Chapter Text
As a rule, Sanji made sure he always went to bed at the same time every night. It was important for him to get his full eight hours of sleep if he was meant to wake up and be at his best the following day. So, he had a routine that he followed meticulously, ensuring even if he was woken by Luffy’s loud snores, Usopp falling off of his bunk (again), or the haunting nightmares of his family, Sanji was always able to fall asleep quickly and rise with a pep in his step.
That was until he was taken to Whole Cake Island.
After the relived trauma of seeing his family again, he found it a lot harder to ease himself into dreams rather than being drowned in visions of his brothers and father laughing while they beat him to the brink of death. Then, he’d shoot out of bed with his throat screaming for water, a pounding migraine behind his eyes, and the relief of hearing the gentle rocking of the Thousand Sunny lulling him back to unconsciousness.
Over the last few night, he’d run to his kitchen, grab something to drink and focus on getting his heart calm and his breath even. Then, he’d go back to bed, not one to break from his routines. For the most part, it worked.
Sometimes it didn’t.
The sea seemed to stretch endlessly as Sani watched the gentle rise and fall of the waves below. In the darkness, there was something haunting about the vastness of it all, like the whole world laid before the crew, waiting with bated breath to see what their captain would do next.
With practiced hands, Sanji grabbed a cigarette from his pack, freshly bought from the last island they had stopped and caused trouble at. They weren’t his usual brand and the taste was slightly different, but the nicotine was exactly what he needed to shake off the nightmare that kept him up.
It was nothing special. Judge, as always, calling him his useless daughter while his siblings forced his his suit off, revealing the hips and curves he had fought so long to tone into muscle. Each of them spit vile words: broken, unlovable, disgusting and wrong. They forced him into their uniform, girly and pink like his sister's with a giant 3 on the front. Slowly, he felt his humanity turn robotic and cold just as he was pit against an enemy with a piercing black eye and familiar stupid green hair. Then, he woke up.
There was nothing particularly horrific about it, which almost made the nightmare worse.
After years of growing as a chef, leaving his family behind, joining the Straw Hats, fighting every beast and monster the world threw at them, the visions he saw shouldn’t have hurt as much as they did. He was a man, there was no question. He was strong, no debate.
"Broken-"
"Unlovable-"
"Disgusting-"
"Wrong."
Maybe.
Smoke filled his lungs, but didn’t clear the thoughts racing through his mind.
It seemed like no matter how much time and sea passed between himself and his blood, they would always haunt him like vengeful spirits. If they couldn’t torture him while he was awake, they would leach into Sanji’s dreams and turn colorful visions into monotoned horror. Each one had its own blend of brutality from his brother’s hands and venom from Judge’s tongue.
The cook should have been strong enough to fight them off. The nightmares shouldn’t have the power to keep him from his duty as the crew’s chef. And yet, he stood against the railing of the deck in the middle of the night wasting away his precious rest.
Sanji wasn’t ready to go back. Not if it meant seeing blood pooling around his crewmates again.
“Cook,” a voice interrupted him from behind. Monotoned and rough, the cook turn away to hide the puffy, harsh circles under his eyes. It apparently didn’t help much as Zoro mumbled, “You look like shit.”
Sanji hummed around his cigarette in acknowledgement, not willing to give his uninvited guest anything more. He had heard the swordsman climb down from the crows nest, but didn’t think he would have stopped to talk. The kitchen and its supply of booze were on the other side of the ship, as was the bathroom and anything else he could have needed for the overnight watch.
Talking to Sanji was out of his way, but the idiot would happily cross an island just to spit on the cook’s shoe.
“Can’t sleep,” he said, smirking around his cigarette. “What’s your excuse?”
The swordsman’s scowl deepened and Sanji took it as a victory.
Around them, the night sparkled with thousands of stars like diamonds. Blues, purples, and pinks twisted in a kaleidoscope of colors as galaxies spread across the cloudless sky. The moon was growing fuller each night, bathed in a cold white light that perfectly contrasted the beauty surrounding it.
The cook imagined how he could capture it. Maybe in the display of a berry tart with a plated masterpiece of jams and jellies or on the icing of a three tiered cake. He could practically taste it.
Sanji blew a ring of smoke imaging that it could reach up into the sky to reach them.
The wind ripped it apart instantly. Out of nowhere, a large gust pushed against the ship, pulling it forward as the anchor fought to keep the Sunny stationary. Sanji held on to the railing as the end of his cigarette broke off and fell into the water below.
“Damn it,” he huffed, trying to relight it against the wind.
“Those things’ll kill ya’ you know,” Zoro said with a huff.
“Finally giving up after all this time, Marimo?” Sanji jabbed right back. “And here I thought you’d jump at the chance to kill me. Finally, you’ve realized it just won’t happen. No one as stupid as you could ever beat me. Humbling to realize you’re second best, isn’t it?”
Predictable as always, he heard the familiar sound of a sword being drawn before Wado was swung exactly where his head had been only a moment before.
“I wouldn’t know, shit-cook. How does fourth place feel?”
It was easy to side-step away from the swordsman’s attacks, but the sway of the ship and the gales of wind were making Sanji too dizzy to swing back without falling on his ass. So, he kept his composure and used it to seem superior. Not that it took much.
“Shouldn’t you be keeping watch, mosshead?” Sanji growled, his voice a warning of his mood. “All your yapping is gonna wake up the ladies.”
“Nothin’s happening,” Zoro said with a shrug as his sword returned to his hip. Sanji settled back onto both feet just as he stepped away, moving towards the kitchen. “Figured I’d get a drink.”
“You’re not raiding the liquor cabinet while I’m up. Forget it.”
“Or we split something,” Zoro continued as if Sanji hadn’t spoken. “Looks like you could use it.”
Unfortunately, the moron was right. Sanji needed a strong drink. If not to forget the nightmares, at least it would force him him back to sleep. If he had the choice to drink with someone on the crew, Zoro was the last person he’d pick, but there weren’t any other options. So, the cook begrudgingly huffed and pushed past the surprised swordsman to lead him across the Sunny. The grass tickled his ankle as they crossed the deck and wordlessly climbed the stairs.
Spotless and pristine, the dining room and kitchen were already ready for breakfast in the morning. The table was wiped, the chairs were pushed in, and coffee was ready to be brewed for Robin’s morning cup.
Zoro resting his swords against the wall was the only sound between them as Sanji opened the pantry and found a bottle of sake Momonosuke had given him after their battle at Wano. Those particular bottles was some of the finest booze he had ever received. He was planning to save at least one of them for the celebration of Luffy’s rise to the King of the Pirates. Sanji knew the swordsman wouldn’t appreciate the delicate taste of the alcohol, but they didn’t have much variety left in stock. Aside from some cooking wine and fruity liquors saved for the ladies, they were limited to the bottles the swordsman hadn’t gotten his hands on yet.
Carrying the bottle to the table, he turned back to grab glasses. The last thing he wanted was to wash more dishes in the morning, but-
“Don’t bother,” Zoro said, snagging the sake from the table and opening with his teeth like a barbarian. “Drink like a man for once, curly.”
“Gentlemen don’t drink like that, mosshead,” he said with a roll of his eyes.
“Take the stick out of your ass and fucking drink.”
Zoro shoved the bottle into Sanji’s hand with a raised brow and a challenge. Not one to back down especially in front of the swordsman, the cook took a large gulp, only stopping when the burn of alcohol made his eyes water and his throat croak. He handed it back to Zoro with a small cough and a hiccup, which made the swordsman chuckle.
“Can’t handle a little booze, ey cook?” he teased.
Sanji used the back of his hand to dry his lips as he bit back, “Some people enjoy the taste of alcohol rather than downing it to get hammered.”
Zoro hummed as he took an equally large gulp of the sake.
It didn’t take long for the crewmates to settle into the bench against the far wall of the dining room with a good gap of space between them
Franky had designed Sunny’s kitchen to Sanji’s requests, meaning it was his dream workstation. The dining room was just as important, with enough seating for the whole crew to have room as well as any additional guests they might pick up on their adventures. Extra chairs and an extension of the table were hidden in the back of the pantry against the wall where the cook could grab it easily. The bench against the wall was made of the same soft materials as the individual cushions that were easy to clean with the wipe of a cloth. It was also wide enough for the cook to use as a place to lay and daydream on lazy, quiet afternoons.
Rolling his shoulders, he felt the exhaustion of the last few weeks pulling at his eyes and seeping into his bones. Maybe it was a sign for him to go back to the boy’s dorm room, but Sanji felt content just resting his eyes between sips of booze. Getting up from the bench sounded exhausting.
The cook enjoyed the warmth of the sake flowing though his body and leaned into the fuzziness growing through his mind. It was surprisingly peaceful to sit besides the swordsman and the bottle back and forth as they silently minded their own thoughts. The cook even found himself smiling at Zoro as thanks each time the drink was offered.
“You’ve been acting different.”
Sanji sighed in annoyance. “You’re imaging things, moss-for-brains.”
“Ever since you got back,” Zoro continued as if he didn’t value his life more than pissing the cook off. “It’s obvious.”
Sanji didn’t respond, instead he put out the spent cigarette in the ash tray Jinbe had gifted him from a street vendor in Wano. It looked like a pond with blue at the bottom and green land surrounding the edges with groves carved to look like valleys. Without paying the swordsman a second thought, he grabbed a fresh smoke from his pack and lit it in one flick of his thumb.
“Talk to someone about it,” Zoro continued. The annoyance in his voice was clear. “Get your shit together.”
“Yeah, I know.” It wasn’t what he meant to say. Sanji was exhausted and drunk. He could feel the flush of heat on his cheeks as he laid his head against the cool wood of the table. “I owe it to Luffy. I gotta get over it. I just- I don’t know how.”
Zoro, as if he wasn’t expecting him to be that agreeable, stared at Sanji for a heartbeat. His one good eye scanned over the cook with a marksman precision. Black and cold, it was hard to tell what expression Zoro was trying to convey. He almost looked sad or worried, but the booze made it hard for Sanji to pinpoint. Both didn’t suit him. The cook would rather see him angry and screaming than whatever look the swordsman wore.
The warmth of the booze bubbled into fire.
“I don’t need you pity, idiot,” Sanji spat, already expecting a sword to swing at his throat. “Mind your fucking business and leave me out of it.”
“You’re the last person I’d pity,” Zoro said, the usual bite in his voice masked by a quiet, even tone.
“Good.” Sanji grabbed the half-empty bottle.
“But I can tell you haven’t slept in weeks.”
Fuck. He’d noticed.
Zoro, for some reason, had been paying attention. knew he had nightmares keeping him up. For some reason, the thought made Sanji’s stomach warm. He pushed the thought aside and reached for a drink he clearly desperately needed.
Drinking until he ran out of breath, the cook coughed fitfully once he could suck in air again. Zoro didn’t speak, just watched him with a cold, even stare. There was something behind his eyes. Something Sanji could normally figure out as he’d known the swordsman for years. They worked together, lived together, fought side-by-side and even the slightest glance could give him all the inside into Zoro’s usually vacant mind.
Sitting next to him in the kitchen, Sanji noticed a slight flush to his cheeks; one he definitely didn’t get from the sake. The darkness outside and the soft light of the lamps turned his bronze skin to gold. Zoro's earrings dangled from his right ear, catching the light of the moon and reflecting stars across the kitchen.
“It’s none of your business, Mosshead,” Sanji huffed, forcing himself to look away.
“Things that impact the crew are my business.”
Rolling his eyes, the cook lifted the bottle to his lips. “That’s a lame excuse and you know it.”
“Luffy’s worried.”
“He’s Luffy. He’s never-”
“Chopper asked me if you fell asleep at the stove today.”
“That only happened one-”
“Even the witch changed our course because it might bring us to an island faster.”
The swordsman knew his weak points and he wasn’t shy about targeting them. Being an annoyance to Zoro or a worry for the ship’s doctor was one thing, but creating problems for Nami was another entirely.
Too drunk to fight the swordsman without making a fool of himself, and too tired to think of anything clever, Sanji settled on anger and puffed out his chest.
“I’m sure Nami changed our course for a million reasons you couldn’t possibly understand. A neanderthal like you couldn’t comprehend anything even if she tried to explain. You only think about swords and booze and-”
“At least I don’t lose my shit over tits and hair.” Zoro caught his leg before it could connect with his skull. “Careful, eyebrows. I’m not cleaning up puke cause you wanted to be Prince Charming.”
“Fuck off, mosshead,” the cook hissed, all too aware of his vision swooping with his movements, sending the room spining around him. “Not- I’m not a- fuck-”
Prince. I’m not a fucking prince.
”Princesses are good for only one thing, girl. Don’t mistake your only value to me.”
Whatever fight pushed him earlier, disappeared the moment Judge’s voice echoed through Sanji’s mind. Zoro either didn’t notice or didn’t care about his sudden stiffness, throwing the cook’s leg back over the table and making the room spin again. Instantly, Sanji lowered his head to the cool table to hide his face. It was impossible to tell what kind of face he had made in the moment, but hiding it from the swordsman’s attention was the only way of keeping it from becoming ammunition.
Finding out Sanji was born into a girl’s body didn’t change anything between them. Explaining that he was a transgender man that actively swooned over womanly curves while also choosing to remove his own was a lot more challenging. Less because of transphobia and more because of pure stupidity on the swordsman’s part. Still, it was reassuring the next day when Zoro bickered and fought against him like always. A blessing in disguise as the swordsman never saw him as anything but a skirt-chasing rival. Zoro didn’t blink at his past and Sanji couldn’t trust anyone else to not treat him differently.
Luffy didn’t care that Sanji had been part of a royal family. Zoro wouldn’t either. Sanji knew it.
“Shouldn’t you be on lookout duty, Marimo?” the cook huffed, his cheeks feeling warmer than they were a moment before.
Zoro rolled his eyes and, after a moment of glaring at him, grabbed the almost empty bottle and stormed out of the kitchen. He paused, just for a moment on the threshold and said, over his shoulder, “Talk to someone. Our nakama can help.”
“You sure it’s not just you who’s worried about me, mosshead?”
He didn’t know why he asked, but it seemed like the wrong thing to say as Zoro turned and slammed the door behind him, leaving Sanji alone with the moon.