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 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.
Most nights, 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.
Some nights, 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. Broken, unlovable, disgusting, and wrong. His siblings pulled his suit off, revealing the hips and curves he had fought so long to tone into muscle. They forced him into their uniform, girly and pink like his sisters with a giant 3 on the front. Slowly, he felt his humanity turn robotic and cold. 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, and wrong.
Maybe.
Smoke filled his lungs, but didn’t clear the thoughts racing in his mind.
The dreams he had were always similar. Either they were brutal and cruel with him on death’s doorstep or they were torturous in other ways.
He should have been strong enough to fight them off, to know better. They shouldn’t keep him from his duty as the crew’s chef. And yet, he stood on the deck in the middle of the night not willing to face the shadows that waited in his dreams.
“Rough night?” a gruff, monotone voice interrupted his thoughts.
Sanji hummed around his cigarette in agreement, not willing to give his guest anything more. He had heard the swordsman climb down from the crows nest, but he didn’t think Zoro would have stopped to talk. Aside from pissing each other off and the occasional dish duty, the two rarely talked as it always somehow devolved into fighting. It was too late and he was too tired to put up a front.
“Shouldn’t you be keeping watch, Marimo?” Sanji said, his voice a wary growl as a warning of his sour mood.
“Nothin’s happenin’,” he said. “Figured I’d get a drink.”
“You’re not raiding the liquor cabinet while I’m awake, so you better forget it.”
“Or we split somethin’” Zoro continued as if Sanji hadn’t spoken. “Looks like you could use it too.”
Unfortunately, Sanji agreed. He could really go for a strong drink. If not to forget the nightmares, at least it would get him back to sleep. So, he begrudgingly huffed and led a surprised Zoro to the kitchen.
Neither of them made a sound as Sanji opened the pantry and found the bottles of sake Momonosuke had given him after their battle at Wano. They were some of the nicest drinks he had and was planning on saving them for a special dinner, but they had a handful of bottles and there was no harm in opening one of them. He went to grab glasses to use, but froze as they were in his hand. The last thing he wanted was to wash dishes in the morning.
“Don’t bother,” Zoro chimed in, snagging the bottle from his hand and opening with his teeth like a barbarian.
Sanji rolled his eyes at the heathen he’d allowed into his kitchen. Just to spite him, the cook grabbed the bottle back and 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 with a brow cocked.
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 drunk like a brute.”
Zoro hummed as he took an equally large gulp of the drink. It didn’t take long for them to settle into the bench against the far wall of the kitchen. Its cushions were comfortable and soft as they lounged and continued to pass the bottle back and forth silently minding their own thoughts.
Sanji enjoyed the warmth of the sake flooding his body, leaning into the fuzziness of his mind and finally letting his shoulders relax. He even found himself smiling at the swordsman as thanks each time the drink was offered to him again.
“You’ve been acting different.”
The words were so unexpected, Sanji didn’t realize Zoro had spoken until he repeated himself.
“The crew… it’s my job to keep an eye on the crew, and you’re acting different,” he said, as if the reasoning proved his accusation.
Sanji didn’t respond, instead grabbing a fresh cigarette and lighting it in one flick of his thumb.
“If you don’t talk to me, talk to someone about it,” Zoro continued. “You need to get your shit together.”
He was too exhausted to fight and he was too drunk to lie.
“Yeah, I know. It’s not good for the crew. 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, scanning over the cook with a marksman precision. He almost looked sad or worried, but the booze made it hard to pinpoint. Both didn’t suit him. Sanji’d rather see him angry and screaming than whatever pitiful look he wore now.
The warmth of the drink bubbled into fire churning in his gut.
“I don’t need you pity, mosshead,” Sanji spat, already expecting a sword to attack his throat. “I’ll sort it out.”
“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.”
He’d been paying attention. Zoro knew he had nightmares keeping him up. For some reason, the thought made Sanji’s stomach warm. Yet, he pushed the thought aside and reached for a drink he clearly desperately needed.
He drank until he ran out of breath, coughing 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 and for once, Sanji wanted Zoro to be his friend. To talk to him like any other crewmate and tell him everything about his past and his family.
Finding out Sanji was born a girl hadn't changed anything between them. They still bickered and fought like always. He didn’t blink at the news. Sanji couldn’t trust anyone else to not treat him differently. Luffy didn’t care that Sanji had been royal. Zoro wouldn’t either. He knew it.
But he was scared.
“Shouldn’t you be on lookout duty, Marimo?” Sanji huffed, his cheeks feeling warmer than they were a moment ago.
Zoro huffed 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. Luffy’s worried.”
“It’s not 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.