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hazzilyeverafter-onepiece · 7 years

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It’s Not That Simple (Chapter 11)

Hello again everyone! Enjoy Chapter 11.

Summary:

Zoro and Sanji are fighting.And that’s not really a surprise, exactly, because Zoro and Sanji are always fighting. But it’s different, this time.This time, it’s not physical, and Sanji isn’t up in Zoro’s face yelling and screaming and calling him names. There’s no swiping of polished katanas against the lithe swing of powerful legs. It’s not physical combat.This time, Sanji’s fighting with silent avoidance and quiet resignation. This time, their entire nakamaship may be on the line.And this time, Zoro doesn’t know how to fight back.ORThere’s something wrong with Sanji, but Zoro doesn’t know what it is or why it’s happened – why they’ve suddenly stopped brawling and hating each other left, right and centre. All he knows is that he has to fix it, or this Sanji – the Sanji that’s sunken and tired and so, so sad - may never go away.

Read it on AO3!

Now, the Straw Hats have a pretty intimidating reputation in the New World – Zoro knows.

He also knows that the name Roronoa Zoro has terrifying connotations – that it isn’t a name to be uttered freely or taken lightly, that the man behind it should never be underestimated, that the words following his name generally include ‘aggressive’, ‘ruthless’, ‘feared’, ‘killer’, ‘demon’ and sometimes even ‘devilishly handsome’, if he’s lucky.

…Okay, so he made one of those up.

But still, his point still stands.

To the wider public, he’s fierce, an unstoppable force with a mind of steel and a heart that’s missing. He’s unbreakable, an anchor for the rest of the crew, a rock to lean on in a sea that rages on, and on, and on.

And for the most part, they’re not wrong. He is strong. He is merciless. He is somebody who should never be taken lightly.

He is devilishly handsome. (He’s read it in the papers. All the girls say so. Too bad he’s not into girls, and instead has a strange fascination for complexity in life and giving himself thought-migraines and non-symmetrical eyebrows and men who fancy padded suits. He might be broken.)

So, they’re not wrong at all. But he also has a ridiculously soft side that only those on board the Sunny ever have the privilege of seeing and interacting with; a side of lounging on deck snoring loudly enough to be heard from the crow’s nest, of walking in circles for a good twenty minutes around a ship he should be long familiarised with but somehow isn’t, of petting reindeer and catching fish and wearing Hawaiian shirts on warm, sunny days. Of giving his captain piggy back rides when he wants them and striking ‘team attack poses’ with Franky not dissimilar to his ‘Pirate Docking’ stunt and getting harassed and punched repeatedly by a woman he could easily beat to a pulp if he wanted to.

Of spending valuable time in the galley watching Sanji cook, after sneakily peeking his head around the corner of the doorframe to find he has already been forgiven by the lack of a slammed door and a broken nose.

So yeah, he has a softer, more human side – but only when he’s surrounded by the people he knows he can trust with his life, who he knows he can let his guard down around and who really, when everything trivial is stripped away, are not so different from him.

Not so different at all.

And so, he’s sitting at the island separating the kitchen from the galley, thinking it all through – when this all happened and how strange it is that he hadn’t really noticed before now, hadn’t noticed himself slipping into this more peaceful and content persona, but he finds he doesn’t really care.

If he lets himself be honest, it’s actually quite nice.

“Hey, mossy.”

“Hmm?” He lifts his head out of his arms, and rubs his cheek that’s no doubt red and full of fold-lines from being pressed to his sleeve for so long.

When his eyes finally focus on the man leaning on the counter in front of him, he finds that Sanji’s wearing a gentle, amused smile that lifts the corners of his lips just enough to be noticeable, and his eyes are exuding an exasperated yet endeared expression that Zoro finds he can’t look at for too long. It blinds him, a little.

He averts his gaze, and sees that Sanji’s wearing his signature ‘Kiss the Cook’ apron, spotted with a few dots of water from the sink, sleeves rolled up to his elbows and top two buttons of his dress shirt undone.

Dressed in his usual attire, he looks magical.

“How do you feel about helping me out for once, instead of just sitting here snoozing and drooling all over my counter?”

Zoro snaps his gaze away from the collarbones he can see peeking out from under Sanji’s shirt, indignant and slightly offended because he doesn’t drool, thank-you-very-much, he’s a perfectly dignified sleeper with perfectly dignified habits.

He opens his mouth to tell Sanji exactly this, but Sanji interrupts him with an eyeroll before he can get a word in sideways. “Yeah, yeah, you don’t drool. Keep telling yourself that, and who knows, maybe one day it’ll come true.”

Zoro pretends to be offended, very much a lot, thanks, because how rude of him to say such a thing, but secretly he’s quite pleased that their relationship has developed to the point where they can practically read each other’s minds.

He parrots back at Sanji, “yeah yeah, keep rolling your eyes, curly-brow, maybe you’ll find a brain back there!”

He’s not sure if Sanji recognises where Zoro copied that comeback from, but the outraged squawk Sanji lets out and the shove that sends Zoro falling off his chair is a satisfying reaction all the same.

He lets out a startled laugh when his butt comes into contact with the floor, before quickly picking himself up and sending an exaggeratedly betrayed expression in Sanji’s direction, who’s pointing at him in delight as he cackles rather madly. “God, your face-“

Zoro huffs, tries to push his lips down where they’re rebelliously tilting up at the corners, and turns his back on the cook in what he refuses to admit is a flounce, making to exit the galley with his dignity still very-much-intact, because he’s being the bigger man here, dammit, when Sanji reaches over the island and bunches the back of his shirt firmly in his grasp.

“Oh, come on, don’t be like that,” he placates innocently, mirth still evident in his voice, “you started it.”

Actually, Zoro wants to point out, I didn’t start it, I haven’t touched a hair on your silky blonde head – it’s not my fault that you have violent tendencies, geez, but he doesn’t because Sanji’s still grinning at him with eyes that twinkle like stars, and Zoro wants to stay.

So he does, settling into the seat again with a small shake of his head, and thinks that the pleased grin Sanji sends him is enough to convince him to stay for a long time coming; for as long as Sanji wants.

“Now, about that help,” Sanji starts, and suddenly his voice carries an edge of mania; Zoro thinks not for the first time that Nami is not a good influence. “How do you feel about peeling potatoes?”

Zoro doesn’t really understand why that would be even remotely horrible, so he shrugs and follows Sanji to the storage room. It’s not until Sanji starts hauling a bag of potatoes the size of a small mountain back to the kitchen that Zoro realises, with no small amount of horror, that he may have made a grave mistake.

(Sometimes he momentarily forgets that their crew of nine can consume the food of a rather large army in a third of the time, but alas, he does not have the luxury of forgetting for long.)

Sanji, noticing Zoro’s reluctance, raises an eyebrow. “Still coming?”

Zoro grunts, and sees the challenge for what it is. He grins exaggeratedly wide, and wonders if some of the mania is in his eyes, too. He thinks his molars are showing. “Of course, shit-cook. Nothing pleases me more than peeling potatoes.”

He then proceeds to shoulder past Sanji and into the kitchen, and if he stumbles over Sanji’s conveniently placed foot on the way, well. He probably deserves it.

xxx

“How’re you going with the potatoes, mosshead?”

“Fine,” Zoro grits out, adding another peeled potato to the ever-growing pile.

Sanji laughs breezily from where he’s standing over the pots and pans on the stove. It’s a laugh that positively radiated I’m-calling-bullshit, but Zoro refuses to be cowered by some spuds. That would certainly be a new low.

“Still enjoying yourself?”

He slams the next potato down with a little more force than perhaps necessary, and plasters the most genuine grin on his face that he can manage. He’s not sure it turns out all that well. “Of course.”

If Sanji’s unsettled by his expression, he doesn’t show it. Instead, he just smirks and moves closer with even more unpeeled potatoes. “Good,” he says, dumping them all at Zoro’s feet. “I’m doing you a favour, then.”

He has the audacity to wink as he turns away, and Zoro seriously considers lobbing the next potato at the back of his stupid attractive head.

He doesn’t, though. He tries to tamper down the heat rising to his cheeks and the smile rising to his lips, instead.

xxx

Lunch is full of potato-centred dishes that Zoro suspects Sanji only makes to explain why he put Zoro through all of his earlier suffering, despite Sanji’s adamant denial when Zoro probes. Lies. Zoro knows that when Sanji flutters his eyelashes and softens his voice to say of course all 100 potatoes were necessary, mossball, don’t be silly and eat your food like a good boy, hm? he’s being patronised, but Zoro finds it hard to remain angry when Sanji immediately follows his words up by running his fingers gently through Zoro’s hair as he walks away, long fingers catching softly in slight tangles, dropping his hand to squeeze his shoulder lightly before he moves into the kitchen to bring out the rest of the food.

Zoro ignores the curious glances the rest of the crew send him, and thankfully, they don’t ask. He focusses his attention on the food, and finds that as usual, it’s delicious.

He appreciates it on a whole new level now, after his own fiasco in the kitchen. He knew cooking was a talent beforehand, obviously, but he never truly understood the difficulty of it until he tried it himself.

Being a chef is hard. And being a successful one is definitely something to be proud of.

“Sanji, these curly fries are so good!” comes Chopper’s squeal of delight as Sanji finally sets down the last few plates on the table.

“Hmmm,” Zoro mumbles in agreement, throwing a few more into his mouth while there’s still some left, “they remind me of your eyebrows.”

The feeling of his foot being crushed into the ground under the table is worth it for the groan that tears its way almost painfully from Sanji’s throat. “God, I hate you.”

Zoro grins, and kicks Sanji lightly under the table with his other foot. “No, you don’t.”

Sanji looks up at him, and shakes his head slowly. Smiles, eyes soft.

“No, I don’t.”

xxx

After lunch, Chopper pleads with them all to play something with him. It’s Luffy that suggests Limbo, probably because he makes the miscalculation that being made of rubber is enough for him to win.

Zoro thinks Luffy may have forgotten that they have a reindeer literally a foot tall and a cook who can bend in half on the crew.

He snorts, but helps tie the rope from the mast to the railing anyway, and settles against the mast ready to watch some live entertainment.

“What, Zoro, you’re not playing??” Chopper pouts, and Zoro shakes his head.

He’s not going to win, he may as well admit it, so what’s the point of making himself look stupid?

He lets out a surprised oof when he feels something soft and furry collide with his chest, and looks down to see Chopper clinging to him with huge moist eyes. “Pleaseee?”

Zoro, as usual, relents.

He needs to learn how to say no to cute things.

Sighing, he gets up, and begins to untie his three katana from his waist.

Chopper cheers, before running back over to stand with Luffy and Usopp, who are contorting into strange and rather alarming shapes with serious expressions on their faces.

Franky and Brook are no better, standing a little further away and stretching rather obscenely if Zoro does say so himself, and he can hear the occasional “Yohohoho!” and “Yeow! SUPER!” drifting over from whatever disturbing conversation they’re probably having.

He doesn’t notice Sanji sidling up to him until he’s nudged by a bony elbow. He turns to face him, and notices Sanji’s taken off his suit jacket and rolled his sleeves back up again. “Can’t believe you agreed to play, marimo,” he teases. “Chopper really is your soft spot, huh?”

Zoro wonders whether it would be appropriate to mention that Chopper’s not as much Zoro’s soft spot as Sanji is. Probably not. He keeps his mouth shut, and chooses to hum non-committedly instead.

“Is there a prize, or am I playing for nothing?” Robin inquires calmly from his other side. Zoro shrugs.

Surprisingly, it’s Nami who answers her question.

“Since I’m feeling especially generous today,” she smirks, teeth turning pointy, “the winner will receive 10,000 Beri from me.”

Zoro grunts. How pointless. He’s never going to win, so the prize money will never be his. Not that he could have kept it anyway – he’s still got that ridiculous debt he owes her, that he swears she increases the amount of every time he asks.

Still. The deal is too good to be true – Nami never gives away money, so he wonders what the catch is.

“But,” she continues, and ah, there it is, “the one who comes last has to double the debt they owe me!” Her eyes turn to Beri signs, and drool starts to pool in her open mouth. Zoro would mention the irony of the drool to Sanji, but the feeling of betrayal reaches him first.

Why, that witch! She knows he’s horribly inflexible and probably going to lose, and he also owes the second largest debt to her after Luffy, so she no doubt set the rules just to spite him!

He’s just about to march over there and tell her to take it back, dammit, and stop being so cruel when a steady hand circles around his upper arm and prevents him from moving.

“You are going to stay here and agree with Nami-san, mosshead,” Sanji breathes calmly into his ear, “or I swear I will kick your sorry ass all the way back to Skypeia.”

Sanji sounds serious, and this more than anything is what sets Zoro off. He swallows back the bitter hurt that surfaces, because what exactly is surprising? He’s always known that Sanji adores Nami – that’s just common knowledge, long accepted as truth, and he shouldn’t challenge it. But he wants to, wants to scream in Sanji’s face it’s me or her, it’s not fair that you get both, but what’s the point? He knows who Sanji would choose already. So he clings to the anger, instead.

“Oh, fuck off,” he snaps back, and wrenches his arm out of Sanji’s grip. “You know her second rule is targeted at me, you just don’t give a shit because she’s always been your favourite!”

Then he’s storming towards her, angry beyond words not just because of her proposal but also because he hates that she doesn’t appreciate Sanji anywhere near enough, but is also still everything Sanji wants. He hates it, and he wishes that it didn’t hurt as much as it does knowing Sanji will always take her side, will always like her more, will always choose her over Zoro.

It’s bullshit, and Zoro knows it’s not her fault, not really, but he doesn’t really care either because right now he just needs to yell at somebody. He wants somebody to blame, because if he doesn’t blame somebody then he’ll be forced to admit that nobody’s to blame, that it’s just life, that it’s just the hand of cards he was dealt and he’ll have to deal with it, no matter how shit the cards are.

Because they’re pretty shit, aren’t they?

He’s almost reached her, hands clenched into fists and breathing too fast, when he feels a dress shoe connect heavily with his back. He’s sent sprawling across deck, and it’s not really a super hard kick, exactly, nowhere near hard enough to send him back to Skypeia, but it makes him so bitter and shaken and furious that in a split second he’s jumped back up and is charging at Sanji.

It’s probably the fact that he doesn’t have his swords that throws Sanji off, because he doesn’t move out of the way quick enough before Zoro’s shoulder comes into contact with his chest and they’re both sent tackling to the floor.

Zoro lands more or less on top of him, and he doesn’t waste time before grabbing Sanji by the collar and shaking him, shaking and shaking and shaking so that Sanji’s head is lolling about, but then Sanji’s rolling them around so that he’s the one on top and when did Zoro become the one who was shaking?

“What is wrong with you?” Sanji hisses, but he sounds rather concerned. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you today, but you’re acting strange.” He grips Zoro’s shoulders, frowning when he notices the trembling. “Why are you shaking? Are you sick? Maybe you should lie down for a bit-“

“No,” Zoro swallows around the growing lump in his throat, and tries to calm his breathing. “I’m fine.”

He clears his throat, letting go of Sanji’s shirt and ignoring the fact he’s wrinkled it rather badly before shoving Sanji off. Confused, Sanji lets him, and Zoro stands and moves away quickly before Sanji can catalogue too much of his expression. He’s confident that he’s showing too much on his face, and he’s so scared, terrified beyond belief, that Sanji will get one good long look at his face and know.

And Zoro can’t afford that, so he walks back to the rest of the group who are standing stock still as they gape at him. It’s a small mercy that they weren’t close enough to hear his conversation with Sanji.

He shrugs, as nonchalantly as possible, raising what he hopes is a carefree eyebrow. “Limbo?”

“Um,” Nami hesitates, glancing at him with a slightly guilty expression, “sure. And because I’m feeling very incredibly generous today,” smiles, and Zoro notes the lack of Beri signs in her eyes, “I’ve decided whoever loses only has to increase their debt to me by 50%!”

Zoro sends a ghost of a smile back, appreciating her effort, and feels a little bad that he made her feel responsible for his outburst. If only it were as simple as a debt, though. If only.

He feels Sanji saunter up to his side again, but neither of them say a word.

Robin watches them with a calculating gaze, and it makes Zoro feel slightly nauseous because what if she knows?

“Would you still like to play, swordsman-san?”

He shrugs, and tries to act natural. “Sure, why not?”

Robin tilts her head slightly but drops it, and so it’s in this tense sort of limbo (hah) that the game begins. They line up, Luffy and Chopper at the front, and one by one they make their way under the rope. It’s not difficult at all yet – the rope is set at around Zoro’s shoulder height, and he finds the first few rounds a relative breeze. As the rope is moved lower and lower, the tension that’s suffocating them like a smothering fog starts to dissipate – because despite Zoro’s mood being slightly off, the occurrence of Zoro losing his temper and getting into a scuffle with Sanji isn’t news.

Soon enough the stoic atmosphere is replaced by Chopper’s giggles at being able to just walk under the rope every time, bastards, and it doesn’t make him happy at all, and Brook’s cries of “yohohoho, how this is putting a strain on my muscles – except I don’t have any! Skull joke! Yohohoho!” and just like that, the crew is once more at ease.

Zoro finds himself smiling faintly at each of their antics, but his heart still isn’t really in it and he can feel Sanji’s eyes on him, gaze prickling the back of his neck. He doesn’t turn to meet his gaze, but every time it’s Sanji’s turn to make it past the rope he finds himself staring at the elegant bend of his back, how he makes it look so graceful and easy and how it accentuates the length of his legs. How his hair flops downwards and exposes parts of his face that are usually obscured by blonde bangs, how his lips curl around his cigarette, how he smiles with his teeth showing, and Zoro’s seen enough.

It makes him feel queasy, knowing how gone he is for somebody who’s so clearly off limits, out of reach, untouchable. It makes him feel sick, because hadn’t he promised himself he wouldn’t let it come to this? Hadn’t he sworn that he’d keep himself under control, to keep his distance, to first and foremost make Sanji happy? To put Sanji first?

He has nobody to blame but himself, really. He’d known not to get carried away; known that he shouldn’t keep giving out pieces of himself to a person who clearly doesn’t want them.

“Hey, you sure you’re alright?”

Zoro blinks, and when he zones back in it’s to see Sanji gazing at him in concern, blue eyes swimming with warmth that Zoro suddenly doesn’t want directed at him. It gives him hope that Sanji cares about him, but what good is that hope when he knows he’ll never care enough, never care in the way Zoro wants him to?

Sometimes, Zoro thinks it’d almost be better if he didn’t care at all. It’d be easier to keep away, then.

“Yeah. I’m fine.” He shrugs off the careful hand on his arm, and makes his way under the rope. It’s getting quite low, and Zoro knows he won’t make it past more than another few rounds. He doesn’t really care, anymore – let Nami increase his debt, he just wants to be left alone.

A few minutes later, Franky falls backwards as he’s going under the rope, and he blames it on the fact that his arms are too heavy and they’re upsetting his centre of gravity. Zoro has a sneaking suspicion Franky could have made a few more rounds if he’d put in a tad more effort, but he decides not to look a gift horse in the mouth and doesn’t say anything when Nami adds 50% onto Franky’s rather small – compared to Zoro’s at least – debt, failing the next round himself and gratefully sitting off to the side to watch the rest of them.

He watches Luffy’s ridiculous backbends as he passes under the rope, Nami and Robin’s smooth glide, Brook’s flexible arch, Chopper’s delighted walk, and Usopp’s flailing limbs, but time and time again he finds his attention drawn to Sanji. He’s confident as he passes under the rope, knows he’ll make it, and there’s no tremble or teeter as he bends backwards as easily as if it were forwards instead.

It’s fascinating, and Zoro can’t stop staring. But it’s not good for him, he knows that – knows he needs to stop and get a grip on himself, needs to move on, so he heaves himself up off of the floor with a groan.

“I think I might go and take a nap,” he tells Franky, and pretends he can’t feel Sanji’s gaze following him as he makes his way to the men’s quarters.

He doesn’t do much napping. Instead, he lies on his bed, hands behind his head as he wonders about the correlation between golden boys and the stars, both so beautiful and so unbearably out of reach.

xxx

Zoro stays like that until he hears the distinct sound of dress shoes on floorboards, and then stays like that some more.

Sanji pushes open the door with an armful of bandages, and doesn’t look too surprised at Zoro being there.

Franky probably told him.

Or perhaps he’d asked.

(But why would that matter? It doesn’t. Zoro needs to stop fooling himself.)

Sanji dumps the bandages on his bed, and isn’t that lovely, doesn’t this scene just give him a wonderful sense of déjà vu?

“Limbo over, then?” he asks, more to break the silence than anything.

Sanji looks over. “Yeah.” He doesn’t look away again, just gazes steadily at Zoro as if he’s an enigma and Sanji wants to solve him. Zoro clenches his jaw, torn between offering to help reapply the bandages, and saving himself while he still has enough pieces left.

He’s always been a little bit reckless though, hasn’t he? Sacrificial. That’s part of who he is, deeply engraved in his bones, to put his favourite people before himself. It’s etched in the scars at his ankles, permanent. He can’t really see himself changing, doesn’t even truly know how, because if he’s not the Roronoa Zoro everyone knows then who even is he?

He meets Sanji’s eyes, and holds them with his golden ones. Sits up, leans his elbows on his knees. Hesitates, and then thinks to hell with it, pushes himself up off the bed, picking up a roll of gauze. Tugs on Sanji’s shirt. Drops his gaze.

“Take this off.”

Sanji obeys silently, and the similarity between this day and that one so many weeks ago now has Zoro’s fingers trembling slightly.

The same people, the same event, but a different time.

As Zoro wraps the bandages around Sanji’s shoulder, well on its way to healing now, he finds his mind drifting to whether things would have turned out differently if he had met Sanji at a different time. Perhaps they’d be different people, perhaps they’d be together.

Perhaps, they’d both be golden.

xxx

Zoro finds out at dinner that Sanji won Limbo.

It’s Usopp who tells him later that Sanji gave the money he won back to Nami, and told her to deduct it from Zoro’s debt. He didn’t need it, he’d said. Such a kind man, learnt it all from Captain Usopp…

Zoro walks out then, and makes his way up to the crow’s nest where he tells Brook to get some sleep, relieving him of watch duty. Zoro may as well do it, if he’s going to be up all night.

xxx

It’s around midnight when Sanji joins him in the crow’s nest, climbing in silently with two mugs of steaming coffee and a tired smile on his face. He hands one of the mugs to Zoro, before sitting down so close that the two of them are touching from shoulder to knee.

Zoro thinks about moving away, but it’s late enough for honesty and Zoro doesn’t want to, so he doesn’t.

They don’t say anything, for a while. Zoro gets lost in the feeling of Sanji so close, and wonders why he has to make this so hard for Zoro, why he has to ruin him.

It’s not until their coffees are just dregs in their mugs and their mugs have long gone cold that Sanji breaks the silence.

“Do you ever feel like,” he whispers into the darkness, words weaving into the breeze, “your world has tilted on its axis and spun out of control?”

Zoro runs a hand over his face. “Yeah,” he sighs back. “Yeah.”

Sanji nods to himself. “Without your permission, without you even realising, until it’s too late.” He huffs out a breath, melancholy. Almost bittersweet. “It’s so strange.”

“It’s so shit, more like.”

Sanji’s lips twist into a wry grin. “Yeah, I suppose it is.”

Zoro wonders why they’re whispering like a breath too hard will break them, like everything they say is a secret, but maybe it will, and maybe it is.

“You know, I’ve always wondered why I’m never good enough for people to consider a serious relationship with.” Sanji shifts, taps his fingers against his knee. “Why am I not good enough?”

Zoro wants to tell him that he is good enough, he is he is he is, he’s good enough for Zoro, but he doesn’t because that’s not what Sanji wants to hear. He ducks his head instead, chewing on the inside of his cheek until he’s sure it bleeds.

“Nami said we’re arriving at an island tomorrow. You can go on your nice date with a nice girl, then,” Zoro promises, “and I’m sure there’ll be plenty of willing women to choose from.”

Before he’s even finished speaking, Sanji’s shaking his head. Laughs quietly, a melody broken but no less beautiful, and then a little louder. He’s still shaking his head, and there’s a touch of despair to his voice when he next speaks.

“Goodnight, Zoro.”

And then he’s tilting his head back to get one last look at the sky splattered with stars, before standing up, backlit by the moon and shoulders slumped, defeated.

The next second he’s gone, silent as he came, and alone and confused Zoro wonders whether he and Sanji are on the same page; whether they’re even reading the same goddamn book.

#roronoa zoro #sanji vinsmoke #zosan #zosan fanfic #one piece #One Piece Fanfiction #HazzilyEverAfter

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