The first month, Zoro won't let Sanji out of his sight.
The Thousand Sunny still sails, but she's lost a bit of her liveliness. The sunlight, when it streams in through the open bedroom windows, doesn't even glow half as bright as Luffy's laughter did. Sanji still hears it echoing in the halls, the kitchen — whenever Sanji can bear walking in there, and he aches.
Zoro doesn't like when Sanji enters the kitchen, out of his reach, out of his sight.
They have an unspoken deal. They need to be able to see where the other is at all times. Zoro doesn't train anymore, but whenever his hands ache to hold and swing his swords again, he's always on the lower deck. Within the reach of Sanji's peripheral vision.
Zoro thinks Sanji doesn't watch him and thinks Sanji doesn't care enough to watch him. (He's utterly, terribly wrong.) Sometimes Zoro will stand by the edge of the ship, sword clenched between his teeth like he's ready to jump into battle and he'll stare out at the disturbed waves of the sea, blankly. Like he's lost all purpose.
The burns on his back have started to heal — either by the sheer intensity of Zoro's willpower or Sanji's lackluster first-aid skills — but it's not all gone. The bruising stays and the scars start to set in.
Sanji locks the kitchen. He can't bear to look at his knives and his pots and his pans anymore. All he can hear is Luffy's loud voice taking its soft lilt when he asks Sanji for dinner at four in the afternoon. All he can see is Nami's hand reaching for the rice or Robin asking for more wine or Franky demanding hamburgers for dinner the next day.
Sanji can feel the smile that stretched across his face as he said yes, yes, yes.
Zoro doesn't train so he doesn't need as much food anymore. He doesn't let Sanji lock the bottles of alcohol away, even draws his sword when Sanji reaches for the bottle. There's pure, unbridled anger simmering in his eyes, but Sanji knows it's not directed towards him. It never is.
"I'm not taking it away." Sanji says, as he takes the seat next to Zoro at the helm of the ship. It's the first words they've said to each other in a while now. The sharp bite of sea salt tastes bitter on his tongue, the wind pricking at his skin like sharp needles.
Sanji takes a sip from the bottle and Zoro glares at him.
"That was mine." Zoro says, simply. He doesn't move to take the bottle from Sanji.
"I'll buy you a new one, just stop complaining, mosshead."
And Zoro, surprisingly, obeys. He doesn't say a word as Sanji takes one sip, then another, then another. Sanji is haunted by the memory of locking arms with Usopp like this as they drank the night away. When the tears fall, Zoro doesn't call attention to it.
"I brought his hat back," Sanji manages to say through choked hiccups.
Zoro stiffens. There's a clench in Zoro's jaw and he reaches for his swords, in a misguided attempt to grasp for comfort.
"It was… completely destroyed." Sanji continues.
"Stop."
"We need to fix it."
"Stop."
Sanji tosses the bottle out into the waiting sea. "I think Nami had some threads lying around. I can fix it, I swear I can — "
"Sanji." And there's something sickening, something tender about the way Zoro says his name — and it's with a start that Sanji realizes that Zoro has never called his name before. Zoro turns to face him, face etched with concern and hurt and pain and he says, "Just stop."
It's hopeless, it's useless, he's gone now, Zoro seems to say and that fragile hope shatters inside Sanji's chest. It splinters and pierces his organs and the tears roll down Sanji's cheeks.
"I just want them to come home." Sanji says, and something on Zoro's face cracks.
Sanji is a man, he shouldn't be crying like this. He's the Pirate King's left hand (was, was, was) and he was once known as one of the strongest men in the world. Still, that ache, that cavity expands under the cage of Sanji's ribs. Sanji knows exactly what Judge would say if he saw him like this. He'd call Sanji weak, pathetic and he'd be right.
Sanji buries his face in his clammy palms and he doesn't acknowledge it when Zoro gingerly extends his arm to wrap around Sanji's shoulders. Sanji's body, wracked with sobs, just collapses into Zoro's side.
They never speak of it again.
They've taken to sleeping in the same bed now because the ship always feels a little too big, the nights a little too quiet. There's no loud chatter of Usopp and Luffy bickering or Brook humming a soft tune under his breath or the pages of Robin's book being flipped.
There is nothing. Nothing but the voices in Sanji's head. He aches.
Sanji rolls out of bed, grabbing Luffy's straw hat that he keeps on the bedside table and he holds it close to his chest. Zoro doesn't stir but Sanji is starting to think that Zoro doesn't sleep at all. That makes two of them.
Sanji walks across the deck to where the kitchen stands, locked and collecting dust. If he's being honest, Sanji misses his kitchen. He misses his knives, his dashboard, misses the meat and the vegetables that are, no doubt, rotting inside his fridge right now.
The idea of all that food going to waste makes Sanji sick, but he can no longer fry meat without hearing the sizzle and smelling the burning and thinking of Zoro using his own body to shield Sanji from the explosion. The worst part is that they hadn't even seen it coming.
Pirates don't go out from explosions. They get executed or captured by marines or killed by rivals, but never explosions. No pirate's death is ever an accident. And the thought of pirates like Luffy and Robin and Franky and Brook being killed by something as mere as a mistimed explosion is humiliating. It's haunting.
Zoro's scream from the night still rings in Sanji's ears. He'd gripped Sanji tightly, throwing his body to shield Sanji from the explosion and there hadn't been enough time to process what happened. All Sanji remembers is red, grit in his eyes, Zoro's tears splashing onto his rumpled suit.
The ringing in Sanji's ears still hasn't quite left and that's what Sanji is thinking of when he lets his back hit the kitchen door and he falls, sitting in front of the door with his back against it. Sanji doesn't let go of the straw hat. He can't. Even as sleep pulls on Sanji's eyelids and his head hits the door, Sanji clings to the hat like it's his last sip of water and he's a thirsty man in an oasis.
It takes Zoro two hours to get Sanji from his spot on the floor.
Zoro's face is blank as he extends a hand towards Sanji. "Get up, cook." That's what Zoro has gone back to calling him these days. Cook, cook, cook. Jab after jab after jab. Maybe Sanji should mockingly call him the greatest swordsman and see how Zoro likes it.
But, deep down, Sanji isn't cruel. He can't be cruel to the last person he has left.
When Sanji doesn't take Zoro's hand, Zoro crouches down so they're completely at eye-level. He gingerly reaches for the straw hat in Sanji's death grip, approaching him like you would a caged animal. Feral, angry, scared. Sanji doesn't have a fight left inside him and so he lets it go.
"You should try to get some sleep."
"I can't." Sanji pleads. "Every time I close my eyes, I see — "
Usopp's smile. Chopper sitting on Franky's shoulders. Luffy's long arms locked around the crew.
" — them." Sanji breathes out.
"I know." Zoro says. "I know."
"Then leave me alone." Sanji says, and Zoro shakes his head. He's so persistent, so annoyingly persistent. Sanji wants to kick him.
"I'm not leaving without you."
Sanji scoffs, ugly and painful and hurting. "Go." The I won't ask again goes unsaid.
"No."
"You don't know what you're doing."
Zoro grabs him by the shoulders and shakes him hard. Sleep seeps out of Sanji and he's overcome by a rage. He just wants to be left alone. Of course Zoro wouldn't understand that.
"Then, tell me." Zoro says, pleads rather and Sanji does exactly what Zoro asks of him.
Sanji punches him and Zoro stumbles back. Sanji knows he isn't powerful enough to hit Roronoa Zoro, but more than the power, it's the shock. Zoro's nose starts to bleed and he reaches to touch the blood, eyes wide. Sanji has never used his hands on someone before.
Even when the worst came to worst, he never raised his hand on someone. It's almost fitting that it was Zoro first.
Sanji's hand hurts and Zoro's nose is still bleeding. Sanji's chest is heaving as he struggles to contemplate his actions, the gravity of what he's just done. He looks down at his shaking hands and he wonders if he's hit Zoro hard enough to make him bruise. Zoro reaches for his hand, running his thumb over Sanji's knuckles.
"It's okay." Zoro says and he truly sounds like he means it. "It's okay."
Sanji collapses and Zoro catches him, wrapping his arm around Sanji's middle. "Don't leave. Please." Sanji begs, and Zoro's breath hitches as he says that he won't. He sounds like he means it, but then again, Luffy did, too. And then he left.
"I'm not going anywhere." Zoro promises, the words whispered in the tuft of Sanji's hair. His fingers curl at the base of Sanji's neck, like he's trying to stabilize him and Sanji leans into the touch, starved and pathetic that he is. If that night, Zoro holds Sanji closer, they don't speak of it ever again.
For the first time in his life, Sanji's hands bruise. There's a red scruff running across his knuckles and it's so painfully obvious that the bruising is a byproduct of a fight. Zoro doesn't let him look at it for long, just wraps Sanji's hand in bandages and presses a kiss into the curve of his palm.
They're still wracked by the nightmares, the ringing in their ears, Zoro's loud screaming. Sometimes, he thrashes and shakes and Sanji doesn't know what to do. The scarring is horrible and brash and Zoro only ever touches his swords when he needs comfort.
Sanji doesn't take the lock off the kitchen door. He can't face the food he's let rot. That's the one thing he's terrified he won't be able to come back from. If Zeff knew about all this, he'd never forgive Sanji.
Sanji wonders how far the news has spread. If the people at Baratie, if the people in Luffy's hometown, if their crew's family and friends have heard about what happened. He wonders what Garp thinks, if he's upset about his grandson's death or happy that another pirate is buried.
When Sanji asks Zoro, he gets a clipped response. "He was family," is all Zoro says.
Family. It's a cursed word. His family was Judge, then Zeff, then the Straw Hats. It's funny how the only person he has left is Zoro. Zoro, who's been nicer, sweeter and so considerate with him that Sanji can't make sense of him anymore. It's hard to remember times when they'd be at each other's throats when now, Sanji can't think of one person who holds him tighter than Zoro.
Sanji wonders how much of it was an act. Maybe all the time they spent fighting was time wasted. Because one day, Zoro gets really drunk and he leans into Sanji, pressing his forehead onto Sanji's and says, "I'll kill anyone for you."
It's terrifying to think that Sanji would do the same for him.
They don't talk much. They don't think much. They're drunk and they're upset and Luffy's straw hat at their bedside serves as nothing more than a cruel reminder of what happened. It's difficult to sleep, it's difficult to eat and it's so easy to make mistakes. That's what Sanji is thinking when he first kisses Zoro. This is a mistake.
This is a mistake. They won't be able to come back from this. How much of it is just loneliness and how much of it is genuine? These questions casually stream into Sanji's overactive brain, but Zoro slots his mouth against Sanji's and Sanji's mind empties itself.
Sanji hasn't kissed a lot of men. There was Ace, once upon a time, but they both knew it'd never work out. It was a momentary comfort. But Zoro is different. He's always been different. He's the only person Sanji has left. Oh, how the tables turn.
"Law called," Zoro says, lacing his fingers with Sanji's when they've parted. "He's going to come find us."
"Okay." Sanji says. "Okay."
"If something happens," Zoro says, because that is something they have to worry about now. Their friends, their alliances, their enemies — everyone is a stranger to them now. "I'll protect you."
Sanji stares at the bandages that wrap his hand. "I know." He says.