We are terrible for each other, and, yes, we are a disaster. But tell me your heart doesn’t race for a hurricane or a burning building. I’d rather die terrified than live forever. (mistakes aren’t always regrets)
.
Zoro's breathing is stuttered and wet.
Every cell in Sanji's body vibrates as he walks through a random door he's picked of the many in this long hall. A candle burns, the single light dim and low, painting the room copper and gold.
His footsteps echo as he walks further in, his acute hearing picking up the drop of water from a leak somewhere. It makes the room damp. Makes it smell like mildew, like wet rust. And yet, the chaos happening on the other side of the door has muffled, like Sanji has walked into a different dimension upon entering this room.
Zoro sucks in air and starts to choke a bit.
Fuck, Sanji's been here before.
It's tattooed in the back of his eyelids: a circumference of blood, Zoro more wounds than man, his eyes distant, his heart slowing to a stop. Nothing happened.
"Fuck you," Sanji whispers as he sets him down on a flat surface.
He hyper focuses on his chest, waiting to see it rise and fall, waiting to see him breathe. Waiting to see he's still alive.
"C'mon, you selfish bastard."
"Are you... checking me out?"
Sanji jumps back, blue eyes wide as he shifts to look at Zoro's face. His eye is glazed with pain, his lips chapped and bleeding. Sanji'd tried to wipe his face from the blood that covered every bit of his tanned skin just before he started to bandage his head wound. Now, he looks mildly ridiculous with a thick crown of bandages, golden skin turned pink.
"Don't be a prick," Sanji grouses, a sneer curling his thin lips. "I was making sure you were breathing."
"Right," the mosshead sighs. Speaking must be torture for him right now. And yet he won't shut up. "Sure you were."
"You're fucking half-dead," Sanji says, hoping to all hell that the fear that clogs his throat is as well hidden as he thinks it is. "You don't get to make jokes, bastard."
Zoro doesn't say anything, his eye fluttering shut again. It must be uncomfortable: he has dried blood caking his thick eyelashes, clumping them together. Sanji bites at the inside of his cheek, eyes drifting down to his chest, to see it rise, to see it fall, to see him breathe.
It's so faint, but it's there.
"I've been here before," he starts, voicing his earlier thought. What happened in Thriller Bark is a secret he will take to the grave because it's how the mosshead wants it. He knows a few others know, but Sanji is sure that Robin and Lola's crew, wherever they may be, will keep it safely tucked in inconspicuous places. In between their bones, just under their tongue where confessions make a grave in the mouths of cowards and good friends. "I've been here before. You always do this shit, mosshead."
To me, goes unsaid.
Because is it ever to him, if Zoro's gifted his soul to a ghost in his past and to Luffy? He mustn't have much left to give. Good thing Sanji's used to taking scraps. But that's a whole other monster that needs more than a fleeting moment in the middle of a war. He tucks it back into the figurative closet.
"I think we're even," Zoro slurs, his eye still closed but his brow furrowed. In pain or annoyance, who knows. Possibly both, all things considered. "You always leave. I always end up half-dead."
"That's not how it fucking works," Sanji mutters because the alternative is yelling so loud, his lungs will collapse. He picks up the roll of bandages again and starts to bind Zoro's broken body.
How much more can his bones take?
In Thriller Bark, he'd also been all broken bones and bruised organs. How Chopper fixed him up is a mystery Sanji still to this day does not understand. But Chopper isn't here---he's too far away from them right now and Sanji's hands were not made for healing. Not like this.
"Yeah, it is," Zoro finally responds. He sucks in air through his mouth. It's wet. It's still so wet with blood. He tries to raise an arm but it falls limp at his side again. Sanji pretends he doesn't hear bones creak. "In Little Garden. In Alabasta. In Water Seven..... While I was in Dressrosa and you---"
"Stop," Sanji whispers. "It's different. I always come back---"
"I always live."
Sanji grinds his teeth and swallows back the fear. It's hypocritical anyway. There's truth in the shit Zoro's spewing. Not that he'll ever say that out loud.
"Do you even know what you're doing?" Zoro breathes, looking at him with an intensity that sets Sanji's skin ablaze.
"Sure I do," he mutters. "It's like trussing a ham."
If he were able to, Sanji knows, the mosshead would chuckle. As it is, his gaze does not waver as he asks, "Am I a ham to you?"
The world is Zoro's slaughterhouse but Sanji doesn't voice that. This is the life they've both chosen: Zoro sacrifices his body and Sanji leaves to infiltrate and do recon. And sacrifice himself too, he supposes. Both tasks leave bitter and sour tastes in their mouths. They're one in the same, two sides of the same coin.
They're terrible for each other.
"You're not that appetizing," Sanji says, looking away because it's the only way he can hide when there's no one to shift the attention to.
Zoro wheezes, his eye half-lidded. "Liar."
"You always do this shit," Sanji repeats, thin fingers skimming the bandages near Zoro's hip.
"So do you."
Sanji nods, turning away from him to light up a cigarette.
i don’t know what the fuck true love even is but i do want to hang out with you for basically the rest of my life
.
Zoro doesn't like cooking.
He did it for a bit, back when he was younger and had to be self-sufficient. He knows how to make simple stuff: eggs and rice for the most part. Sometimes he combines them together. Onigiri, too, if one gets over the lumpy sides. And since Zoro has always been a simple guy, they never bothered him.
Food has always been sustenance and nothing more. He'll eat just about anything, sometimes even have seconds. Food is food.
He doesn't like cooking, but he likes eating.
The cook is pretty much everything Zoro isn't. He cooks so one eats not just with their mouths but with their eyes too. There's always an elegance to his arrangements that brings a smile to his dumb face.
For a long time, Zoro wondered if the others ever noticed the garnishes, the little faces, the careful way he added art with a dropper. Delicate cross-hatches, drops that went from large to medium to small to gone. Carefully picked fruits that compliment each other. Pastries with sugar crystals mindfully sprinkled over them. Did they actually pay attention to all of it, or has it always been just for himself?
Zoro started to take notice some time after Whiskey Peak. Just so that the idiot could have one person appreciate it. Quietly, in case the others did see the dumb cook's efforts. Quietly, because everything Zoro does is quiet. Even when he's loud, he's quiet.
But Zoro doesn't like cooking and yet...
And yet.
Sanji hums as he pulls ingredients from the cupboards and sets them on the counter next to the mixers and bowls. There's an unlit cigarette between his teeth and his dumb blond hair curls at the ends in dumb, distracting waves.
"Have you washed your hands?" he asks without even looking towards him.
Zoro has in fact washed his hands already because it's the first thing the dumb cook demands he does when he's in the kitchen. He doesn't say this because he doesn't want to give the prick the satisfaction. So he just grunts.
"Quite the chatterbox, mosshead," the cook drawls but Zoro's learned to pick up the teasing, the fondness.
Tch, the cook's fond of him.
Whatever.
"Pour five ounces of vinegar onto that bowl," the cook instructs as he heads towards the fridge.
Zoro does as instructed. He's learned to listen carefully to what the cook has to say because, if he doesn't, he goes on a tirade that usually gets Zoro kicked out and not allowed to come help in the kitchen for days. Once, it took about a week before Sanji softened up again and let him stay with him.
"Two tablespoons of sugar," Sanji recites without looking at Zoro's work. He's pulling a tray with salted mackerel from the fridge. "I left these salting before breakfast. It'll make the process a little faster."
Zoro pretends not to care. So he grunts.
"Half a tablespoon of salt," the cook says with a bit of a laugh in his voice.
It makes Zoro's skin vibrate.
"Whisk it."
Zoro likes this part. He grabs the whisk by the handle and then begins to flick his wrist in even little circles. Bubbles form in the substance inside the bowl but the sugar and the salt quickly start to dissolve and combine with the vinegar.
The first time Sanji ordered him to whisk something, Zoro hadn't been as skillful which had made the cook sigh in annoyance and snatch both the mixing bowl and the whisk to show Zoro how simple the task was. Zoro'd given him an amused grin, but he supposes he'd failed in hiding the mischievous glint in his eye. It'd caused Sanji's face to turn pink which in turn made him stomp on Zoro's booted foot.
"Okay," the cook says from in front of the sink where he's washing the salt off the mackerel. "On the other bowl: add two tablespoon of yellow mustard." He sighs and sucks at his teeth. "I would have preferred stone-ground, but we're out. Ah, remind me to add that to the grocery list for our next stop."
Zoro won't remind him. Sanji never forgets.
"Add half a tablespoon of honey and half a tablespoon of vinegar."
Zoro adds the honey. It's a bit of a sticky business, no pun intended. He shifts so any extra honey doesn't land into the mix he's preparing because anything extra will change the taste and the cook will know. He blinks, setting the jar of honey aside and staring at the bottle of vinegar.
"How much vinegar?" he asks, because he can't just guess.
"Half a tablespoon," the cook responds, drying the mackerel with specific paper towels he keeps for food, not the ones that are out for the crew. This, too, he learned the hard way in the past.
Zoro does as instructed. "Whisk it?"
The cook comes closer, Zoro knows because he can smell the nicotine and the sea. It's so dumb, how he thinks of Sanji and the sea as the same. As if he'd formed from the sea foam itself, made of the salt and the sun.
Zoro looks at him as he hovers right behind his shoulder, eyeing the mix, his thin lips curved in thought. The cigarette twitches up and down from the probing of the tip of Sanji's tongue. Without warning, he looks at Zoro, his eyes a deep blue, eyelashes a dirty blond.
Zoro holds his breath.
"What do you think?" he asks and this is kind of new. The cook never really asks what Zoro would do in the kitchen. Zoro would do what Sanji instructs him to do, obviously. "Should we add dill?"
The cook could be asking him for his deepest darkest secret, for all Zoro knows. He can't exactly focus on anything coming out of his mouth when he's been pinned by Sanji's eyes on him. They're a deep blue, streaks of orange around the pupil, a little green hidden in between. If Zoro doesn't breathe soon he's going to die.
And you know what, that's okay. It feels like death would be a lot easier to navigate than this.
"Moss?"
"Huh?"
"Yes dill or no dill?"
This could be a trick question.
"No dill," he splutters, hoping he's chosen right.
By the curve of Sanji's mouth, it seems so. The smile is both soft and sharp, exasperated and fond. A contradiction, just like the cook himself.
Zoro exhales.
"Good choice," Sanji praises, his thin hand coming to rest in between Zoro's shoulder blades. He gives a soft pat, a short rub. It looks condescending, it feels like the very definition of intimacy.
"Whisk it," he instructs and peels himself away from him.
Zoro misses the warmth almost instantly.
"Then, combine the two and whisk that as well."
And Zoro does as instructed. When he's done, Sanji beckons him over with one hand while the other grabs a ladle. He hands it to Zoro, shifting to the side to make more space for Zoro's bulk.
"Pour it on top of the mackerel," Sanji instructs, taking the mixing bowl into his hands so he can hold it for him.
This part is hard.
Zoro can follow any and all instruction Sanji gives him, so long as the cook is looking away and busying himself with his own part of the prep. Like this, under Sanji's watchful eyes, Zoro feels vulnerable and like he's more susceptible to make a mistake.
These are foreign feelings to him. Zoro's a man confident in his skills, in all he's capable of and all challenges that are thrown his way. But it's different when he's in Sanji's territory, when it's Sanji's expertise, when it's Sanji the instructor and he the student. It's a bit of a shift in their dynamics. Out there, out in the world they're set to conquer, they're equals, they're rivals. Here, in their own little slice of life... Well, suffice to say that Zoro does not mind being led, if it's Sanji leading.
"Good," the cook hums, watching the careful way Zoro pours the sauce over the mackerel.
He has to make sure it's evenly poured, he has to make sure he doesn't waste anything. And when he's done, the look the cook gives him makes Zoro's heart flip.
Wordlessly, Sanji walks the tray back to the fridge, moving things around with one hand before he slides the tray in.
"We let it chill for thirty minutes," he says turning back to him.
Zoro swallows, giving a grunt as a response while he dumps all their dirty crockery into the basin. Cooking with Sanji is always uncharted waters, but washing dishes will always be a bit of a comfort zone.
He starts to let the basin fill up with water, dropping dish soup so it gets sudsy. The cook comes to stand next to him, dish rag in one hand.
"You know," he starts with a bit of a laugh in his tone. "You have a knack for following instructions. Who would have thought, mosshead?"
Zoro rolls his eye.
And grunts, because that always annoys the cook and Zoro must keep the appearances up and running.
"Hm," Sanji hums, his blue eyes shiny with amusement.
"I could do this every day," he says. It's a light statement but the meaning is heavy. He hopes... he hopes.
The cook looks at him some more, his expression open for once. It's like staring into a mirror, Zoro thinks, watching all he carries reflected right back to him.
Sanji's lips curve to one side into a crooked, shy smile.
"With a little more practice, you may just be able to," he says, he invites. In that dumb flippant way of his because if Sanji is anything it’s infuriating, easy to dig his way in under the skin. Then, more softly, so only Zoro can hear, so even Zoro could very well miss it, "Me too."
Zoro exhales the breath he hadn't known he was holding.
The snail phone rings while Satoru is on dish washing duty.
His new caregivers are out in the balcony, the sliding door closed to keep the smoke of Sanji-sensei's cigarette from coming in. He likes them, Satoru thinks. It's so silly that they care about him not inhaling some of the smoke, not wanting to expose him to second-hand smoking. So silly.
But because the balcony door is closed, they can't hear the snail phone ring with a low piri-piri-piri. Satoru looks at them, then at the phone and only takes a moment longer to hop off his stool and walk to the neatly decorated table in the sitting room. He grabs the snail phone and accepts the call.
Immediately, the snail's features transform to big, doe eyes with long eyelashes.
"Hello, this is Satoru speaking." He needs to remember his manners or Sanji-sensei will be disappointed. "How can I help ya?"
Its quiet on the other line for a moment before a deep inhale is heard and then: "Who?"
"Satoru! Hi!" Weird that he's made to repeat himself. He feels like he's speaking very clearly.
"...Satoru...? Did I connect to the wrong snail phone?" There's some rummaging on the other line and Satoru politely waits for them to get their things together. "H-hey! Luffy, give that back!"
The snail's features change again, this time with wide eyes and a scar under the left one. "Is this Sanji and Zoro's place?"
"Yup!" Satoru nods his head despite them not seeing him. "But they're not here at the moment. I am though, my name is Satoru. How can I help ya?"
More rummaging on the other side and the snail's features switch back to the previous person's. "Satoru, honey, how old are you?"
"Six! I'm a big boy now."
"Yes you are," says the lady. Why won't she give him her name? It's the polite thing to do; he'll have to tell Sanji-sensei that this lady is rude. "How do you know Sanji and Zoro?"
Satoru blinks at the question.
He loves both his teachers, even if they say they aren't his teachers anymore. They still allow him to refer to them as such because they're teaching him so much. Sanji-sensei teaches him to make yummy food even if he's still only allowed to do easy stuff and he's not supposed to grab knives without supervision. And Zoro-sensei teaches him how to be a good and proper swordsman! He also teaches him how to do proper watch up in the crow's nest and what to do if he spies suspicious ships or activity. He wants to be just like them when he grows up.
"I live here!"
There's noise on the other side of the call again. It's more than one person and each sound is made with shock and surprise but each one sounds different. A gasp, a groan, a grunt and even a yell here and there. What's going on, Satoru wonders?
But then the snail phone is gently pried out of his hand, his blond hair ruffled as Sanji-sensei comes up beside him. He smells like he always does: sea salt and smoke.
"Nami-swan?" He speaks into the receiver as he takes a seat on the armchair next to the snail phone table.
"SANJI!"
It's the loud guy from before.
Sanji-sensei flinches a bit at the volume but sighs in that way he does when Satoru does something wrong. So that means the loud guy has done something wrong too.
"Sanji, since when do you and Zoro have a kid?!"
Satoru blinks.
Sanji-sensei pinches the bridge of his nose but before he can continue to try and read his body language, a big hand comes to rest over his head and his grin is automatic. It's Zoro-sensei, looking down at him with a quirked eyebrow.
"The snail phone was ringing," Satoru explains.
Zoro-sensei dips his head in a slow nod.
"Satoru is one of Zoro's students," Sanji-sensei is saying into the phone, crossing a leg over the other in that elegant way he does. "He's been orphaned and now stays with us."
"Sanji, that's very sweet of both you and Zoro," says a new voice. The snail's eyes are brown, eyelashes long. He finds the new voice very soothing and he subconsciously leans towards it. "I did always see our Swordsman being an amazing father."
Zoro-sensei makes a noise that sounds like he's annoyed. He shifts in his stance, his hand sliding off Satoru's head and to his back to guide him away from the call.
"We had a deal, Robin," he sneers as he and Satoru walk away.
The last thing Satoru hears is a tinkling laugh.
.
Class won't start for another few hours but he and Satoru sit in the middle of the dojo and meditate. Zoro opens his eye to check on the kid, taking in his form and the easy rise and fall of his breathing.
He's a smart kid, he thinks. He takes things in easily and practices them until he can execute them to his satisfaction.
A smirk tugs on Zoro's lips as he closes his eye again. Reminds him a lot of himself when he was a kid, which can only mean he'll grow up to be an excellent swordsman if he so chooses to.
"Sensei?"
"I didn't know we were done meditating," he drawls.
There's silence for a moment and then, "Sorry... I just wanna know who those people are. S'that okay?"
"Why wouldn't it be?" Zoro asks as he opens his eye and looks down at the boy. He's already looking up at him with wide, innocent brown eyes.
"Dunno," Satoru admits, cheeks bloating up with his embarrassment. "I picked up the snail call without permission. And those people didn't know who I was."
This is something Zoro has taken notice of in the recent weeks. It's been close to four months, give or take, since they've brought Satoru home with them. But the boy still moves like he's walking on eggshells, like he's afraid that if he makes one mistake he'll be given back to the solitude of his old home.
He'd hoped Sanji would've taken care of it already, since he's better at talking about things than he is. But it looks like the problem's been dropped on his very lap now.
"We weren't in the room, and you were," he says easily enough. "You did very good in responding. It's your home too, Satoru."
The boy does a weird thing with his hands and arms, twisting them up and bringing them to his chest and then back out. Like wringing out his discomfort, except Zoro doesn't think it's discomfort what he's feeling. More like he doesn't know what to do with what he is feeling.
Understandable. Zoro's in his thirties now and he still doesn't know what to do with all of his either.
"I think Luffy and the others were out of range for a while," he continues, scratching at his cheek. "Or they would have called a long time go. They tried to establish a biweekly snail call, but that's not going so well, huh?"
Satoru snickers. "Guess not."
Zoro studies him a little longer. His cheeks have gotten a little pudgy, but that's to be expected when you're loved by Sanji. Currently, since classes are in the afternoon because of school, Satoru is dressed in khaki shorts and a collar shirt. He looks like a little Sanji and it does something really stupid to Zoro's heart.
"Luffy is my captain," he says, turning to look out the windows. "The cook's too."
"The Pirate King?"
Zoro snorts. "The very one."
Satoru jumps to his feet, slapping a hand to his forehead. "I was on a snail call with the Pirate King?!"
"Technically, you were on the phone with Nami," Zoro says after a good laugh. Man, Luffy's going to love this kid. Now that he thinks about it, he isn't sure he's ready for them to meet.
"Is that the rude lady?"
Zoro looks at him, a shit-eating grin stretching his lips. Oh, how hilarious. To think that Sanji's precious little summer squash thinks his precious Nami is rude. Amazing, poetic justice.
"The very one," Zoro says again and ruffles Satoru's hair.
Satoru reaches out and ruffles Zoro's own hair as retribution. He sticks out his tongue in focus, having to use both of his small hands to get the exact messiness he wants. Zoro knows his hair is now sticking up in crazy angles like how it'd used to when he'd been younger.
"Sensei, do you think they'll like me?" Satoru asks, blinking his innocent eyes. Then, color blooming on his cheeks he quickly adds, "If I ever met them?"
"You'll meet them," Zoro says, raking fingers through his hair to fix some of the chaos Satoru caused. "They come here every now and then. When they're not on some new adventure or whatever."
"But will they like me?"
Zoro looks at him and the nervous little hand wringing he's doing again. "I don't know, man, you did just mess up my hair. Not sure they'll be cool with that."
"Wha---sensei!" Satoru launches himself on him and Zoro snickers.
.
Days pass and soon Satoru is on another snail call with the Straw Hats. He sits on the edge of the armchair, swinging his legs back and forth as he talks to someone who has the features of a reindeer.
"Sometimes they argue," he's saying, staring at the blue nose and the round eyes. "It's funny because they get in each other's faces and it looks like they're going to give each other kissies---"
"Satoru!" Sanji calls, his face heating up. He's cooking while Satoru bonds with the crew over the phone. He points at him and then brings the same finger to his lips.
"Anyway," Satoru quickly says. "It's fun here. I really like it."
"That's so great, Satoru," Chopper says with genuine delight. "I would be afraid of a child being in the care of Sanji and Zoro, but you seem to be doing really great!"
"Mhmm! Earlier today, Zoro-sensei threw me into the sea!"
Sanji smacks his forehead, listening to the collective scandalized gasps. "He's fine, guys! He knows how to swim really well!"
Satoru nods, as if the others can see him. He seems very proud of himself and Sanji is filled with cuteness aggression. He feels that way often when it comes to the boy; he wants to wrap his arms around him and shield him from the horrors of this world. He's already gone through so much and he's only six!
"Sanji, when will you be placing him in school?" Robin asks and Sanji watches the snail's features switch as Satoru comes closer so that Sanji can keep cooking and still be able to join the call.
He picks the boy up and sits him on the edge of the cooking island.
"He missed his first year," he says as he washes some zucchini. "Zoro and I will go and talk with the closest island's school and see if we can get him enrolled for the new year." His mind starts spilling thoughts the way it always does when it concerns Satoru. "Then, we'll have to think about plans for traveling to the island and back and the restaurant and Marimo's dojo. It's a lot to think about."
"Mmm," Robin nods. "Well, if you'd like we can always have a chat about homeschooling. I can help you create a plan."
"I'll keep that in mind, my dear," Sanji says, side-eying the way Satoru seems to have shrink into himself. He looks at the clock and then back at the snail phone. He gently plucks it from Satoru's grip. "We'll put a pin on this conversation, hm? Marimo's class is ending soon and I need my little sous chef to help me have dinner ready by then."
"Of course, Sanji!" That's Usopp.
"Satoru, keep your dads in check for us, okay?" And that's Franky.
Soon, after each of the remaining Straw Hat bids them their own good bye, Sanji hangs the snail call and sets it on the counter. He turns to Satoru, who's grown quiet, looking down at his hands in his lap.
"What's wrong?" he asks, leaning next to him against the counter. "You got a little quiet there."
"I'm sorry for being a bother," Satoru mumbles and it breaks Sanji's heart.
"Hey now. Don't say that." He tucks a finger under Satoru's chin so he can look him in the eye. "You are not a bother. Not now, not ever."
"But you said that it's lots to think about! Me and going to school and coming back here and, and---"
"I did," Sanji nods, starting to fix the collar of the boy's shirt. "Because it is. It's what adults do, little one. We think a lot about everything. Especially when it concerns the future of their children."
Satoru blinks the tears from his eyes. "Really? So I'm not... bothering you?"
"Quite the opposite, little man," Sanji says with a laugh. "I enjoy your company so much more than that silly marimo."
Satoru laughs. And then, "Is it okay if Franky calls you and Zoro-sensei my dads?"
"Is it okay for you?" Sanji asks, tilting his head.
Well, he certainly didn't expect to have a deep conversation about familial bonds with his little ward right in the middle of dinner preparations. It's an overdue conversation, though, if Sanji's honest. Now that the crew know about Satoru, they each refer to him as their little nephew. It swells Sanji's heart.
Sanji doesn't... Well, at the beginning of his little life, he didn't have the best father figure. In fact, he was downright awful. But Zeff... Far from perfect, he's the best thing that ever happened to a little nine year old that was one more mishap away from wanting to die.
He was loving in an unconventional way and he was hard and Sanji knew he was loved despite it all.
He isn't sure he knows how to be a caring parent like the ones he's read in novels, or the ones he sees in the restaurant or the islands or the ones he's seen in all his travels, even. But he knows that he isn't a quitter.
Satoru has his brow furrowed as he thinks, eyes downcast to avoid making eye contact with Sanji. And then he gives a very slow nod.
"I think it is," he finally says, voice firm and sounding almost comical given how small he is. "I like that very much."
"Good."
Satoru smiles at him and Sanji smiles right back. But he's also not very good at this whole feelings things; he still has a bit of a problem with feeling he's over-affectionate with his own Marimo. He taps at Satoru's knee.
"How about you return the snail phone to its table, and come wash your hands so you can help me with dinner?"
"Okay!"
He helps Satoru down, watching the boy scurry to and from the sitting room. He grabs his stool and walks it to the sink where he meticulously washes his hands and sings the happy-birthday song to make sure he washes them for as long as he's supposed to. It brings a smile to Sanji's face.
"So that means," the boy says after a while, "I can tell Franky he can totally be my super cool Uncle Franky."
Sanji sighs but the smile is still there.
.
It's months and months later that Sanji and Zoro and Satoru stand at the loading docks of the Chérie. In the horizon is the Thousand Sunny, sailing steadily their way.
She's exactly as they remember her: all Adam's wood, smiling lion figurehead, red and white and yellow accents. It brings a deep feeling in Sanji, his lips twisting into a grin that quickly disappears when the Sunny is suddenly flying in the air.
"Did those idiots use a Coup de Burst?!"
Zoro's laughing a full belly laugh, arm resting on the tsuka of his swords. "They'll never change."
Damn right, Sanji thinks as he shakes his head. They're much closer now, close enough that they can see the waving figures of their friends.
"Oh!" He gasps, waving. "Nami-swan! Robin-chwan!"
When the ship is close enough, Monkey D. Luffy, current Pirate King, stretches his arms so he can swing himself onto the docks without needing to wait for the ship to get close enough to drop anchor. He's broader now, a shadow of a beard forming at his jaw.
"Satoru?" He asks, blinking his eyes. And then he runs. "Hi!"
Satoru gasps, looking up at Sanji and then at Zoro. Feeling like they approve, he starts to run too. Luffy picks him up and swings him around much to the boy's delight. Their captain sets him on his shoulders but not before placing his notorious straw hat on Satoru's head.
"Guys!" he yells with a loud laugh. Luffy will never change. His black captain's cape sways with the maritime breeze. "I can't believe I have a little brother now!"
Sanji and Zoro share a scandalized look.
"Not a brother," Zoro stresses, clapping his best friend on the back. "More like an uncle? Maybe? Loosely?"
"Very loosely," Sanji agrees as he places a hand on Luffy's unoccupied shoulder. "It's great to see you, captain."
And then, very much like he's done for as long as they've known him, Luffy stretches his arms and wraps them around each of them, coiling them like a snake and bringing them close to his sides.
"This is just like old times!" He says with a laugh. "I'm so glad! I hope there's lots of meat, Sanji, I'm so hungry. I miss eating your delicious food every day."
"There won't be anything if you break me in half, you idiot!"
The chaos ensues the second the Sunny finally docks. Nami and Robin come down to save Satoru from the clutches of their captain. Each lady hugs him close, admiring how well taken care of he is. Chopper chips in, asking the girls to set him down so he can get a good look of him.
Brook comes down playing a medley on his violin and Usopp follows right behind, running to launch himself onto Zoro and Sanji. Franky and Jinbe are the last to walk down the gangplank and Satoru is enamored by their sheer height and mass.
"Everyone, come inside," Sanji says, waving them into the restaurant. He's closed the place for the day so he can dedicate his entire attention on his dear friends. "Food will be served once everyone is seated!"
That's all he has to say for everyone but his marimo and his little summer squash to stampede their way into the Chérie. Sanji sighs, closing his eyes to relish in this feeling he's missed and the other one that feels like a headache. Which, in retrospect, is also one he tends to feel with his crew.
A hand slips into his and he looks at Zoro who mirrors the expression. His hair is a mess thanks to the wind, but his grin is crooked and pushing out that handsome dimple. Sanji squeezes his hand and they both turn to look at Satoru who's standing still, looking at them with glassy eyes and a straw hat on his head.
"What do you think, Sa-chan?" Sanji asks.
A watery laugh bubbles out of the little boy, cheeks a warm red. "I'm so full."
#cats of tumblr
#lana del rey
#horror movies
#photography
