A/N: I know… I lied about what OP couple I was going to publish a story about, but it was accidental. This one-shot just came out of me at random. I am working on a longer story about a different couple. I am working on my other stories, too, BTW.
"One Piece" = not mine. This story about its characters is, however. The title is a reference to a French term of endearment meaning "my little cabbage" or "my little pastry."
"Oi, Marimo! Wake up and eat."
Zoro knew immediately that the owner of the shoe nudging him in the ribs was Sanji. That guy would interrupt his nap and his lovely dreams of snoozing on fluffy cloudtops.
"Get lost," he grumbled, not opening his eyes.
"You're in bad shape, shitty swordsman. You just got your ass handed to you. You can't get better on sleep alone. You need food."
"Whatever…"
"I had a feeling you'd respond that way," Sanji remarked, a lack of concern apparent in his tone. "I wouldn't have even bothered if it weren't for Nami-san. She's worried."
Zoro knew that was a lie. The navigator didn't concern herself with anything but maps and money.
He was still curious – why had the cook brought anything for him? Among the Straw Hat crew, missing dinner usually meant that your share went straight into the captain's bottomless belly.
He had to admit that he was a little bit hungry, and the food Sanji had brought smelled incredibly good. He still had his eyes closed and wasn't about to open them now, but even without looking, he knew it was spicy dumplings, one of his favorites. He would never admit to favoring one of Sanji's dishes, but it was a struggle in that moment to not show signs that his mouth was watering.
"Well, I'm sure Luffy won't have any trouble putting away an extra helping… He appreciates my work!"
Zoro noticed an indignant, almost pouty quality to the other man's words. He found himself stifling a throaty chuckle with some difficulty. The statement wouldn't have been so amusing if not for the childlike delivery. From anyone else, it would be either cute or annoying. Coming from Sanji, it was just funny. The Love Cook didn't whine… It was hysterically unnatural. Even his footsteps as he turned to walk away sounded offended and huffy.
"What are you playing at, bastard? Since when do you give a damn about what I think of your cooking?"
The footsteps paused. The sound of the blond's immaculately starched shirt against his skin betrayed the fact that his back had just stiffened.
"I… I don't! It's just… nice to feel needed sometimes, that's all."
The green-haired man didn't dare let his eyelids part at this point for fear of letting loose a full-on guffaw at the look he imagined to be on the other's face.
"Yer barkin' up the wrong tree for that, Frenchie. I need you like I need a hole in my head."
"You've got one of those already."
Zoro almost jumped in surprise when Sanji's voice, previously a few feet away, suddenly sounded quite a bit closer. The cook's vocal cords buzzed in his ear and smoke-scented fingertips brushed the side of his face. The contact lasted mere seconds, but Zoro thought the resulting heat in his cheeks could probably fry an egg.
Luckily, Sanji didn't seem to notice. "Speaking of which," he continued plainly, "you need new bandages. Cut the 'tough guy' act and eat this while I go and get Chopper."
There was a soft clinking noise as he set down the plate beside the injured fighter and walked away.
'What the hell was that?' Zoro wondered as he listened to Sanji's footsteps. Only after he was sure that his fair-haired shipmate was safely out of sight did he allow himself to open his eyes and sit up. He picked up the dish and puzzled as he ate.
Normally, things were simple with Sanji – routine. They fought. They competed. They got angry with each other. That's how they worked. Beneath the machismo and posturing, they actually respected each other and, if you prodded them, they might grudgingly accept that they were friends… sort of. That was as deep as it went, though. At least that's what Zoro had thought before.
'What's with the sudden thaw?' he implored himself. 'And why does my face still feel like it's on fire?'
Zoro had, for as long as he could remember, been too preoccupied with his training to give much thought to romance. He'd always appreciated a pretty girl, but that was the full extent of his experience in that department. He'd never found himself attracted to a guy before. He'd never imagined Sanji as that type, either. Sure, the ero cook was kind of prissy, and yes, he wore perfectly pressed suits worthy of a magazine cover nearly every day, but he also became utterly useless in the presence of anyone wearing a skirt.
There was something about their interaction that afternoon that started the wheels in Zoro's head turning in a whole new way when it came to Sanji.