The moon had shifted, and with it, the light in the room. Zoro turned on a floor lamp next to the table and lay back, arms crossed and feet dangling off the edge of the bed. The sound of the shower lulled him as he rested his eyes. He kept his mind blank, trying not to list the questions he had. He forced himself to be patient, not to invade the trust Sanji was building with him.

A part of Zoro didn't want to know everything that had happened. That was one of the reasons why he hadn't joined the search party to Totto Land. If Sanji's problem was his past, intervening would cause a change between them, an imbalance. When Sanji came out of the bathroom wearing the yellow kimono, Zoro couldn't help but smile victoriously. Despite this, Sanji didn't look at him, as if he wasn't in the room—or knew he was there and didn't mind. He dried his hair with a towel, moving it roughly.

"Calm down," said Zoro, not moving from the bed. "Oi, you're going to rip your head off."

Sanji sat next to him with an annoyed grunt, head tilted forward, hair tangled. He snorted and dried his face. A shiver made him complain again. Zoro straightened up on the bed and took the towel to dry him himself. He started at the nape, to deal with those shivers, and moved up the ends of the strands to his face. He was hiding again, and his hair was longer than Zoro remembered. Then, he leaned close to his neck and blew. The response was instant: Sanji shuddered and elbowed him. While Zoro laughed, Sanji finally looked at him. He didn't join in the laughter, but he didn't stop him either. Zoro understood at that moment the alarming intimacy they had reached. Sanji had assumed Zoro would be there when he came out of the bathroom and hadn't refused contact for much of the night. He folded the towel and finished drying the ends of his hair, this time without seeking confrontation.

"Zoro, what are your filthy boots doing on the bed?"

"Confirming if you want me to stay."

"I don't want you to now. And take the blankets you've dirtied with you."

"You'll be cold." Zoro tugged on his clothes.

"You wanted the kimono, here it is."

"You can wear something underneath."

"I've got something underneath," shouted Sanji, then moved. He sat in the same chair as before, legs crossed and body pointing towards him. Zoro remained lying down.

"I'm here because you asked me, it's not an obligation." Zoro closed his eye and resigned himself to the fact that, surely, Sanji had regretted everything. "You don't owe me."

"Did you stop and think that I do it for my own good, and not yours?"

"Then I'm listening. Why are you so defensive anyway?"

He didn't answer. Zoro waited. And waited. He looked him up and down from a distance, and resigned himself to the fact that the night could be very short or very long, depending on his next words or, at least, how the cook reacted to them.

"Come here, Sanji."

They locked eyes. He didn't repeat the order, even though several seconds, several breaths, a whole minute passed.

"Or I'll leave," he added, as a final warning.

Slowly, with a poorly disguised sigh of exasperation, Sanji got up and walked to the bed. He intended to sit down, but Zoro stopped him by the waist. Sanji waited for an indication, looking at the floor. He still looked annoyed, but his shoulders were relaxing.

"I didn't say sit down." Zoro said, with the same tone as before.

"Sorry."

"Sorry what?"

"Sorry, love."

"Good." Zoro sat up and placed his legs on either side of Sanji. He squeezed his waist with both hands, and then turned him towards him, slowly, leaving a caress on his clothes with circular thumb movements. The fabric snagged, but he felt the hardness of one of his ribs beneath. Sanji faced him, ready for Zoro's gaze to climb his chest, his neck, his chin, his eyes. From where he was, Sanji looked enormous, tall and proud. But Zoro knew how to crack that pride to find the real him underneath. "Now, take a deep breath and let out the smoke that's stuck up your ass. It's going to your head."

Sanji grumbled and grabbed him by the nape, stroking his short hair. Zoro allowed it, using all his willpower not to tilt his head towards his palm. The game of who dominated the night had become usual between them, but Zoro usually came out victorious. That night he had to win. If he didn't, Sanji would set the pace for the barrier he was building with each excuse and distraction. They had come together to talk, and Sanji was trying to distract him to avoid it. Without blinking, Sanji closed his fist in the little hair he could grasp and pulled back. He studied Zoro's face, smiling with one corner of his mouth.

"Behave," ordered Zoro.

Without hesitation, Sanji lowered his hand and started playing with his golden earrings, making them jingle between his fingers. Zoro couldn't allow the challenge. Sanji was asking for rough treatment, but Zoro felt him so fragile that night that he didn't dare to fully deliver what Sanji was asking for. He let him enjoy it, but for a moment. When Zoro felt his own will waver, he grabbed Sanji by the elbow. A silent warning.

"Yes, love," said Sanji, finally stopping. Some tension returned to his shoulders. Zoro saw the moment Sanji understood his place in the conversation throughout the rest of the night.

"Sit down." Zoro let go of him and patted his knees. Sanji obeyed.

He thought about hugging him but held back. Zoro leaned forward, almost without touching him, letting his lips brush the hair on his nape. Sanji's breathing changed; he took a deep breath and held it. The movement allowed him to lean against Zoro's chest, and he accepted the contact. Zoro buried his face deeper in his neck and murmured, so only he could hear:

"No one's watching us." Zoro allowed himself some contact again, just to massage his shoulder. Sanji let out the air. "We can talk."

"Did you lock the door?"

Zoro nodded silently. Sanji's hair tickled his nose, so he untangled it with his fingers, not caring about the tugs or flinching at the insults Sanji hurled at him. Among the complaints, Sanji murmured something clear enough for Zoro to hear.

"You didn't want to talk after Thriller Bark either."

He took a few moments to reflect before replying. At some point, Sanji was going to bring it up again. If not now, then later, but it still caught Zoro by surprise.

"There was nothing to say."

"But I needed to hear you." Sanji started combing his hair himself, tilting his head forward. When he finished, he focused on his hands, rubbing his wrists as if they hurt.

"I made my sacrifices, you made yours."

"It's not about that."

"Nothing bothers me about my decisions. It's not related to my past either."

"So Kuina didn't cross your mind in front of Kuma?"

Zoro felt a crack of two fragments within his chest. A physical pain, although it had nothing to do with his battle injuries. Those wounds would heal, but the void Kuina left in him would not. He glanced at the swords on the table, at Wado. He snorted softly and shook his head.

"Not that easy, is it, mosshead?" Sanji chuckled softly.

"You're the one who wants to talk."

"How do you start talking about something you don't even want to remember?"

"Say the worst first." Zoro intertwined his hands with Sanji's and crossed his arms over his stomach in a firm embrace.

"The worst?"

"Then you don't have to mention it again, just explain that terrible thing, but without giving too many…"

"Judge locked me in a cell with an iron mask."

Zoro didn't want to add anything, mainly because he didn't know what to say. At the same time, Sanji had ripped the words from his mouth before his mind could forbid it, and he didn't want to interfere.

"I was seven. Maybe eight. I spent several months down there."

"Why?"

"My weakness."

"What kind?"

"All of it."

And when Sanji started talking, he didn't stop. The words fell like bricks from a collapsing wall, and with each new detail unearthed from those foundations, Zoro restrained himself from reacting. He shouldn't be outraged by something that was already resolved. But so many things fell into place, like Sanji's determination to be perfect, getting defensive in the face of weakness, believing his duty was to sacrifice himself because he was dispensable, the crew's cook and nothing more. As Sanji talked about his mother's death, the abuse from his brothers, the dampness in the cell and the food he gave to the rats, Zoro rested his cheek on his shoulder blade, silent and attentive. The embrace remained firm.

He then spoke of an undefined weakness, because even though Judge evaluated the physical, it became blurred when he got angry at his determination to feed the rats. The inferiors. Even before feeding the hungry became an obligation of Sanji's own soul, there was a seed of nurturing and care that the cook underestimated within himself. Judge only wanted to destroy.

Sanji started to squirm in his seat after a long silence. Zoro knew he wanted a smoke. He felt Sanji's fingers move from side to side and began to scratch his arm, trying to disguise the anxiety with caresses.

"Do you believe him?" Zoro broke the silence.

"Who?"

"Judge."

"Sometimes." Sanji's voice lowered with each word. "Because sometimes he's right."

"Weaknesses exist in everyone."

"You're not weak. Not anymore, at least."

"Alcohol is a weakness."

"It's a bad habit; they're different things."

There was no point arguing with him. Sanji was in a mental state where he preferred confrontation rather than listen to possibilities, and they had had enough of those moments to force a change. There was a tense aura because Sanji denied his fragility in front of others, something they shared, but sometimes he let himself overflow with cracks. But Sanji had to show those cracks willingly for Zoro to help heal them.

"When Robin and Usopp left us," Zoro began, carefully choosing his words, "there was a moment when we both feared there would be no point of return for the crew. Do you remember?" Sanji nodded without adding anything. "When you left, I argued with Nami, with Chopper. But even though I was furious, I never felt that point of no return. There was something worse, a limbo. One I couldn't rationalise. Luffy understood it quickly. He never doubts his instinct, but I do."

"Where are you going with this?"

"Sorry for doubting you, I suppose I want to say. You deserved better. At least from me, because the rest of the crew had no doubts. And I shouldn't have had them, not with you."

They let time pass, embraced. Sanji was hunched over, head down, hidden in his hands. He forced himself not to breathe. Zoro didn't continue. He felt he had shared too much. He sought contact by brushing the hair from Sanji's face, over his shoulder, to try to look at him, but Sanji turned his gaze away.

"Sanji?"

"Stop talking." His voice was about to break. His body trembled once and he stood up.

Zoro obeyed. Fingers intertwined behind his head as he fell backwards. And waited.

Sanji's footsteps surrounded him, but Zoro didn't open his eye.

And waited.

Until the bed sank beside him and Sanji's warmth nestled next to him.

"I do remember that night, back at Water Seven."