vicinity except a few seagulls circling overhead. By his side was a small lunch box, freshly made. No Sanji on the left. No Sanji on the right. Zoro let out a sigh of relief. He'd finally done it. A solitary meal right by the ocean. This was a premise he could enjoy.
"Well, are you gonna try it?" Sanji asked and plopped down next to him.
Zoro sighed again, this time very deeply. Masterful warriors would often land a decisive blow on an opponent who had become falsely assured of his victory before securing it. Quietly, he conceded defeat to whatever part of himself wanted this torture.
"What's with the panting? Dig in already, I want a taste too."
"If you're gonna be here, at least keep your hands off my lunch", Zoro moaned.
"Your lunch?" Sanji asked with an air of offended superiority. "The lord giveth, and he taketh", he said and snatched away the entire box.
Zoro slumped his head with exhaustion. Of course it was shitty-cook-made. When was the last time he even had someone else's cooking?
A pale hand placed the lunch back by his side. Sanji puffed on his smoke quietly, looking somewhere past the horizon.
"… Itadakimasu", Zoro said.
"You're welcome", the cook said, without a trace of sarcasm or hostility in his voice.
"Which do you like, for color?"
Why are you asking me like you're my girlfriend, he wanted to reply, but instead chose to laconically point at the blue one out of the two fruits the cook was holding up.
"Wronnnng", he returned, "this one is incredibly bitter and will ruin the dish, idiot."
Zoro rolled his eyes with exasperation. "Why'd you even ask then?"
His complaints were overridden by dream Sanji, like always. He put the blue fruit back in the market stall and started explaining about what ingredients worked with its flavor profile, and cooking techniques that brought forth the complexity beneath the bitterness. Dream Sanji went on and on about food and cooking: things that Zoro had always preferred to experience with senses other than hearing.
"Why not just get a fruit that's less bitter instead of bothering with all that", he said to interrupt Sanji's monologue as they strolled along the market stands.
"Because you can't get that kind of flavor in other fruit", Sanji explained. "Remember when you bought that cursed sword?"
"It was a good sword", Zoro said, smiling at the memory of almost losing his arm.
"Exactly. This is that sword. There's other ones that are easier to handle, but they're not this one. Because this one is special. And it needs a cook that's also special, because amateurs will never draw out its true potential."
Dream Sanji was too talkative, but he was good at explaining things in a way that made sense. Zoro could understand the excitement of mastering a challenging blade and towering above all competition.
"I can't wait to see how many weird things like this there are in All Blue."
"Isn't there only fish in that place?"
"No, there's all the fish. Hence, All Blue", Sanji said with some heavy-duty snark.
"But you could literally just try all the fish wherever else you can find them. They don't all need to be in the same place if you're going to figure them out individually anyway", Zoro retorted. It was the first time he debated cooking with anybody, but since it was his dream, he could probably count on having all the best arguments.
"Maybe, if they can be found anywhere else", Sanji replied without looking at the swordsman. "But that's what makes All Blue so great. Because they're all there, you get to throw out every rule chefs have held as absolute 'til now. You can create combinations of flavors that are impossible, because the ingredients are never in season at the same time, or could never be brought together because of how far apart they naturally exist. You can spend your whole life exploring what that place has to offer, and never stop discovering new flavors and combinations that change everything you thought you knew about cooking."
Sanji took a long drag out of his cigarette, while Zoro watched with quiet interest.
"It's like being the first man in space", the cook said thoughtfully.
The first.
Number one.
The greatest. The best. The champion.
Zoro could understand the impulse very well. Didn't everyone with a true passion for something always hold deep in their hearts a desire to be the greatest in their field? In Zoro's mind, it was only a matter of who had the guts to boldly reach out for that dream, knowing they may fail. The rest were too scared of falling on their ass, and thus tried to convince themselves they were content to remain mediocre.
He watched Sanji in quiet contemplation as the chef inspected several large fish that were placed in a giant barrel of ice. Looking at him now, Zoro felt a strange sense of recognition. There was respect between them, and then there was… something. He'd never realized it, but they had so much in common.
"Hey marimo, what fish do you think is the best?" Sanji suddenly asked, elbow deep in the fish barrel.
"Swordfish, I guess", Zoro answered after a bit of thinking. "I like the texture."
Sanji burst into laughter. "Of course it is", he said and laughed some more.
Zoro self-consciously pulled on the hilts of his blades, as if to hide them. He hadn't realized.
"Alright, swordfish coming right up", Sanji said and without any warning, gave Zoro a grin so wide and radiant it could have split his face in half. "When we find All Blue, that is."
There was something small and tingly moving in Zoro's chest, and for some reason he felt deeply embarrassed.
When he woke up, he lay in bed for a very long time, blankly staring at the ceiling. He felt rested, and yet somehow even more troubled than before.
He ruminated on the bizarre complexity of the exchange he had with dream Sanji. It was a dream, so it was his own mind he was talking to, right? Why was his own mind making up weird, personal conversations with a Sanji that was much more affable than the real one?
He massaged his brow and temples. It was like he wanted to see a different kind of Sanji. A Sanji that talked and listened. A Sanji who didn't kick him when he asked an honest question. A Sanji that looked right at him, and smiled. A Sanji that was relatable and direct and kind of … sweet.
He rested his hand over his eyes, feeling bizarrely embarrassed.
… It was a really good Sanji.