you got that something
ao3 Secret santa pinch-hit for Cheryn (offi-disc)
Sanji may have only sailed the Grand Line for a couple of months, but he has seen his fair share of devil fruits to form some strong opinions for them. Some of them are terrifying; Enel’s immediately comes to mind — the way he can still see the blinding flash of light and feel the pinpricks of pain across his skin whenever he closes his eyes — or Robin’s, in a beautifully fatalistic kind of way. Some are on the weirder side — Luffy’s, for one, but also some others, like the Baroque Works’ Mr. 3’s candle powers and whatever the fuck is going on with Buggy’s.
This one, though? This one is just annoying.
“How are you feeling, Sanji?” Chopper says, eyebrows furrowing in worry. His hooves are touching him all over — his forehead, his throat, his stomach — as if he can somehow sense the sickness on Sanji’s skin.
Sanji sighs. There’s a painful hum at the base of his skull — distracting, but he’s had worse. Luffy has given him worse headaches from his eating habits alone. “Honestly?” He says, gesturing vaguely at the back of his head, “just a little headache, around here. Nothing I can’t sleep off.”
“You sure?” Usopp pipes up, head peering into the infirmary. “You and Zoro were glowing after getting hit by the guy’s power, and the glow was ominously red.”
“Zoro has shown no symptoms so far,” Robin’s voice from behind the door adds, “so we figured the power must have affected you somehow, Cook-san. Perhaps it is something non-visible? A head tumor? An internal bleeding? An organ failure?”
“An organ failure?” Chopper shrieks, “somebody call a doctor!”
“You’re the doctor,” Sanji points out, patting the kid on the head to calm him down. “Besides, I’m fine. The power must’ve been something weak, like inflicting a flu or something.”
“Or you’re just not strong enough to repel it,” Zoro says from the other bed, a smirk plastered across his face. “Because I’m not feeling anything at all.”
“Yeah? Or maybe,” Sanji growls, head whipping to glare at Zoro. “The power is only affecting humans , and doesn’t acknowledge a patch of growing mold like you as human.”
“You’re trying to start a fight, Cook?” Zoro glowers back as he climbs out of the bed and scrambles to his feet.
“You started it first,” Sanji snarls, stomping towards the swordsman and pulls him by the collar. He watches Zoro’s hand move toward the hilt of his sword, and he twists his own leg, ready to spring into a kick —
“Stop it, you two!” Nami yells, slamming the door open. “This isn’t the time!”
“Tch,” Zoro grunts. Sanji feels the tension between them defuse, both fearing Nami’s wrath, and as Zoro leans away, Sanji feels something shoots up his spine —
“Wait,” he quickly says, pulling Zoro closer again.
“What the fuck,” Zoro says, clearly surprised, but Sanji ignores him. The pain has already subsided, turning back into the familiar low hum.
He experimentally leans away, releasing his grip on Zoro’s collar, and the pain is back — slower this time, like someone’s wrapped a band around his head and is tightening it, bit by bit. He massages his temple.
“Oi, Cook, you’re all right?” Zoro asks, hand hovering between them, like he’s unsure if he wants to reach out or not. Sanji would’ve slapped it away in any other instance; but he’s had a hunch, and before he can talk himself out of it, grab Zoro’s outstretched hand and hold it.
The pressure around his head is immediately lifted.
“Shit, Chopper,” he says gravely, “I think I’ve figured it out.”
-
“So the pain is gone when you’re touching Zoro?” Chopper asks as the rest of the crew fills in the infirmary, curiosity getting the better of them.
“Yeah,” Sanji says, raising his and Zoro’s intertwined hands for emphasis. “I think it has something to do with the distance between us, too, because it hurt even more when the shitty swordsman was still sitting on the other bed there.”
Zoro, surprisingly, doesn’t rise to the bait at the insult. In fact, Zoro has been going suspiciously quiet, face flustered and eyes refusing to meet Sanji’s. He’s barely gripping Sanji’s hand, his arms and shoulders visibly tense, like he’s ready to bolt anytime soon.
Sanji doesn’t fault him — Zoro hates him, after all. Not hate hate, obviously, they’re nakama — but Zoro insults Sanji whenever he can and challenges him to a fight just as often. There’s no one else Sanji trusts more than Zoro to have his back, but they aren’t exactly close.
And definitely not holding-hands close.
Well, fuck it, it’s not like Sanji’s having a grand time either. He squeezes Zoro’s hand, as if trying to say, look, I’m also forced to do this. Zoro’s face just turns even redder — he must’ve been so mad.
“—hugging?” Robin says, and Sanji is snapped out of his own thoughts. Zoro starts coughing beside him.
“Uh, I’m sorry, my dear, I wasn’t listening,” he admits apologetically, “you were saying something about…hugging?”
“I was wondering if the two of you could try hugging each other?” Robin repeats, and Zoro coughs again, like he’s choking on air.
“Shut up, Marimo, stop interrupting Robin-chan’s knowledgeable insights,” Sanji snaps, elbowing him on the side, and it’s infuriating, how Zoro just refuses to meet his eyes. “Though if you don’t mind me asking, Robin-chan, why should we?”
“If proximity between the two of you is the main factor, perhaps there’s a chance that being even closer could nullify the powers entirely.”
That…is sound logic, as painful as it is for Sanji to admit. He tries not to gag at the idea of hugging Zoro. When was the last time the brute took a shower again? Fuck.
He sighs, turns to face Zoro and opens his arms.
Zoro makes a choked noise that sounds a lot like a dying chicken.
“What? Believe me, I’d rather swallow your swords than do this, too,” Sanji says, feeling the migraine return as soon as he let go of Zoro’s hand. “But our brilliant, knowledgeable Robin-chan has a point. Let’s get this over with.”
“Swallow?” is all Zoro says, and Sanji just can’t deal with Zoro’s one brain cell right now, so he decides to walk up and hug him.
Hugging Zoro is…surprisingly nice. Zoro has a broad chest, larger than Sanji thought, and when he wraps his arms around Sanji in return he’s surprised to find that they’re long enough to envelope Sanji’s entire torso. They seem to be heading towards a Winter Island, the air inside the infirmary chiller and crispier than usual, but Zoro’s body is like a furnace, warming him all over. Sanji could feel his own body settle into Zoro’s embrace, like it’s natural.
It hits him then and there that he’s hugging Zoro, what the fuck, and he immediately pushes Zoro away by the chest. “All right, that was — that should do it. The curse. Thing.”
“Yeah,” Zoro sputters, looking flustered, though Sanji can’t figure out why. “You should — we were close enough — I mean physically — as in —” he clears his throat, and settles with a lame, “Yeah.”
Yeah . Sanji wishes he could agree with that, but he can already feel the pain returning with a vengeance, a sharp pressure around his neck. He winces, hand instinctively rubbing the sore spot.
“Not that easy, I see,” Robin comments, and Sanji continues massaging his neck, trying to ignore the way his body now feels very, very cold.
-
Chopper and Robin resolved to hit the books first before carrying out more experiments, and by the time evening rolls around Sanji manages to at least find a happy medium — five inches apart, apparently, is equivalent to having a crick on the neck. Not optimal, but manageable.
It does mean having the huge lump of useless muscle standing beside him as he prepares dinner, though.
Sanji is putting in the cooked rice on the pan when he sees Zoro reaching out for his condiments.
He smacks Zoro’s hand with his wooden spatula. “What do you think you’re doing?”
Zoro scowls. “Was just trying to help, Curly, calm down,” he says, pushing the salt and pepper bottles towards Sanji’s side. “You’d rather I just watch?”
Sanji imagines Zoro, scowling face and all, glowering at the stove as he tries to cook. Right. “All right,” he concedes, “but try not to break anything.”
“I’m not Luffy, Cook,” Zoro says indignantly, but he seems to be particularly gentle as he hands Sanji the eggs he needs for the recipe.
They fall into comfortable silence after that, Zoro occasionally passing the ingredients or some utensils, and it doesn’t dawn on Sanji until everything is properly served on the table that Zoro is surprisingly knowledgeable about cooking. Not anywhere near professional, sure, but more than a layman, and definitely more than Sanji expected of him.
He half-suspects that this is all in his head — a side effect from the headache or something — so he tries, “can you pass me the cilantro for the fried rice?”
Zoro hesitates for a moment, but eventually snatches a few leaves of cilantro from the small bowl on the pantry.
Sanji stares at him, wide eyed. He thinks his mouth is hanging open. “How?”
“What?”
“How did you know what a cilantro is?”
“I know what a — a see-lantern is,” Zoro says, unconvincingly.
Sanji raises his eyebrow. “No, you don’t.”
“All right, I don’t,” Zoro pushes the leaves into Sanji’s hands. “But you mentioned the fried rice, and since everything else is done, it doesn’t take a genius to guess you’re talking about those fancy leaves you always put on them.”
That — Sanji doesn’t even know where to even begin with that. “How do you even know what recipe I like to use for this fried rice? You know this has nothing to do with intelligence.”
Zoro shrugs. “It’s not that hard to figure out if you’re paying attention.”
“And you are?”
Zoro looks away again, and Sanji can swear he’s seeing a blush dusting across the bridge of Zoro’s nose, all the way to the tips of his ears. Is he — ashamed of this? “I didn’t know the others’ eating habits interest you too, but I do this all the time,” he finally says, after a moment, because Zoro needs to know being curious about other people’s diets is not that embarrassing, come on. “I think it’s interesting how people have certain preferences they aren’t even aware of, you know? Like Nami’s penchant for zestier desserts, or Usopp’s thing against softer tofus because it reminds him of mushrooms.”
Sanji thinks he makes his case pretty well, but Zoro just frowns. “That’s not the thing I was paying attention to —“ he sighs, shoulders sagging. “Never mind.”
Zoro starts putting all the spices back into the rack, signaling the abrupt end of their conversation; and Sanji can’t help feeling that he’s missed at least half the context.
-
“No fucking way,” Sanji says.
Zoro gives him a look from the hammock, like Sanji is the one being unreasonable. “Suit yourself.”
“I’m not sharing a hammock with you, ” Sanji hisses, trying his best not to wake the others up. He had somehow convinced himself that the problem would be resolved before the day ended, and foolishly went about his day without thinking about the… further implications of having to keep Zoro close 24/7.
In his defense, having Zoro around has not been as terrible as he expected. Zoro was surprisingly compliant throughout the day, following Sanji around as he did his errands without complaint. Zoro’s only schedule was his training sessions, and Sanji needed those trainings, anyway. They still bickered and fought, but even that wasn’t so bad — Sanji wouldn’t admit this out loud, but it’s nice , to have someone who can keep up with Sanji’s foul mouth and crass sense of humor. It reminds him of his days back in Baratie, where the cooks would hackle each other for fun.
Sharing a hammock with Zoro, though? That’s a different beast altogether.
“I’m not sleeping with you,” Sanji repeats, voice rising a little higher.
Zoro’s face burns at that, and it takes Sanji a moment to realize that his words came out wrong. “I mean,” he quickly clarifies, “like, literally sleeping —”
“Listen, Cook, I just want to sleep,” Zoro cuts him. He turns around so he’s no longer facing Sanji, and he lazilly mumbles, “‘m not gonna even look at your ugly eyebrows. Just go to sleep.”
“That’s my line, algae hair,” Sanji hisses back, but Zoro doesn’t take the bait. He feels a little defeated as he watches Zoro’s breathing even out, completely unbothered by Sanji’s predicament.
I’m not being stubborn, he tries to convince himself as he gets into his own hammock at the other end of the bunk room, feeling the migraine returning with a back pain. He loves his personal space, sue him — and Zoro sounds like the worst bedmate ever. He hasn’t showered for the past few days, he takes up space with those bulky muscles of his, and he snores. Sanji would rather sleep with a wild boar.
(And if Sanji were to entertain certain thoughts, in the safety of his own mind — perhaps the idea of being so… intimate with Zoro scares him; to have this ever-vigilant warrior letting Sanji into his own space when he is most vulnerable, all for Sanji’s sake —)
Sanji buries his face into his pillow. Stupid devil fruit making him think of stupid thoughts. He’s sleeping alone tonight, fuck you.
It only takes half an hour of tossing and turning before he finds himself climbing into Zoro’s hammock. Zoro’s breath hitches as the hammock dips from Sanji’s weight.
“Not a word,” Sanji whispers, and Zoro doesn’t respond. Sanji is not entirely sure that Zoro is awake enough to even realize what’s going on.
And if Zoro notices Sanji’s tentative touch against his back, he doesn’t say anything, either.
-
They’re not talking about it and it’s fine.
“Hold onto this,” Sanji shoves another paper bag into Zoro’s arms, trying his best to focus on a new recipe he’s making with the island’s unique and oddly-colored blue apples. The storeowner said they were more sour than the regular Grand Line apples, so he needs to adjust the amount of sugar on tonight’s pie, and —
He feels a hand circling his wrist before a light tug , and he stops in his track, barely avoiding bumping into another guy.
“Careful,” Zoro says from beside him, hand still on Sanji’s wrist. They’re now close enough that Sanji could feel Zoro’s chest against his back.
Sanji is immediately caught up in images from this morning — Zoro had somehow clambered all over his body overnight, hands and legs curling over Sanji’s torso like an overbearing octopus. And Sanji, embarrassingly, had responded in kind, head resting against Zoro’s chest like it was natural to be the little spoon to Zoro.
They’re not talking about it.
“I’m fine, mosshead,” he dismisses, but can’t bring himself to shake Zoro’s hand away, especially after Zoro was just trying to be helpful for once.
Zoro scoffs. “Yeah, right, just tell me next time if you don’t know where to go.”
“I’m not taking that from a directionally-challenged oaf,” Sanji bites back. “Hadn’t you been a lost child before Luffy found you back in Shells Island? Baratie’s been there a couple of times before. It’s a little ways from Shimotsuki, you know.”
It’s Zoro’s turn to get flustered, and he walks a little faster. “I wasn’t lost,” he says, defensive. “I was just doing my job at the time. Being a bounty hunter and all.”
Sanji snickers. “Oh, right, because Shells Island and its huge military base needed the help from a no-name bounty hunter from East Blue.”
“I had a name, they called me the Demon of East Blue,” Zoro counters, and Sanji can’t help laughing at the chlidish pout on his face. “Besides, it’s not like my mother gave me some pointers. Had to wing it most of the times, when Johnny and Yosaku weren’t around.”
It takes Sanji a moment before the information sinks in. “Wait, what? Your mom was a bounty hunter?”
“As far as I know, yeah. Didn’t get to teach me much, though — she left me in the care of Koshiro’s Dojo when I was around five or six to pursue a group of pirates that terrorized the neighboring island.” Zoro seems to hesitate for a moment, squeezing Sanji’s hand unwittingly. “She never got to return from that.”
Sanji feels like his heart is being squeezed, too. “I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be,” Zoro shrugs. “I mean, it hurt, back then. But she made her choice. They all said she died a warrior’s death, which is what she would’ve wanted.” Zoro looks away at that, and he feels untethered, at the moment; like he’s looking at someone, somewhere else. “She had a choice in how she died. That is more than what a lot of people are dealt with.”
He takes a left turn then, tugging Sanji along with him, and for once Sanji doesn’t feel like telling him that it’s the wrong turn. They walk in silence for some time, away from the cacophony of the market place.
Sanji waits until Zoro is ready to talk again before pointing out, “you know, this is — huge, Zoro. Why haven't you told me this before?”
Zoro shrugs again. “You never asked,” he answers, simply.
“That’s fair,” Sanji says. “Thanks — for sharing with me, I mean.”
“‘s nothing, Cook,” Zoro says, rubbing the back of his head with his free hand in a rare sign of embarrassment.
Sanji feels a little winded; unsure of what to think about this new information. This — new side of Zoro, who is more than steel and blood and the bodies under his feet, who has his moments of hesitation, and doubt, and weakness. He thinks of Zoro from this morning, still asleep, the hard lines of his face smoothened out by sleep, rendering his face impossibly soft.
Zoro still hasn’t let go of his hand. They’re not talking about it.
-
All right, so maybe Sanji likes his new routine with Zoro.
Zoro is more helpful than he isn’t, and even more fun to have around than he is helpful. Sanji has always known that they have a similar sense of humor, snarkier than rest of the crew is used to, but it surprises Sanji that they don’t bite hard each other enough to bleed — that Zoro only pushes his buttons when Sanji needs him to, and goes quiet before it gets too much.
They share things so effortlessly after the first few days of hiccups — spaces, as per the requirements of the devil fruit; but also other things, like stories and secrets and silences. Zoro helps him with the dishes, and Sanji improves Zoro’s workout routine on his legs. Zoro talks about this wonderful girl named Kuina sometimes, life snuffed out to soon by the cruelest of fate; and Sanji’s nightmares get easier when there’s another warm body in his bed.
This is a new Zoro, he thinks. A calm, steady presence by his side. Which is the same as the old Zoro, now that he thinks about it — just in a new light.
And Sanji likes him.
-
Sanji has always been a light sleeper, and he’s awake as soon as Chopper raises his voice a little higher, catching the tail end of his sentence of, “— you two all right?”
“It’s fine, I’m fine,” Zoro immediately tries to calm him down. “The Cook’s…managing, I suppose.”
Sanji knows he should announce to the room that he’s awake, but it feels awkward, considering they’re actually talking about him. He schools his breathing, hoping that nobody notices.
Chopper’s mind is clearly preoccupied, worry dripping from his voice when he says, “please tell me if something comes up, okay? I’m your doctor, after all.”
“I know, I know,” Zoro says, “You’re not just our doctor; you’re the best we’ll ever have.”
“That doesn’t make me happy at all!” Chopper says, and there’s a lull in the conversation as Zoro presumably pats Chopper on the head. They all have a soft spot for the kid, but there’s something about Zoro being soft in particular that makes something in his heart warms.
Chopper speaks up again after a moment. “I’m sorry that I haven’t found the cure, Zoro.”
“Nah, it’s my bad for trying to rush you,” Zoro says, and Sanji almost sits up in surprise. Since when is Zoro so eager for a cure?
“I understand,” Chopper says. “It’s for Sanji, after all.”
He hears Zoro sigh, and feels the hammock dip as Zoro leans forward. “Honestly, this is mostly a selfish demand from me. It’s — sometimes it’s so hard , I don’t think I can stand another day of this —”
Zoro is still talking, but his words have stopped making sense — all Sanji could think about was his earlier words, echoing in his ears like a curse. I don’t think I can stand another day of this.
Sanji feels like a fool now. He thought they both felt comfort in their newfound routine; that everything fell into place as naturally as breathing. But now that he thinks about it, Zoro is forced to be around the kitchen while Sanji cooks, cutting his training time short. He also has to follow Sanji around whenever they’re docked for a supply run, even though Zoro usually prefers wandering by himself until he either runs into a challenging obstacle, a generous supply of alcohol, or both.
What was Sanji thinking anyway? Nobody could stand being around him that much. Much less Zoro, who only a couple of weeks ago would turn up his nose at the thought of being in the same room with Sanji.
(He thinks of the rock in the middle of the ocean, vast and colossal; he was a frail little kid, but he took up too much space anyway. He always did.)
Sanji tunes the two out and closes his eyes.
-
There is a dull, aching pit in his gut. His head is swimming, bright sunbursts of pain flaring at the back of his skull. He grits his teeth, trying to chase the tension away.
“Cook?” Someone calls out.
He thinks it’s Zoro, but it’s kind of hard to see through the haze of pain. He jumped out of the ship as soon as Merry docked, and spent the day foraging in the forest by himself; he thinks the sun is setting now, the sky a darker shade of red, but it’s pretty hard to figure that out with a fever.
The person grabs him by the shoulder and forces him to turn around.
“Why are you here?” Sanji growls.
Zoro balks at the question; the hand on Sanji’s shoulder stills in surprise. “Why shouldn’t I be? The devil fruit —”
“It’s fine,” he says, shrugging off Zoro’s hand. He turns back and starts wading aimlessly through the foliage again. “I don’t feel anything.”
Zoro grabs him by the arm, undeterred. “You’re lying.”
Sanji glowers and tips his chin up defiantly. “Yeah? How do you know?”
“Because I know you, Cook.”
“Well, then you should know that I don’t want you here right now.”
Zoro’s face falls for a split second, like he’s been struck; but it immediately morphs into an angry scowl as the swordsman steps forward, closing the distance between them. “Where is this coming from?”
Sanji steps back instinctively. “I heard your conversation with Chopper last night,” he says bitterly. He can feel their closer proximity instantly working wonders on his headache and fever, and hates himself for it. “You told him that you wanted a cure as fast as possible. That you — and I quote — can’t stand another day of this . So, here you go. I was just giving you what you wanted, which, is coincidentally also what I want — some peace and quiet without seeing your ugly mug. You’re welcome, Marimo.”
He’s rambling, he knows, but he can’t help it; he remembers being a little kid on the rock, alone. Nobody is coming, nobody ever comes for him —
“Damn it,” Zoro curses, pulling Sanji out of his thoughts, and there’s a frantic, almost desperate look on his face. “I didn’t mean it that way, Cook —”
“Stay away from me!” Sanji lashes out and steps further back, except there’s nothing below his feet — it takes him a little too late to realize he’s backed himself up against a ravine, and before he could find his footing, he feels himself plunged into the river below.
-
“I’m not taking my clothes off,” Sanji declares, voice echoing against the wall of the cave.
There’s a particularly strong wind sweeping through the cave entrance, and Sanji instinctively curls into himself. Zoro, wet shirt already off and hung beside the campfire, raises his eyebrow at him.
“Okay, fine, I’m taking my clothes off,” he concedes, moving to hang his own blue shirt to dry beside Zoro’s. “But I’m not — cuddling with you.”
Zoro sighs, like he’s dealing with a particularly difficult child. “Just c’mere,” he gestures.
Sanji stubbornly doesn’t move, digging his pocket for a pack of cigarette instead, though he expects it to be as wet as the rest of his clothings are. It takes three attempts at lighting two wet stubs and another blow of cold wind before he drags himself to sit beside Zoro.
“We’re… sharing body heat, okay?” He says through chattering teeth. If Zoro notices the blush creeping up his face, the swordsman doesn’t comment on it; instead he slips behind Sanji’s back, circling his torso and pulling him until Sanji’s back is flush against his chest.
Sanji yelps and jumps in surprise, but Zoro’s arms around his chest are firm. “Stop movin’ around, Cook.”
Zoro’s body, somehow, feels hotter than even the fire in front of them; Sanji feels his own body thaw, burying itself into Zoro’s toned muscles. Pressed against Zoro like this, skin-to-skin, the devil fruit power is barely noticeable, and Sanji can’t help getting comfortable.
Too comfortable.
The conversation with Chopper sprung to his mind again, and Sanji straightens up, reluctantly trying to put as much distance from Zoro as their position allows. “...Sorry,” he manages to mumble after a few minutes of uncomfortable fidgeting. “I know I can be a lot to handle, but please bear with me for a couple more days.”
He can hear Zoro sigh from behind him, hot breath fanning against the back of his neck. Sanji shudders at the sensation. “That talk with Chopper…it’s not what you think it is,” Zoro says. “I like watching you cook, and, you know, spending time with you and shit.”
Sanji frowns, trying as much as he can inside Zoro’s caging arms to look over his shoulder and face him. “Then why…?”
“Was afraid of the other way around,” Zoro continues, voice low and hesitant.
It is an odd tone, coming from Zoro, who’s usually so self-assured. “What do you mean?”
“I was afraid I was getting too comfortable,” Zoro says, the words pressed against the base of Sanji’s neck, echoing the same thoughts plaguing Sanji’s mind for the past few days, “and I wouldn’t be able to let you go anymore.”
He doesn’t know who moves first after that — they meet each other halfway, lips against lips, fingers interlocking one another, and Sanji thinks, finally . The pull towards Zoro isn’t new, something the devil fruit has made familiar over the past few weeks, but the heat pooling at the base of his stomach is — he feels Zoro’s hands roaming his skin,and he can’t remember the last time he ever wanted to touch and be touched this badly.
“Stupid Cook,” Zoro says, because it’s so very Zoro — so very them — to insult each other even as their lips move against one another’s. “Wanted this,” he pants against the underside of Sanji’s jaw, “wanted you for so long.”
Oh, he thinks, that’s what this is. He slides a hand through Zoro’s hair, down his cheek and neck, and thinks, I want. He presses small, light kisses against Zoro’s temple, the scar over his eye, the corner of his mouth, and thinks, I want. He finds Zoro’s hand and entwines their fingers, the gesture somehow feeling most intimate, sending something rattling against his ribcage, and thinks, I want.
And as he lets himself fall further into Zoro’s embrace, he thinks that he doesn’t need a devil fruit to tell him how much he wants to stay by Zoro’s side.
-
“Are you sure you’re not feeling anything?” Chopper asks, wide eyes peering over the clipboard in concern.
“Nope,” Sanji says, thumping his chest for emphasis. “Feeling good as new, doctor.”
“Are you sure? A hundred percent sure?”
“A thousand percent,” Sanji says, patting the kid on the head. “And you would know if I wasn’t, right? You’ve already run all the tests you could; I trust you on this, Chopper, you’re the best doctor I know.”
“As if that would make me happy!” Chopper denies, hands wiggling adorably in a happy dance that betrays his words.
“Cook’s good,” Zoro says from across the room. He is leaning against the doorframe, watching the whole exchange from a safe distance. “We fixed him.”
“Don’t make it sound like I’m one of Usopp’s inventions,” Sanji grumbles.
“But how?” Chopper tilts his head, his curiosity now taking over. “I don’t think it’s because of one of my experimental medicines, is it?”
“I’m afraid not. I think Zoro and I happened to meet the requirements to cancel the devil fruit power. It’s,” he begins to explain, but immediately pauses as images of the moments inside the cave caught up in his head. He feels a blush making its way to his face, and clears his throat. “I mean, since the power is about — um — being close and shit, we just needed to be — uh — close to one another. Closer than usual.”
Chopper, thankfully, doesn’t seem to notice his embarrassment or awkward stuttering. “All right, then, I’ll inform everyone of the good news!” The reindeer says, scrambling to his feet with a big grin on his face.
Sanji watches Chopper disappear out of the infirmary before throwing a smirk at the man still standing by the doorway. “Guess I’m no longer stuck with your ugly mug, huh.”
“That’s my line,” Zoro scoffs as he makes his way towards the infirmary bed. “Don’t have to listen to your annoying ass anymore.”
Sanji doesn’t protest when the oaf plops down on the bed beside him. “Yeah,” he says instead, sobering. “You don’t have to.”
“I don’t have to,” Zoro quickly replies, squeezing Sanji’s hand as he says so. “You can leave if you want.”
Zoro’s hand is warm and solid around his own. Like an anchor, steadying. He doesn’t let go.
“I can,” Sanji agrees, and doesn’t let go, either.