Chapter Text
“Who’s been feeding you?”
Zoro paused from his chewing to tilt his head up towards the restaurant’s head chef.
Had it been anyone else, Zoro would think the guy was making some pointed comment about his newly-found gut.
It wasn’t an uncommon sentiment; every other crewmate who’s seen him recently had some sort of inquiry about his body, laced with either curiosity or concern. And it was only them who really got a pass to poke and prod at him; everyone else got a warning glare before he considered skewering them.
Luckily, he knew this chef. Though, the fact that he knew this man might’ve tempted him to hold back even less over such a loaded question.
However, the cook’s tone and expression conveyed a different emotion than what he usually received. His curly brow was furrowed in thought, almost looking past Zoro rather at him. Like the question was aimed more to the general world than the swordsman.
Sanji’s question wasn’t some slight at the ‘feeding’ part. The emphasis was resolutely on ‘who.’
Oh? Zoro couldn’t help a grin break across his face as he washed his throat with a gulp of beer.
“I’ve helped out some islands I pass through,” Zoro offered, Sanji’s eyes flitting back to look at him properly. “They tend to repay me with good meals and booze. Though none of them really compare to your cooking, obviously.”
“Oh-obviously,” Sanji stammered, flipping an errant strand of hair behind his ear as a warm pink dusted his cheeks. Cute. “I was just curious how you’re not starving in your vagabond lifestyle, considering your sorry ass probably ends up in the wilderness half the time.
“I don’t get that lost!” Zoro huffed, omitting that he might’ve accidentally turn the week-long journey here into a month due to some weird Grand Line shit. Wasn’t his fault that the bastard set up shop in a mythical ocean. “I usually have some rations in case I get stranded anyway.
“I’m sure any one of the crew would happily house you if you asked,” Sanji muttered, clearly not appeased by Zoro’s reply, “if just to keep you near civilization.”
“I’m not really interested in squatting in anyone’s homes. Most of them have their own stuff going on, and the thought of being entangled in their nagging annoys me.”
Well, that also wasn’t the whole truth. When he passed through, he would sleep in their homes and every time they offered to help set him up with a place in town. When he revisited Kuina’s grave back in Shimotsuki, the people in his village welcomed him with open arms and even offered a furnished house for practically free. But he always left, nowhere feeling quite right.
“Besides…” Zoro leaned back a bit from the wooden bar counter, showing off his curvy figure to the cook with a cocky grin. “They all take one look at me and know I’m not starving.”
It was clearly bait, and still Sanji didn’t take it like Zoro expected. Instead, his face flushed a deep scarlet and immediately broke into a sweat as if he bit into a pepper, refusing to meet Zoro’s eye as he pretended to fiddle with bottles behind the bar.
He’s been doing that ever since the cook spotted him entering the establishment.
See, Zoro was expecting some reaction. He wasn’t stupid, he knew that he looked different, and that the cook of all people would have something to say about it. There were always questions of falling into an overly sedentary lifestyle, if he was eating nothing but junk, or whether he was outright depressed, but he’d always truthfully answer that no, he mostly just splurged more often on hefty meals and relaxed his training ever so slightly. He was, in a word, content. He wasn’t exactly self-conscious about it either; he was still strong, fought as well as he always did, and wasn’t concerned with any vain shit.
However, the cook was a different story. The cook made him kinda… care about these sorts of things, probably being the crewmate that cared the most about appearances, for better or worse.
Even now, after all these years, his enchanting features only matured like the fine wines he’d hide away from Zoro back on the ship. The man was a lean fucker, still keeping his muscles from their adventures with a cut silhouette in a flowing blue button-up and tailored black slacks. His hair was glossier and softer than ever before, long enough to be tied back in a low ponytail and naturally curling at the ends. His goatee and mustache were starting to turn into a proper beard, the hair was just slightly thicker, though the edges kept clean without a trace of stray stubble. And even all that just scratched the surface.
Trying not to stare too long, Zoro would admit that Sanji was the one man in the world that made him consider his appearance. That’s what you sign up for when you fall for a bastard like him.
So for the first time in his life, he felt a twinge of self consciousness entering his restaurant.
But instead of mocking laughter, nasty insults, or any other tease typical of their relationship, the bastard nearly dropped a full tray of meals upon meeting eyes. It was only because the cook’s reflexes got so good after all these years that the casualty was merely a spilled drink.
The teasing snicker he let out at Sanji’s expense earned him a swift kick aimed at his face, and a strong grip leading him to an empty seat at the restaurant’s bar. It felt so familiar that he was tempted to ignore the blushes and the stutters and the moments where Sanji’s eyes raked over his body when he thought Zoro wasn’t looking.
He couldn’t fathom what would weigh on the cook’s mind; the bastard was never the most direct, true, but he’d like to think he’d at least tell Zoro. Granted, he was a bit of a hypocrite thinking that. After all, the whole reason he decided to come here after all this time was to finally tell the shitty cook that he loved him and be done with the rejection so they could move on. But when he finally saw the guy, the words got stuck in his throat, those old habits swinging right back around.
The world’s greatest swordsman was at a loss, really. Even sitting here, eating a delicious meal made special by Sanji—some kind of seafood rice or something, he forgot what the cook called it—his odd behavior nagged at the back of his mind. He missed Curly and his cooking like nothing else, and he didn’t want anything to come between them after all these years of getting along. But he didn’t want things to go unsaid between them either, even if it meant revealing the guy had a vise grip on Zoro’s heart for so many years.
Maybe he just needed to create an opening.
“Hey Curls,” he called, fumbling a piece of shrimp with his fork. Sanji finally stopped his fidgeting, still looking away yet giving his attention. “Would you… mind if I stuck around after closing? So we can catch up when you’re not working.”
He shoved the shrimp in his mouth to keep the cook from scolding him (and to keep himself from saying anything foolish), eye plastered on his plate. If the cook accepted his request, he’d do it. He’d confess, and get back to his wandering like nothing happened. If not, then it’d stay with him to the grave. Simple, even if his heart was pounding like he was running a race.
When he noticed the cook being particularly quiet, Zoro sat up, watching Sanji curl his finger around his ponytail in thought.
“Well,” Sanji finally started, biting his bottom lip like he does when he’s craving a cigarette. Zoro braced himself for the rejection, a flippant response already on his tongue.
“What kind of host would I be if I abandoned a poor marimo to turn into a starved tumbleweed?”
Zoro blinked as Sanji turned towards him; his usual teasing confidence was back, a genuine grin stretching his face, though his body was still drawn taut in apprehension.
Zoro’s chest clenched. Yeah, he’d take it.
Holding up his mug of beer in appreciation, Zoro watched as Sanji retreated back to the kitchen.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Fucking goddamn shit-for-brains bastard, why did he agree to that?!
Sanji was currently hiding away in the kitchen, scowling at his reflection on a chrome countertop while his staff puttered around him and whispered amongst themselves. For once, he had no disparages about calling it ‘hiding’ to anyone else; his body’s reactions to seeing Zoro were more than he could handle, and he needed to catch his breath while he could.
They were both in their thirties, age starting to creep into their features and mannerisms, yet Sanji’s heart thumped in his chest like he was nineteen again.
Zoro was always physically attractive; Sanji could hardly recall a time when there weren’t at least a few women and men fawning over how cool he looked. And when that fact finally stopped pissing him off, Sanji could confidently cite him as one of the men that helped him realize he was not heterosexual. And of course, when that stupid swordsman came through the door with a prominent gut, Sanji couldn’t contain his shock.
Roronoa Zoro looked hot. Hotter than the last time they saw each other. Son of a bitch .
As he pushed his bangs back, Sanji vaguely recalled a letter from his dearest Nami-chan telling him that Zoro was likely coming his way soon, and that he looked different. She didn’t say how, just urging him to be sensitive. His mind raced; did the fucker add another deep, mangled scar to his collection? Lose his other eye and turn blind? Heaven forbid, if he lost a limb in his travels, Sanji wouldn’t know what to do to keep himself from breaking down.
As Sanji snuck a peek at his companion through the kitchen door window, he belatedly considered that any of those would be easier alternatives than this.
The stupid marimo looked healthier, even littered with scars new and old. His face looked fuller, the only real indication of time passing being a few frown lines, but even those seemed softened. Of course, he still had a stoic face that scared off any lily-livered man, but the weariness of battle that always clung to him seemed to ebb away like a stone in a river.
Sanji could still see the bulk and pull of his muscles whenever he flexed—and, shit, were they even bigger than last time? Was that physically possible??—but the fact they had a supple layer of fat now made him sweat like he was back in Alabasta. Zoro’s chest was always massive, but now it was plump, looking more like tits than ever before. And of course the bastard didn’t have the decency to wear a proper shirt, touting around an open coat similar to their time sailing that showed off not only his chest, but his proud stomach that hung over the edge of his sash. A bolt of possessiveness shot through him as he swore every patron was ogling at him.
Sanji’s brain was thoroughly scrambled the longer he stared at the swordsman, clenching his hands until his knuckles turned white to keep himself from just reaching out and touching Zoro’s face, his chest, his stomach, his—!
He bit his lip HARD, forgetting he didn’t have a cigarette at the moment, and pulled himself back to reality. He felt something trickle down his nose and tasted copper on the back of his palate. God, he was fucked, he was fucked, he was so sick and fucked. He needed to get his heart and dick under control, even if just outside the safety of his kitchen was a secret fantasy come to life.
After all, his companion came here for a meal, and he’d never let a friend go hungry. Especially the love of his life.
Sanji turned away from the door, wiping his nose and busying himself with overseeing his staff and helping out with prep work. After nearly a decade, you’d think a guy would give up on an unrequited crush, or that the feelings would at least wane after so long. Nope, not for Sanji. Of course absence made his heart grow fonder, the traitorous organ.
He tried his best to quell his feelings, dating here and there since the split, even throwing in a few flings with men who had a nostalgically rugged look. But none of them stayed, none of them stuck around in Sanji’s heart long enough to consider anything more. Yet seeing that patch of green hair made all those old feelings IMMEDIATELY boil back to the surface, full force.
There was always more than just seeing his stupid handsome face, some magnetic force pushing and pulling the two since their travels. In the days where every second could spell death for them, Sanji was ready to kill or be killed by the man. Their collisions always felt so loud and explosive, making the quiet moments between them more precious. Sanji didn’t like imagining the two separating after everything was over, but in the end, he knew they still had their dreams to pursue. Zoro, out of all of their crewmates, was his biggest reminder of that fact.
Sanji kept pushing the feelings down, saying he’d wait until Luffy became King of the Pirates to tell him, and then again saying he’d wait until Zoro defeated Mihawk, but he never went through with it. The separation always did something to make him lose his nerve, figuring he’d waited too long and the moment had passed. He had accepted it was meant to be this way, that it was foolish to indulge those fantasies for too long and think there was anything that could change with some simple confession.
Though they’re never as good as your cooking, obviously.
That is, until today.
Maybe that’s why he accepted Zoro’s request.
“Mr. Black-Leg, sir?”
Sanji whipped his head up from chopping some carrots for a roast as one of his chefs interrupted his clustering thoughts. And while he was grateful, he still ended up with a scowl on his face. Gods, he turned into Zeff.
“Yes, yes, what is it?”
“The, uh,” the chef stuttered, looking out at the kitchen door leading to the dining area. “The guy with the swords said to ask you for another plate. But he wouldn’t s-specify what he wanted, just asked for 'whatever’s good.'”
Sanji scoffed. Didn’t that just bring him back? That was code for “make me something you know I’ll like.” He couldn’t hold back the grin breaking across his face, though his furrowed brow made it look less endearing and more menacing.
“Ohh, so since he’s the greatest swordsman now, the marimo thinks he can just order me around, huh…?” Sanji growled. “I’ll make him a dish so good, it’ll knock him on his ass harder than any of our fights, that bastard…!”
The fires of challenge that engulfed him were hot enough to cook every dish that was going out, matching the fires in his heart. The other chefs sweated, giving Head Chef Sanji a wide berth as he resharpened his knife and went to work making a perfect course for the mosshead. If he was going to be heartbroken tonight, he was going to make that stupid swordsman weep from what he was missing out on!
And if this meal added a bit to Zoro’s figure, then so be it!
The former pirate cook made a home for himself just above his restaurant; half of the second floor was a modest apartment with a cozy living area and a big bedroom, with the other half walled off for the restaurant’s surplus food storage. With the wealth they acquired on their travels, he could’ve easily afforded to commission something nicer, but this was how the chef liked it; it was close to work in case there was an emergency, had a decent view of the sunset from the roof, and it wasn’t a shabby place to bring dates back to.
The last point was something Sanji willed himself not to dwell on as Zoro surveyed the place from his couch.
Swords shoved in his umbrella stand, boots propped up on his coffee table, and stomach tantalizingly peeking out from his coat, the swordsman was making himself right at home while Sanji plucked out two wine glasses from his personal kitchen.
“I’m surprised your place closes so early, Cook,” Zoro mumbled, glancing at the photos that lined the wall.
“It usually doesn't,” Sanji admitted, rummaging around to find the corkscrew. “Luckily, there wasn’t a huge dinner rush, and there weren’t any reservations for the night, so I gave my staff the rest of the night off.” He omitted that even if he had reservations lined up, there was a real chance he would close up early anyway just so he didn’t have to prolong his heart threatening to leap out of his chest from anxiety.
Sanji brought out the glasses and a bottle of robust, vintage red from his personal collection that he always liked (even if he knew the swordsman wouldn’t understand the value in it) and poured them two glasses with a flourish. If he was gonna get through the night in one piece, he needed to be at least a little tipsy, and it might as well be some quality alcohol. Zoro, of course, nearly went for the bottle before Sanji smacked his hand and made him take the other glass.
“I see your manners haven’t been honed over the years,” Sanji said flatly, lighting a cigarette for himself as Zoro gulped down wine like it was water. He tried not to smoke too much in the restaurant, but the habit hadn’t died down quite yet.
If Zoro noticed the plumes of smoke turning into hearts, he didn’t say anything.
“And I still see your mouth is as filthy as ever, shit cook,” Zoro spat, childishly sticking out his tongue. “You talk to your customers like that?”
“That’s rich coming from you, dumbass,” Sanji snarled, smoke shooting out of his nose as he leaned towards Zoro. “I’m sure my patrons would be more bothered by your stench. Have you even bathed in the past month?”
“Shut up, I bathe just fine,” Zoro shot back, leaning in to stamp their foreheads together. “It’s not my fault you’re still such a priss after all these years!”
“What was that, mosshead?!”
“You heard me, curlybrows!!”
There’s a beat of silence, the two just glaring at each other with gritted teeth and huffed breaths. Zoro broke first with a snort, quickly followed by Sanji’s snickering as they both threw their heads back in wicked laughter.
Ohh, he’s missed this.
After the laughter died down, Sanji clinked his glass against Zoro’s and took a sip. “I suppose even though you can’t compare to the gentle, refined pretense of a lady, you still make good company, marimo.”
Zoro wrinkled his nose in clear distaste at the backhanded compliment. Another familiar mannerism, his pout amplified by how soft his face has become. Sanji braced himself for some backhanded reply about his weakness to women.
“So, what, the stupid love cook is still just flirting with women..?” Zoro hedged, looking off to the side as he took an uncharacteristically slow sip of wine. “Do you even take any of them back to this place?”
Sanji couldn’t help but raise his eyebrow in suspicion; since when has he ever cared about the women in Sanji’s sights? Was this some weird slight about his ability to get laid? Instead of anger, confusion settled in his brain as he brought his cigarette back to his lips and took a small drag. “A few women… sometimes a man. But there’s no one in particular, if that’s what you’re asking.”
If Sanji heard Zoro choke on his wine, he ignored it. He was never upfront about his developing preferences before they split up, but he was determined not to linger on the point; after all, he had to confirm the same thing for himself.
“What about you, mosshead? I mean, I’m sure those people you help out are more than happy to show their gratitude.” As Sanji put on a shit-eating grin to hide his trepidation, he couldn’t help but think about the swordsmen who practically worshiped the guy and followed his every move, or the princesses they met who would wait a thousand years for the man beside him.
He could hardly blame them. Sanji was certainly no less love-struck, waiting a thousand years in his own way.
“Mm, maybe every now and then,” Zoro dismissed. “But I’m not interested, really.”
Sanji couldn’t tell if his heart was sinking or floating with those words, which he tried to cover up with a laugh. “Haha, huh! I guess even a marimo rolls an inch a day! Though it is hard to imagine you settling down.”
Sanji glanced up from his glass to continue shoving his foot in his mouth when he paused. Zoro’s face looked… well, the closest he could describe it to was ‘nervous.’ But that was ridiculous, Zoro was the pinnacle of confidence, now more than ever before. That confidence against Sanji’s boundless insecurities was the basis for at least half their fights. Why would he be nervous?
“Is that what you want?” Zoro finally asked, holding his glass out for a refill. Sanji took a drag of his cigarette before he obliged, putting aside the emptied bottle.
“What, to settle down?” Sanji swirled the wine in his own glass thoughtfully, trying to not give too much of himself away. “I mean, we’ve all settled, in one way or another. But of course I still dream of other things. A romantic life for the love cook, haha!”
A massive understatement, as Sanji’s eyes carefully scanned Zoro from head to toe.
In his most private moments back on the Sunny, Sanji would imagine Zoro achieving his lifelong dream and making a permanent home with him on a warm, cozy island. Nothing to threaten them, nothing to fret over, just a perfectly domestic existence together where the most dangerous thing was their sparring sessions. And Sanji would spoil the man rotten, cooking him everything he’d ever want and serving up booze like it was water. He’d serve it up with teases and scoffs, of course, because he was ever the contrarian in the face of his mosshead, but he wouldn’t be the infamous love cook if he didn’t pour everything into indulging the man who held his heart.
When it came down to it, the idea of all his friends being fulfilled and healthy made him happy. But a fat, satiated Zoro being at his side did something especially carnal to his brain.
Sanji closed his eyes and hummed to himself before taking a sip. Sure, he fell in love with a man who knows nothing but combat and adversity, and there’s no way the real Zoro would want that sort of path for himself, but the image of the feared Demon of the East living a relaxed, cushy life sent a satisfied tingle through his body. Especially if he could pamper and please a soft and pliable swordsman in bed and— shit, stop it .
Sanji fumbled his cigarette around in his mouth as he tried to shift his thoughts away. Like always, his fantasy went a little too wild if he wasn’t paying attention. Get it together , he thought to himself, you’re going to mess this up .
Shut up, another part of him thought. I’m not the same as back then. We’ve both grown.
Yeah, you have a good thing going now. Do you really want to ruin it all?
God, shut up, shut up, shut—
“Cook?”
Zoro suddenly appeared in Sanji’s line of sight, something on the edge of concern apparent on his round face, and Sanji’s body flinched in surprise. He was too stunned to notice his cigarette dropping down onto his thigh until he was reeling with a pained hiss.
“Shit, Curly!” Zoro cursed, scooting closer to hover his hands over the assaulted leg. “What the hell, are you okay?!”
“Haha, yeah I’m fine!” Sanji squeaked, sweating bullets as he bent his leg up because gods above, it did sting a bit but he was too close!! “Didn’t even burn me, no big deal!”
Zoro’s brow furrowed at the blatant lie, huffing out a sigh as he stood. “I’m getting ice, wait here,” he commanded. Sanji started to yell out weak threats with a beet red face about the swordsman going around his kitchen like he owned the place, but he made no move to get up. When he came back with a small bag of ice, Zoro clicked his tongue and shifted to sit hip-to-hip with a frantic Sanji. “You always say shit like ‘it’s fine’ when it’s not, lemme just see it, and—”
Placing a careful hand on his pant leg to assess the burn, Zoro leaned in and gently covered the mark with ice. Just from that contact alone, Sanji had to keep himself from leaping to the other side of the couch, his heart fluttering like a teen again. Then, as if the universe was laughing at him, Zoro carefully but firmly grabbed Sanji's thigh, hopefully ignoring the small gasp his 'patient' made, to move his leg so it stretched fully across Zoro's lap.
“It’s fine, really!!” Sanji laughed, the sounds all coming out wrong. Fuck, they were pressing foreheads together just minutes ago, but now he couldn’t even look the guy in the eye, and even though the brute’s fingers were as rough and calloused as ever, feeling it against his leg was sending an inconvenient thrill up Sanji’s spine.
This felt intimate. And it wasn’t the intimacy inherent to their fighting. That’s all it took to throw this man off balance, it seemed.
“Something’s wrong.” Zoro said, staring resolutely at his lap before turning his eye to Sanji. “You’ve been acting weird ever since I got here.”
Sanji gulped. “I thought you couldn’t get drunk, marimo!" He tittered, trying to wriggle his leg out of Zoro's lap. "You’re imagining things, seeing danger when it isn't there. Maybe I’m just a bit different since we last saw each other. C’mon, tell me more about the villages you passed through!”
“We’ve spent years with each other as a crew and you think I can’t tell when you’re acting off?” Zoro growled, catching Sanji's ankle as the ice pack fell off his leg onto the floor. An indignant sound croaked out of Sanji's throat, but was stuck as Zoro bent his leg, moving closer. “What, did something happen? Did I do something? I’m not trying to fight, just lemme help you.”
That was exactly the problem! Sanji’s brain screamed.
He searched for the answer on Sanji’s face. Sanji couldn’t help his eyes darting to look everywhere that wasn’t Zoro’s dark eye, but even glancing at his body was still affecting him, Zoro moving further into his personal bubble. In the same instant that he opened his mouth to try and divert the conversation again, Zoro leaned forward, shrinking the space between the two to nothing as Zoro’s stomach squished against Sanji’s.
And Sanji moaned. A low, rough, and incredibly audible moan.
He slapped a hand over his mouth, his face blazing hotter than any cigarette burn. Zoro’s jaw dropped, his own eye widened in similar shock.
Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck, his body betrayed him in the worst way, this was it, his heart was drumming so fast and Zoro looked so weirded out, he was disgusted, Sanji was surely about to burst into flames from the embarrassment, he had to say SOMETHING, this was it!!!
While Sanji had an internal meltdown, Zoro tore his gaze to look down towards Sanji’s midsection. Tentatively, he rocked his hips to push their bodies together a little harder. It wasn’t as loud this time, but Sanji couldn’t help letting a muffled ‘mmph’ escape, squeezing his eyes shut as a shudder wracked his body. His mind finally granted him enough clarity to put his free hand on Zoro’s shoulder, unsteadily raising that same knee to push against his belly and keep some distance between them.
“Wh-What are you doing..?” Sanji whispered through splayed fingers, his voice more wrecked than he’d like. His body was reacting so strongly, all his nerves lit up at attention, even though his mind knew this was the part where Zoro left in anger. He just couldn’t figure out what was stopping him.
And to Zoro’s credit, he looked perplexed as well, slowly licking his lips before meeting Sanji’s eyes again. He carefully grabbed the thigh that created space between them—fully aware how risky it was—and gently lifted the leg over his shoulder with little resistance, wedging himself between the cook’s legs again. And this time, he purposefully rested his soft stomach against Sanji’s crotch, thrusting forward to grind their hips together.
“Shit..!” Sanji hissed, his whole body practically convulsing from the contact. His body was too honest, back arching to chase the friction and his breath stuttering alongside his heartbeat. “Zoro, wait, I—“
“Do you like this, Curly?” Zoro asked in a low voice, repeating the motion again and again, grazing the bulge in Sanji’s pants.
“Fuck off,” Sanji gritted, though there wasn’t any fire behind it; even unraveling on his own fucking couch, his kneejerk reaction was to be defiant. “I just… hah ! My body is just, I mean, the wine— ahh! ”
“Is that why you were… ahh … acting so strange all day? Pent up or something?” He could feel Zoro’s free hand traveling up his torso, sliding curious fingers across his shirt. Sanji’s insides coiled tighter, goosebumps rising everywhere Zoro touched in anticipation.
“Ghh! Zoro - ohh , I’m sorry, I just—“ His brain could barely form sentences as his heart keened, crying out how just skin through clothes was nowhere near enough for the shameless throbbing of his dick, he needed more .
“Don’t be. I’m so…” Zoro gulped, a bead of sweat trickling down his temple as he stared right through Sanji.
The look he was wearing made Sanji’s throat dry up; a mirrored desperation.
“I wanna make you feel good,” Zoro whispered. “Please.”
Sanji couldn’t have heard that right. He must be drunk stupid, even if he doesn’t remember finishing his glass. The ringing in his ears muffled all sound and rational thought. Zoro’s voice was so husky and covetous, and he said please . Sanji tried to think of some way to diffuse the situation, trying to think up some teases and insults to bait Zoro and put a wall up between them like the old days, anything to make it clear that there were messy, explosive feelings under all this, that Zoro needed to think twice, thrice, give it a day before saying something like that.
But he couldn’t muster anything, his brain reduced to mush with the look Zoro was pinning him down with. Something like hope unfurled in his chest, foolish and resilient. Even after all these years, he clearly hasn’t gotten wiser.
Finally, Sanji nodded with a shuddering breath. And as Zoro leaned down, he could feel sweat already trailing down his back.