He wanted to ruin him with his hands, to bite him. The swords suddenly seemed impersonal to him, cold between them. Sanji had asked him to kill him if he went mad, and Zoro didn't understand why. Under the tremendous moonlight, with no traces of fresh wounds despite the short time since the battle of Onigashima, Sanji smoked calmly against the window of his assigned room. The cigarette kept his thoughts separate from the world, a barrier of smoke to avoid talking about his past. Excuses not to respond.

Zoro leaned against the window frame, his arms crossed, his gaze wandering around the room. Sanji pretended not to notice his presence. His hair hid the right side of his face, but Zoro could sense the gesture of annoyance by the direction in which the cigarette pointed.

There was no silence despite the lack of words. The streets of Wano celebrated even on their knees, dragging the fatigue of the hangover until the last moment of happiness. Sanji had chosen a good place to try to recover spirits, with one of his ideals coming true before his eyes. The false idea of eating as a privilege of the upper class had fallen, and Zoro had to admit it was a beautiful sight. He had rarely been hungry in his life, much less since Sanji joined the crew. Every peel, every seed, even the fish bones, had a greater purpose. There was respect in every piece of nature they consumed, honouring the breath of each. Although he would never admit it out loud, he often enjoyed watching him work in the kitchen.

"Oi, answer me," Zoro insisted, having waited long enough for Sanji to acknowledge him.

"That goddess who bothered to clean your grime while you slept wants to hear you speak. Talk to her."

It had been an entire day since he woke up next to Momonosuke's sister, an entire day of that argument. For the rest of the crew, it meant little because their clashes never changed. It was just another fight.

"Jealous?"

"Yes."

Zoro raised an eyebrow. He expected a mocking response, not pure honesty.

"Tsh." A minute ago, he was internally celebrating the lack of hunger, now he had to deal with jealousy over a woman Sanji had just met "She's a bit superficial, she's going to hate the stupid spirals on your face."

"I don't care what she thinks."

Sanji tapped the cigarette filter with his thumb, letting the ash fall out the window. There was little tobacco left in the paper, but he didn't seem willing to change it. He continued holding the filter between his fingers, those uninjured hands that held knives only for cooking and nothing else.

"What do you want, mosshead?"

"I already told you."

"It doesn't matter any more."

"I feel used."

Sanji inhaled, amused, and shook his head. He turned his face even more. Zoro could only see the back of his neck, outlined against the lights of Wano's festival, red, yellow, orange.

"What are you laughing at?"

"Used? How deep of you."

"I'm not an emotionless killing machine, curly-brow."

Those words tensed Sanji. He turned to look at him with an interrogative intensity, piercing his eyes. He searched for something in his expression with a furrowed brow, the curl pressed against the bridge of his nose, but as Zoro waited for an explanation for that attitude, he calmed down.

"You're right, Zoro, I'm sorry."

A new silence. An apology, how unusual. Apologies between them were unnecessary because there was an implicit consensus on the boundaries they shouldn't cross. Zoro couldn't explain how they appeared because they weren't verbal, perhaps in a deep analysis of expressions, the body's reactions to hurtful words. They could read the contexts, apologize silently.

"I have all night," Zoro insisted.

Sanji dropped his head forward, accentuating that hunch that indicated his mood of the day. He sighed resignedly. He nodded and muttered, okay, fine, but I need another cigarette. Zoro didn't blink while Sanji took out the pack and his golden lighter, a pretentious one. He lit the cigarette, and as soon as he extinguished it, Zoro took the lighter from his hand to examine the carvings closely.

"Enjoying the prince's life?"

"Shut the fuck up." Sanji snatched the lighter back.

They talked very little about the past. The bare minimum, especially when they were alone. What they knew most about each other came from conversations with the rest of the crew, around a campfire, or in late-night chats in the Sunny's kitchen. Sanji knew Zoro used to be a bounty hunter; Zoro, that Sanji was a cook at the Baratie. Sanji had noticed that Wado Ichimonji was the favourite sword, inherited from someone special, by the way he cared for it; Zoro, that he didn't use weapons; Sanji calculated how much Zoro had to eat to not faint during his insane training sessions, how much alcohol he tolerated per day, how long he could endure abstinence during restricted times at sea, that desserts should never be sweet, where he slept most comfortably on the ship, and when to leave the tea by his side so it would be at the right temperature when he woke up; Zoro didn't know enough about Sanji, he realised.

"What do you know and who told you?"

"What?"

"You want to know why I asked you to kill me." Sanji crossed the room, still shrouded in darkness, and turned on a soft, warm lamp. "If you want to understand, I have to go back to Whole Cake Island, at least. To Zou, to be precise."

Zoro nodded as he sat at the table against the wall, next to the bed. The room served multiple roles, as a living room and bedroom. Sanji had been holed up in there since at least the night before. He wore a wrinkled blue shirt, striped, similar to the garment he was wearing when they met. Why he specifically remembered that detail, he couldn't say, but he did, and he probably would never shake that image of his memory.

The lighter fell on the table, and Sanji sat across from him, ankle over the opposite knee. He straightened out the hunch as he leaned against the back of the chair with such elegance that Zoro couldn't understand how he could be the same person he found defeated by the window when he entered the room. Sanji blew smoke while looking at the ceiling, exposing his neck. Was he doing it on purpose to distract him? Bastard cook.

"You were forced to marry Big Mom's daughter."

"They tried."

"You found a woman who you didn't want to marry? Impossible."

"You guys can't survive feeding Luffy daily. You need me."

Zoro smiled. Sanji recognizing his worth in the crew was something new. Despite that, he let out a provocation:

"How hard can it be?"

The reaction took a moment. Sanji muttered through gritted teeth, loose words like "ungrateful" and "spoiled" and "stubborn swordsman." Even so, the words he directed at him were evasive.

"I thought we were talking seriously."

Zoro nodded and continued with the little he knew. The Vinsmokes. His status. His rejection of that status. Not much more.

"Nothing about how they brought me back?"

"Luffy dragged you back here, that's all I need to know."

"You got mad when I left."

"I got over it."

"And yet here you are, with questions." Sanji smoked, watching him carefully. "It never happened before."

"I deserve an explanation."

"Jealous of a princess?"

Zoro didn't wonder why he reacted the way he did, but he just let it happen. He stood up with more force than he expected, the chair screeching as he pushed it over the floorboards. His hip hit the table. He rounded it and placed his palm on the surface, next to the ashtray, leaning towards Sanji with a straight back. Sanji didn't look up. Zoro brought a hand to his neck, wrapping his fingers around it and pressing his thumb into the hollow of his jaw. The pressure forced him to raise his head.

"You still haven't answered my question."

"Because I have it under control."

"Under control?"

He murmured something about modified genes, about inverted eyebrows, about losing empathy. All Zoro understood was that Sanji feared disappearing because of a lineage he had rejected. They were close, very close, and neither felt uncomfortable.

"I don't feel you different."

Sanji's shoe heel pushed into his stomach. Zoro let go of his neck.

"As I was saying…" Sanji leaned back against the chair, adjusted his shirt, and cleared his throat. "I have it under control."

Zoro remained standing. He wiped his lips with the back of his hand and put his fist on his hip.

"You survived," he said, without looking at him. "That's enough."

"Not because I wanted to."

Something in Sanji's tone made Zoro kneel in front of him, holding his face with one hand as he lowered himself. The touch was different, calmer, with a care that rarely surfaced.

"Not even that Judge bastard could kill you."

"He wasn't going to give me the satisfaction of resting buried next to my mother."

Sanji's voice cracked at the end, but he tried to hide it by pulling his face away, breaking the contact of the caress. He covered his forehead with one hand, leaning against the table to hide. A gesture of shame.

"Nami explained to me that you saved the Vinsmokes despite everything."

"Yes, because I'm an idiot."

"I agree," said Zoro, patting his own knees. "I don't understand it, but I don't have to."

"Aren't you going to start complaining that I put the crew at risk and about mutiny and all that? You're getting soft."

"You're not the captain. That decision was Luffy's, not yours."

"It was my idea."

"Stupid ideas attract stupid captains."

Sanji chuckled, dismissing the continuation of the thought with a lazy head shake. Zoro lowered his hand, elbows resting on his knees.

"That's why Luffy recruited you first."

Zoro caught his ankle in response, pressing just below the junction with the leg. Sanji jolted, but not from pain. The last time Zoro touched beneath his cuff had been before they reached Dressrosa, amidst teasing about Sanji's secret flirtation with Torao (" Did you give him my Onigiris, you crappy cook!?" ). It had been long enough.

"I hope you were talking seriously, because otherwise it's not fun", said Zoro suddenly, his thumb making circular strokes upwards, until finding the edge of the sock. "And I always keep my promises."

"Of course you do, you're so intense."

"That's what you like."

"You're that eager to kill me?"

A smug smile crossed Zoro's face.

"The fact that you ask me shows I'm a better fighter than you are."

He hooked Sanji's sock with his thumb and pulled it down to where his shoe allowed. With his free hand, he lifted Sanji's foot to his shoulder and bit the skin softly, leaving no mark. He pressed his lips, and his tongue played with the available skin through his teeth. Sanji exhaled a puff of smoke, but nothing tore his gaze away from Zoro's lips sucking on his leg.

Zoro's hand went up under his pants, lifting them up to his knee. He caressed the texture of the skin and enjoyed the tickling of Sanji's hairs on his palm.

" Why did you change your kimono? ", Zoro murmured, his eyes already closed, and speaking between kisses to the exposed skin.

" I always make things more difficult for you, mosshead. "

Sanji sank into the chair, spreading his legs so Zoro could fit between them as he reached the knee. The pants no longer rode up, but his hand went on and on and climbed over the fabric until it squeezed the inner thigh. A suppressed moan, but nothing more.

" Are you playing hard to get, or don't you want this now? " Zoro stood up straight, although his hands remained in the same place.

"Sometimes it's necessary to feel something."

"That's not an answer."

"Aren't you supposed to be recovering?"

With an exasperated groan, Zoro was walking towards the door.

"It was just a question, Mosshead, nothing more."

"I asked you before." Zoro didn't turn around. "I don't like your evasive crap."

"Stay the night." Sanji closed his eyes as he spoke, his face scrunched up. Then he opened one eye to look at him. "Please. I'll cook you something."

Deep breath. Zoro exhaled and turned his head.

"You must be tired of cooking."

Sanji put his hands in his pockets, still sunk into the chair.

"Don't you want to eat?"

"I might."

"Now you're the evasive one."

Zoro bit his lip as he thought, smiled, and just gave a nod towards the door.