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Chapter Text

Zoro had never belonged anywhere in his life. He had places where he existed or places where he needed to be. For the most part, he had simply existed in Shimotsuki. He had no family, no friends, no home. Most people didn’t even know he was around before he made a splash fighting Kuina 2000 times and never beating her. He did a lot of existing in the East, not a lot of living, definitely no belonging.

He needed to be at Isshin Dojo for training (and for food) but he didn’t belong. He needed to be on the road with Johnny and Yosaku because he needed to gain real-world experience before he could fight Mihawk, but he didn’t really belong with them either. He needed money to travel to the Grand Line where Mihawk was and so he came to the North Blue and agreed to a bodyguard gig for a prince, but he didn’t belong in Germa.

That wasn’t a shock. What was a shock was that his charge didn’t belong in Germa either.

Germa, Zoro had come to find, was a cesspool rotting of deceit, cruelty, duplicity and pain. King Judge treated his people like dirt, the ones who were actual people and the clones alike. Most of the princes were idiots with overinflated egos but they were dangerously strong idiots. The princess was cold and aloof and always seemed to have much more going on below the surface than Zoro wanted to parse through.

Then there was Sanji, the prince he was assigned to. The first impression he had upon meeting him was that he was a brat. It wasn’t an assessment that had changed in the months since they met. Sanji was, undeniably, a brat and a jerk. He was a shameless flirt and a high-strung bastard. He overthought everything and had a superiority complex that he didn’t want to acknowledge (which was strange in hindsight considering just how insecure the man actually was). Zoro had come to learn that he was also kind, selfless, caring and loving. He was always more concerned about others’ wellbeing and happiness than his own. He only needed to see a single interaction between him and his family to figure out why.

Sanji was a prince. His life was the opposite of Zoro’s. Where Zoro had nothing, Sanji had everything at his fingertips and yet it meant nothing at all. He didn’t have his family’s love, he didn’t even have their respect. They saw him as less than a speck of dirt. Sanji didn’t belong in Germa any more than Zoro did.

After that realization and all the days spent with the prince, it was painfully easy to fall in love with him. Zoro hadn’t even known he was capable of feeling love or desire the way he felt it for Sanji. He had never experienced this before. Sure, he had felt lust and he had sated it with willing partners when he felt the need to do so, but this was different. This was like a tidal wave swept over him and left him stupidly unable to do anything but strive for Sanji’s happiness. He felt the world shift when the blonde’s face brightened with a rare but treasured smile. He felt the sky tumbling when Sanji got the satisfaction of plating a meal he had cooked. He felt his heart trembling whenever he stared at Zoro, his eyes wide and bursting with love and tenderness. He equally felt every misaligned facet inside of him click into place when Sanji sneered and called him names. A sense of rightness settled in him whenever Sanji’s heels met his blades during their spars. He got a thrill when he and the blonde challenged and pushed one another.

Sanji, somehow, impossibly, became something he couldn’t live without. So, of course the world would conspire to take him away.

Zoro stood stock still in the dining room, his face blank as King Judge and nameless scientist #4 discussed the plans for the new Stealth Black serum. He played the part of perfect emotionless guardsman as the two talked about stripping away Sanji’s agency and humanity as if they were discussing something as mundane as the weather. Outwardly, he gave no reaction to their callous words. Inside, he was fuming.

Zoro had always considered himself lucky and luck had driven him this far, brought him to Germa to continue striving to be the best after his failed attempts at beating Mihawk. Luck had brought him to Sanji, but sometimes Zoro wondered if Sanji had the opposite relationship with luck. His life seemed to be a never-ending parade of shit and tonight was promising that the future would be no exception.

He switched his gaze to the blonde man in question. Sanji’s shoulders were hiked up defensively, his back rigid, tension emanating off of him so much it was nearly visible in the air. Zoro wanted nothing more than to be able to take his prince away from here, to leave this room with nothing but the broken bodies of the Vinsmokes behind them. Or, at the least, he wanted Sanji to look at him so he could give him some kind of reassurance, let him know that Zoro was still with him, but it wouldn’t be appropriate for them to do so.

Normally, Zoro wouldn’t give a fuck about something as trivial as propriety but Germa was different. If it was just himself on the line, he would say fuck it, but there was Sanji to consider. Flying under the radar of Sanji’s family meant that they had to do what was expected of them, so Zoro had to play stoic guard and Sanji had to pretend there was nothing more between them than a professional relationship. Zoro was certain that together they could overcome the Vinsmokes, they could leave this kingdom behind them for greener pastures, but Sanji still wasn’t sure of it. He had spent too long living in fear, so he was too afraid to strive for something different, something more.

Zoro would usually scorn a man like that. He would call them a coward, unworthy of his time. However, Sanji was striving for more. He did so every time he snuck into the kitchen to fulfill his passion. He did it every time he threw a kick, refusing to train in Germa’s style of combat and sticking close to what his old chef taught him. He did every time he sought Zoro out, when he kissed him, when he chose to love him. All of that was acts of rebellion in their own ways, even if Sanji didn’t see it that way.

With that in mind, Zoro thought he had time to convince Sanji that they had the strength to leave Germa behind, to make sure he knew that he deserved so much more and that it would satiate the deep yearning in Zoro’s chest if he just let him give him the life he deserved. Now, his time had run out.

He felt nothing but the deepest, darkest hatred as he listened to the Vinsmokes talk about using Sanji like he was a tool, a means to an end, a thing. His hatred only deepened as he noticed Reiju use her poison on Sanji, snatching his voice away. Despite clearly feeling the effects of whatever she had poisoned him with, he still cleared his plate of all food. Zoro felt a stab of total affection at that. God, he was such an idiot.

He held himself firmly in place until the only people in the room were him, the cook, the princess and her guard, Drake. Only then did he go to Sanji’s side and tilt his face up to meet his eyes. The blonde’s gaze was unfocused, like he was seeing right through Zoro. The swordsman scowled at that before turning back to the princess.

“What the hell is your problem,” he snapped at her.

The pink-haired woman raised an eyebrow at that.

“Excuse me?”

“Where the fuck do you get off doing this to him?”

“I did what was best for him.”

“Poisoning him is what’s best for him? Snatching his voice away is what’s best? Making him this compliant shell is best?”

“I did what was necessary to save him from getting himself into trouble.”

“Oh please, I’m know about how little you do to help him when he’s in trouble. You bandage the wounds after but you’re nowhere to be found when your dickhead brothers are inflicting the pain or when those bastard scientists are fucking him over.”

Zoro thought he might’ve seen Reiju falter just a bit at that, but he had never known this woman to wear her emotions plainly for anyone to see and if she did, she was likely putting on a show for a specific purpose.

“She’s the princess of this kingdom. You mind how you speak to her,” Drake warned.

“She’s your princess, not mine. My loyalty is to my prince, not this kingdom,” Zoro asserted before turning back to Sanji who had leaned against Zoro during the spat, his eyes already shut. Zoro would’ve panicked if he couldn’t feel the way the cook’s breath rose and fell with his breathing. Sanji’s eyes blinked open sluggishly when Zoro moved in and lifted him into his arms but he soon let his head fall on his shoulder and drifted off again.

Zoro turned to bring Sanji back to his room and paused as footsteps followed him.

“It’s best if my brother takes some time to rest. If his complaints about your abysmal sense of direction is any indication, then you’ll probably need a guide.”

Zoro didn’t like admitting weakness but now wasn’t the time for him to deny this particular shortcoming, so though he wasn’t happy about it, he followed behind the princess and her guard towards Sanji’s room. His attention was solely on the prince, making sure his breathing stayed consistent, taking note of any tenseness in his muscles or signs of discomfort.

He immediately brought Sanji to his bed when they reached his room. He took the time to remove his red cape, boots and socks before covering his body with a blanket and his feet with an extra one as they had a tendency of getting cold at night. He brushed his blonde locks back a little and felt his forehead briefly. His skin was clammy and pale with unnatural purple veins standing out starkly on the skin of his forearm. He clenched his jaw at that before he turned back around to the princess who was still standing in the room silently observing him, a strange glint in her eye.

“You have no right to do this to him. He trusts you. Do you have any idea how hard it is for him to actually trust someone with himself? I never thought you deserved it. God only knows why he feels even an ounce of pity for anyone in your fucked up family, but he does. Even more than that, he loves you. Then you go and pull this. What sick kind of shit are you into, lady?”

“Roronoa—” Drake started only to be cut off by Reiju waving a dismissive hand.

“You’re upset.”

“No shit.”

“You care deeply about my brother.”

“No shit.”

“Not many people do.”

“Not many people have gotten the chance to. Your father made sure of that.”

“I suppose you have a point there. At any rate, it’s a mild poison at best. It will wear off in three hours. I couldn’t let him draw attention to himself. You are free to watch him until he wakes up in order to see that I’m telling the truth.”

“Trust me, I have no intentions of leaving him.”

“You don’t, do you?”

Reiju paused there, her eyes narrowing as her gaze flickered between him and Sanji.

“If I ask you a question, swordsman, will you answer truthfully?”

Zoro narrowed his eye at that.

“Depends on your question.”

“That’s fair. It is a simple one which requires a simple answer. Do you love my brother?”

Hell, wasn’t that a loaded question. Yet it was also the simplest one in the world.

“Of course I do. He’s my prince.”

“Are you in love with my brother?”

“Yes.”

Reiju stared a moment longer before she looked at Drake. There was something that passed between them before the red-haired man sighed and stepped out of the room. Reiju’s eyes didn’t leave Zoro, an intensity to her that he rarely saw.

“My four brothers’ lives were bargained for with the life of our mother. She drank a deadly poison to try to counteract our father’s modifications. Her efforts worked only on Sanji, but she was happy for it. He brought her joy through his kind heart. Now my father wishes to undo her sacrifice and Sanji, in his ridiculous penchant for martyrdom, will let him. So, I would like for you to decide now whether saving Sanji’s life isn’t worth going against his wishes.”

“Why?”

“I have a plan to get him out of here tonight. Initially, I was going to have Drake take him away but I suspect Sanji would prefer to leave with you.”

Zoro’s breath caught at that.

“What kind of plan?”

“In truth, my use of poison tonight was two-fold. I wanted to be sure how the dosage and my choice of poison would work. I will knock him out and you will bring him to the western gate. There, a ship will be waiting. It is a stealth submarine, a prototype but has shown great promise. It has automated functions, defenses against sea life, built-in navigation and already has a destination input along with any provisions two able-bodied men would need for a few months. It will take you somewhere he will be safe. All you have to do is get him on the ship and not touch any buttons until he wakes. Sanji can do the rest. Of course, it’s best to keep this plan from my brother. I suspect he will make some grand sacrifice play if he were made abreast of it.”

Zoro’s lips went tight at that.

“Let me get this straight. You want me to lie to Curly, drug him, kidnap him and take on a ship that isn’t even officially deemed seaworthy towards a destination I don’t know but should trust simply on your word?”

“Yes.”

“You’re out of your fucking mind.”

“Perhaps. I’m also quite invested in seeing my brother remain himself. There is only a small window to do that. Understand the plan will go forward whether it is you as Sanji’s travel companion or Drake. He has gone to fetch the poison as well the bag I packed with a few of Sanji’s things and a map of the Grand Line and East Blue.”

East Blue?

“The ship has built-in maps, but Sanji may prefer a traditional view as well. So, Mr. Swordsman, will you be staying behind or will you be joining my brother?”

“You’re the devil, woman.”

“I’m simply an older sister doing what’s necessary. Whether you believe me or not, I do love my brother, as much as I’m able to do so. On that, we share a common ground. Knowing my brother as I do and his dreadful sense of self-worth, I dare say Sanji will be more hurt if you don’t join than he will be by the actions you take to save him.”

Zoro wished he could say her words were bullshit, but he knew full well that Sanji would take it as a rejection if Zoro didn’t leave with him, not that that was ever an option. He wasn’t about to let the love of his life run off to parts unknown with a fallen marine officer instead of him.

As if summoned by thought, Drake re-entered the room carrying a small bag as well as a tube with the map. He dropped the bag and maps at the foot of the bed and took out a purple vial from his pocket, handing it to Zoro.

“It’s a distilled version of my poison. You should administer it to him around 3 AM and be ready to leave around that time. Guard shift changes then and the guard on duty will avoid the western gate for a short time, giving you an opening. Don’t miss it.”

Zoro clenched his teeth but nodded. Reiju nodded in reply before approaching the bed. Zoro tensed slightly, watching her vigilantly as she kneeled down and pressed a kiss on Sanji’s forehead, brushing her fingers through his hair.

“You take care of my brother, Roronoa. If I find you’ve harmed him in any way, there will be no place on this planet where you can hide from me.”

“And if this poison is some ruse and all of this hurts Sanji, then I won’t hesitate to kill you myself.”

“Another source of common ground then. I leave my brother in your hands.”

With that, the princess and former marine left the room, leaving Zoro to his task and his choice.

For all his reservations, it wasn’t a hard one to make. Sanji deserved the world and his own insecurities and lack of self-worth would keep him from even taking the chance to save himself. Although, it wasn’t just that. The prince had a legitimate reason to be afraid of his family. These were the same people who had locked him up in a dungeon for years, stuck an iron mask on his face, held a fake public funeral after pronouncing him dead only to drag him out of said dungeon when they had wanted to use him as a sacrifice. Zoro didn’t even want to think of what kind of fucked up things King Judge’s shitty parenting had done to Sanji’s psyche. If it wasn’t for his old chef visiting him or Reiju coming to patch him up after his brothers’ beatings, the prince would have been completely isolated with only torture to break up the loneliness.

Zoro did see some lingering signs of his trauma. His terror around bugs because they used to crawl under his helmet and he was unable to get them out or sometimes they died underneath and he could do nothing to dislodge their carcasses. He would grip and tug on his hair, sometimes to remind himself the mask was gone but other times Zoro wondered if it was some kind of self-harm given how hard he pulled on it, ripping hair out of the roots. He clearly had an affinity towards women over men, because men had been his abusers all his life and women were usually kinder to him. Zoro had proven to be an exception, something he prided himself on. But now, if he chose to follow Reiju’s plan, was he just like the others? He’d be going behind Sanji’s back, making a choice for him, taking away his agency.

But damn it, Zoro wanted to be selfish too. He wanted to be with Sanji without worrying about Judge or his dickhead brothers. He wanted Sanji to be free to cook when and where he wanted. He wanted him to be by his side when he became the World’s Greatest Swordsman. He wanted to be standing next to Sanji when he found the All Blue. He wanted to live a life with him outside of these gray, lifeless walls. He knew Sanji wanted it too. His own fear, both at taking a chance on himself and at the consequences if he and Zoro were caught, were stopping him from making the choice he really wanted to make. Sanji didn’t belong here, he belonged in the world, he belonged where he was free to do as he pleased. If he hated Zoro at the end of the day for making the choice to ensure Sanji’s freedom, then he would take his hatred. He would rather Sanji be alive, himself and free without Zoro than to remain at his side here and let Judge snatch away the man he loved, leaving only a hollow shell. He loved Sanji enough to make the choice that would save him, even if Sanji might not see it that way.

With the decision made, he settled on the bed next to his prince, waiting for him to wake up. When he finally did, their conversation only solidified Zoro’s choice. Sanji couldn’t find it in himself to hope. He had gone so far as to ask Zoro to kill him if Judge’s plan worked. It tore something inside the swordsman’s heart to see the man he loved so defeated and resigned to his fate. He knew Sanji had big dreams and passion that, at times, burst out of him like a rocket. But this place, it sucked out the essence of the prince, leaving only embers of that passion. Zoro always delighted in reigniting the flame in Sanji whenever possible. Sanji did the same for him. He pushed him to be better, he challenged him, he forced him to see the world that existed beyond his promise and his goal. Sanji had forced him to live and not just survive. How could Zoro do anything but return that favor? So he made his promise to Sanji, a promise he did intend to keep. Should he and his prince be caught tonight and Sanji be forced to undergo the Stealth Black procedure, Zoro would kill him as he asked and then he would destroy the Vinsmoke family and every bit of Germa with them.

He used his words and his body and his love to piece Sanji back together until his broken pieces were at least reassembled to match the man he loved. He held him close as he drifted off, satisfied but grieving all the same. He reminded himself that he was doing what was necessary to protect them both, to save their lives, to give them a chance to chase their dreams. He would do whatever it took to make that happen, even if it meant following Reiju’s plan.

~*~*~

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

Sanji scrunched his brows at the annoying persistent noise repeating in his ears. The dull beeping continued on a loop and as awareness returned to him, he noticed several other beeping and whirring noises. There was nothing in his bedroom that should be making that noise.

As the thought crossed his mind, he realized that his mattress felt wrong. It wasn’t as soft as usual or as warm. He didn’t feel the familiar silk sheets or the feather pillow beneath his head or the familiar weight of Zoro’s arms around him.

A sharp spike of panic settled in his chest. Did his father come for him already? Was he in the lab? It didn’t smell like the lab, all antiseptic and chemicals and burnt wood and sulfur. He didn’t hear the buzz of clinical voices talking about him like he wasn’t there, like he was an object, just a thing to carry out their scientific whims on. He didn’t taste the rubber of the mouth guard they would put in his mouth to keep him from biting his tongue or the weight of restraints on his wrists and ankles to keep him bound to the gurney they used to experiment on him.

No, instead wherever he was smelled like metal and ammonia and fish and Zoro.

Zoro was close by. The thought made Sanji relaxed as his eyes fluttered open, taking in his surroundings. He was in a dimly lit enclosed space laid out on a narrow bunk which was embedded into the wall. The walls were all gray metal with the 66 insignia painted onto it. A few feet to his right, pushed up against the back wall, was a small metal table with a black duffle bag and a metal tube on top of it. Above the table was a small round window beyond which Sanji could see nothing but pitch black. Still, he recognized where he was as one of Germa’s submarines. Why the hell was he in one though?

He looked towards the controls and saw Zoro sitting at the captain’s seat, murmuring to himself as he stared at the radar which showed their path.

“This damn thing better be taking us somewhere safe. Damn witch better not have tricked us. How the hell does this thing work anyway? How am I supposed to know where we’re going? Can’t see shit outside. Fucking Cook better wake up soon. His Observation is better than mine. Last thing I need is to get eaten by a damn sea king in this metal can. Fucking crazy witch, making me ride around in this thing.”

Sanji wasn’t sure who Zoro was cursing or why they were on this ship in this first place, but as the buffoon raised his finger to press a button, Sanji figured he’d better announce himself.

“Please don’t, Mossy. It would be a pity for you to cause a depressurization in here below sea level and kill us both through your stupidity.”

Zoro whipped around quickly as Sanji sat up, pushing the sheet off himself.

The greenhead immediately shot up and approached Sanji in the small space, though he kept a few feet of distance between. Sanji raised an eyebrow at that. That wasn’t like the clingy moss. There were more pressing matters though.

“Why the hell are we on one of Germa’s scouting subs, Moss? Don’t tell me you managed to get lost and drag me along with you.”

“We’re exactly where we’re supposed to be.”

Sanji narrowed his eyes at that.

“What does that mean?”

“It means that I saw a chance for us to get out and I took it.”

Sanji stood up as he felt a sinking feeling in his stomach.

“What did you do?”

“Technically, all I did was follow Reiju’s plan.”

“Reiju?”

“She’s the one who thought of how to save you. She’s the one who got this ship ready and your things. She’s the one who put our destination into the ship’s computer. She’s the one who made sure the guards wouldn’t be looking. But… but I was the one who used her poison to keep you asleep so I could carry you onto the ship and get you out of Germa.”

Sanji’s jaw dropped at that.

“You did what?!”

“You wouldn’t have come any other way. You would’ve been too worried over what Judge might do.”

“And for good fucking reason! Do you know what that man is capable of, how far his influence can reach?”

“Germa isn’t protected by the World Government anymore. They can’t just go conquering any place they like without consequences and he’s already got Big Mom on his ass, why would he waste his time coming for us?”

“Because he can and because he’s a cruel bastard! He’s never needed a reason beyond that. We need to go back before he realizes we’re gone.”

“Are you insane? No. Besides, like I said, Reiju programmed the ship to navigate us to wherever the fuck she’s sent us and the ship won’t deviate too far off course without her changing it. It was a failsafe she made in case of emergency or in case of exactly this. You, freaking out. We couldn’t risk it.”

“We? All of a sudden, you and Reiju are a ‘we’? You’re such great friends that you would conspire against me and go behind my back to—”

“To save you? Yeah, we would. Because we love you and we’re not about to let Judge take away everything that makes you you. And we’re not about to sit by and let you play the martyr to let him do it either.”

“Playing the martyr? That’s what you think I’m doing?”

“That or you just have a death wish. You asked me to kill you before you ever thought to ask me to save you.”

“Because there’s nothing to save!”

“You aren’t nothing. Sanji, you’re everything.”

The blonde shook his head in denial.

“I was lost a long time ago, Zoro. But you aren’t. You have a dream, you have a goal, you have a purpose. You are going to be the greatest swordsman in the world.”

“And you’re the man who’s going to find the All Blue. That’s your goal, your dream. It’s not dead. Don’t tell you’ve stopped believing in it.”

“I never could. Not even sitting in the bug-infested dungeon could kill that dream. But it’s just like you said before. You’re my dream now too. You have the ability to go out there and meet new people who deserve you. People who will cherish you. Friends, lovers, a family. You can make that because you’re a good man with a good heart and more love to spare than you’d ever admit. My dream is for you to find those people, for them to be your home in a way that I can’t.”

“Damn it, you idiot cook,” Zoro cursed as he closed the distance between them, clasping his hands on Sanji’s shoulder before he gave him a shake.

“When are you going to get it through your thick skull that I already have a home with you? You are my people. You are the person who cherishes me and who I cherish back. You’re the person I call my friend, my lover, my family. I don’t care about sparing love for anyone else if I can’t give my life to you first.”

“I’m a failed lab experiment. My life is not my own. Judge won’t just let me go. He’ll come for me and now because you’re with me, he’ll come for you too. That’s why I’ve never wanted to leave before, that’s why I’ve never taken this chance. I refuse to put your life in danger. It’s too important. You’re too important to me.”

“And you’re too important to me to not take the chance I saw to save your life.”

“Even if it kills you?”

“I’d die a thousand times if it meant that I at least could say I tried.”

Sanji stared at Zoro, seeing nothing but conviction and devotion shining in his eyes. This was the man who was nicknamed the demon. A man of singular vision and resolve. Sanji knew he would not be swayed. He shook his head with annoyance as he breathed out a deep sigh.

“God, you’re so stubborn.”

“Takes one to know one, Prettybrows.”

“Don’t call me that when I’m mad at you. You plotted with my sister to drug and kidnap me when you knew I’d never agree to it and put yourself in danger in the process.”

“I got you away from that place and we’re on our way to safer waters. I’ll take your anger as a trade-off any day of the week, Curls.”

Sanji deflated, most of the fight leaving his body.

“I do not agree with this or condone it. If we weren’t standing in a tin can smaller than my bedroom, I’d be kicking your ass for this.”

Zoro pursed his lips at that, his brow furrowing in annoyance but a grim sort of acceptance settling in his gaze.

“However, in the grand scheme of things, what you did was also hopelessly romantic.”

Zoro blinked at that, surprise flashing in his eyes, before a grin settled on his lips.

“Yeah? This doing it for you?”

“It’s doing something to me. Mostly annoying me, worrying me, making me freak the fuck out. I’m certain you’re going to have to talk me down from a panic attack at some point. But also, yeah, it’s doing it for me.”

Zoro grinned wider as he pulled Sanji flush to his body before he pressed a firm kiss to his lips, leaving the blonde’s lips tingling.

“This doesn’t mean I forgive you yet, Moss.”

“Guess I’m just going to have to earn that, aren’t I?” Zoro declared before he leaned down to kiss Sanji again.

He wrapped his arms around Zoro shoulders, returning the kiss.

The sub gave a loud beep, forcing Sanji to pull away and look at the monitor.

“Keeps doing that. We’re not about to die, are we? Reiju said this model was a prototype.”

“Nah, Moss. Just the sonar getting a ping from some fish in the area,” Sanji explained, approaching the console.

He took quick stock of everything. The sub was a prototype, but knowing his sister, she stocked it with all the necessities they would need to survive for… however long they were going to be down here.

“Wait, do you even know where we’re going?”

“Reiju said she set the course for the East Blue.”

“East Blue? Why on earth would she do that?”

“Dunno.”

“But… but Mihawk’s in the Grand Line. If you go to East Blue with me, you’re going back to the drawing board. It’s like you never made any progress towards your goal at all.”

“Grand Line isn’t going anywhere and neither is Mihawk. I can always come back.”

Sanji stared at the green-haired man as he dug into his ear like he hadn’t just said something monumental.

“You’d do that for me? You love me that much?”

Zoro paused then.

“One of these days, I’m going to say I love you and you’re going to believe me without question.”

Zoro said it like it was a fact, something he was speaking into existence. Sanji hoped he was right.

“Although, are we going to have to climb that damn mountain?”

Sanji smirked as Zoro flipped from being unbearably romantic to casually annoyed.

“It’s that or the Calm Belt. I know which one I prefer.”

Zoro grumbled to himself as Sanji pulled up the navigation screen so he could get more details on where Reiju was sending them. The screen indicated that there was a vivre card embedded in the navigation panel that they were following.

Whose card would Reiju have? And why would it be pointing to East Blue?

Sanji scrolled down the navigation screen so he could see the coordinates for their destination and hopefully get some more information.

Destination

Ocean: East Blue

Locale: Sambas Region

Coordinates: 27.7567667, -81.4639835

“Sambas Region,” he muttered to himself before leaning over and grabbing the navigation log that was kept on all Germa submarines. It featured details of every region of every sea, intel necessary for Germa’s military coups. He grabbed the book on East Blue and flipped through the pages until he got to the Sambas Region.

“Sambas Region is a portion of East Blue which lies between the Oykot Kingdom and Sixis Island. The region is characterized by a dense fog which settles over the waters for a majority of the year. While the Sambas Region is not known to have any islands, it recently has had a boost in popularity due to the anchoring of a “restaurant at sea”. It is a port for both Marines and pirates alike. Called the Baratie, it…”

Sanji paused as the name of the sea restaurant registered in his mind.

“The sea is a young man’s game, Eggplant. I’m too old to follow our dream. Besides, I don’t have my crew anymore. I planned for us to find my dream together. But a man can have more than one dream. A restaurant at sea, a beacon for weary, hungry sailors. No one will starve at sea so long as it’s around. I’ll call it Baratie.”

Zeff’s words, whispered to Sanji as they both languished in hunger and despair in the dungeons of Germa, rang in his ears.

But it wasn’t possible, was it? He was so sure that Judge had killed Zeff. He had never directly said so, only intimated or insinuated things but Judge’s cruelty stretched as far as his imagination and Sanji could attest that it was vast. He had had nightmares for years after, dreaming of what had become of the man who he had come to see as a kindred spirit, mentor and a father figure, the only true one he had.

Judge had been livid when he realized Zeff was indulging Sanji in his affinity for cooking. He had been sneaking him recipes, cooking with him and refining his techniques during visits to the dungeons (he had also been teaching him to fight as well but Judge didn’t know about that and if he did, he didn’t care.) Zeff had indulged Sanji for years, making his life bearable until Zeff had tried to get Sanji out permanently. Judge had discovered his plans and his indulgences, and he had locked Zeff up too, punishing them by withholding food from them and leaving them to starve for weeks. Reiju came down periodically in the first days and brought a bag of food for them which Zeff had forced Sanji to take and make stretch for however long Judge wanted to play this game with them. He hadn’t known what Zeff had been eating until much later when Judge came back and sneered in disgust.

“I see you’ve chosen to live up to your name in the most macabre sense, Red Leg.”

“I’ve done what I must to keep that boy alive, no more and no less.”

“Is this supposed to move me? That boy’s life is only continuing by my mercy and even then it’s of little value.”

“To you maybe. The world’s better off with Sanji in it and would be a sight better if you left it. You’re a poor excuse for a king and a father. You don’t deserve that boy and never did.”

“Is that what you’re fashioning yourself as? His father? Any trapped animal would gnaw its own leg off, you are apparently no different. That doesn’t make you a father.”

“A father sacrifices for their own. That’s something you’ve never done. Sanji’s my responsibility and so I made sure he lived.”

“I hope it was worth it.”

With that, Judge had opened the cell and dragged Zeff out. Only then did Sanji see the severed stump where his leg had been. The sacrifice Zeff had made for him had rendered him speechless, so much so he didn’t even get to say goodbye. When he was finally permitted to leave the dungeons, Reiju had been silent on Zeff’s whereabouts and Judge had been content with hanging Zeff’s fate over his head. Sanji had resigned himself to the reality that he was dead. But now…

He didn’t realize he was hyperventilating until warm hands cupped his cheeks and forced him to meet a steady silver gaze through his own tears.

“You need to breath, Curly. You keep going like this, you’re going to pass out.”

“I… I can’t… I… mmm,” Sanji trailed off with a whimper, his chest tight as tears fell down his face.

“Look at me, Prettybrows. Just focus on me and breath with me.”

Zoro took Sanji’s hand in his and pressed it against his warm chest, right over his scar. He felt the rhythm of Zoro’s breathing beneath his palm and though it took a while, he eventually began to follow the pattern until some semblance of sanity returned to him. Zoro pulled him close once Sanji was breathing better, brushing his tears away with the pads of his thumbs.

“Talk to me. What’s going on?”

“I… it… Zeff,” Sanji mumbled out through hiccups.

“Your old chef?”

“The Baratie… it’s his. It has to be. But I thought he was… Judge killed him… but now…” Sanji dissolved into sobs, unable to continue talking.

Zoro pulled him close and moved them to sit on the bunk, rubbing his hands up and down Sanji’s back to sooth him. He didn’t know exactly what it was he was feeling. It was a strange mixture of grief, sadness, longing, relief, gratitude, love. Zeff was alive. He was in the East Blue and Sanji was going to him.

~*~*~

The first few hours on the submarine were disorienting.

Sanji stood in the center of the small living quarters, his arms wrapped around himself as the reality of what had happened slowly sank in. The sub hummed quietly around them, the automated systems guiding them away from Germa. Away from his family. Away from everything he’d ever known.

He was free.

The thought should have filled him with joy, with relief, but instead it made his chest tight and his breathing shallow. His hands started trembling and he pressed them against his thighs, trying to still them.

“Sanji.” Zoro’s voice cut through the rising panic. Strong hands gripped his shoulders, grounding him. “Breathe.”

“I can’t— I don’t—” Sanji gasped, his vision blurring at the edges. “What if they come after us? What if Reiju gets caught? What if Judge finds us? What if—”

“Hey, look at me.” Zoro turned him around, his gray eye steady and calm. “We’re in the Calm Belt. No ships can follow us here without getting torn apart by sea kings, and this sub has systems to keep them away. We’re safe.”

“Safe,” Sanji repeated, the word foreign on his tongue. When had he ever been safe?

“Yeah. Safe.” Zoro pulled him close, wrapping his arms around him. “I’ve got you, Cook. I’m not letting anything happen to you.”

Sanji buried his face in Zoro’s chest, breathing in his familiar scent—steel and sweat and something uniquely Zoro. Slowly, his heartbeat began to settle, matching the steady rhythm of Zoro’s.

They stood like that for a long time, until Sanji’s legs started to ache and his breathing had fully returned to normal. When he finally pulled back, Zoro was watching him with that soft expression he only ever showed when they were alone.

“Better?”

“Yeah.” Sanji wiped at his eyes, embarrassed. “Sorry. I don’t know what—”

“Don’t apologize.” Zoro’s thumb brushed across his cheekbone. “You just escaped from a lifetime of hell. You’re allowed to feel whatever you’re feeling.”

Sanji nodded, not trusting his voice. Zoro pressed a kiss to his forehead before stepping back and surveying their surroundings.

“So. This is home for the next few weeks.”

The submarine was small but well-equipped. There was a compact galley kitchen, a tiny bathroom with a shower, a living area with a small table and bench seating, and a single bedroom with a double bunk. Storage compartments lined the walls, and large circular windows offered views of the dark water outside.

“It’s not much,” Sanji said quietly.

“It’s enough.” Zoro caught his hand, threading their fingers together. “We’ve got food, water, a bed. And we’ve got each other. That’s all we need.”

Something warm unfurled in Sanji’s chest at those words. “Yeah. I guess it is.”

~*~*~

The days began to blur together in a strange, timeless way. Without the sun to mark the passage of time, without the rigid schedule that had governed every moment of his life in Germa, Sanji found himself unmoored. Sometimes he’d wake up and not know if it was morning or evening, if they’d been traveling for three days or ten.

But slowly, they found their rhythm.

Sanji cooked. It was the one thing that made sense, the one thing that felt familiar and right. The galley was tiny compared to Germa’s kitchens, but it had everything he needed. He made elaborate meals from the supplies Reiju had stocked—fresh pasta with cream sauce, perfectly seared fish, delicate pastries that filled the sub with the scent of butter and sugar.

Zoro ate everything he made with enthusiasm, never failing to compliment him, never taking a single bite for granted. It made Sanji’s chest ache in the best way.

“You don’t have to make such fancy stuff every time,” Zoro said one evening, watching as Sanji plated a perfectly cooked steak with roasted vegetables. “I’d be happy with rice and whatever.”

“I know.” Sanji set the plate in front of him. “But I want to. Cooking for you... it makes me happy.”

Zoro’s expression softened. “Then cook whatever you want, Curls. I’ll eat it all.”

And he did. Every single time.

~*~*~

They trained together in the small living area, pushing the table aside to make room. Zoro went through his kata with his swords, the movements precise and deadly even in the confined space. Sanji practiced his kicks, his legs cutting through the air with controlled power.

Sometimes they sparred, careful not to damage the sub but still pushing each other, testing limits. Sanji loved these moments—the familiar dance of their bodies, the way they moved around each other with practiced ease, the competitive fire that burned between them.

“You’re getting sloppy, Cook,” Zoro taunted, blocking a kick aimed at his ribs.

“Says the moss-head who nearly took out a window with that last swing.”

They grinned at each other, breathless and sweating, and then Zoro was pulling him close and kissing him hard. Sanji melted into it, his hands fisting in Zoro’s shirt.

These kisses were different from the ones they’d stolen in Germa. There was no urgency, no fear of being caught. They could take their time, could savor each other.

It was intoxicating.

~*~*~

At night—or what they decided was night—they’d sit by the windows and watch the ocean. The Calm Belt was eerily beautiful, the water dark and still, occasionally illuminated by bioluminescent creatures that drifted past like living stars.

“Look at that one,” Sanji breathed, pressing his hand against the glass as a massive jellyfish floated by, its tentacles trailing behind it in ribbons of blue-green light.

Zoro sat beside him, their shoulders touching. “Never seen anything like this before.”

“Me neither.” Sanji watched the jellyfish disappear into the darkness. “I’ve spent my whole life on the sea and I’ve never really seen it.”

Zoro’s hand found his, squeezing gently. “You’ll see a lot more of it now. The East Blue, the Grand Line if we ever go back. All of it.”

“The Grand Line,” Sanji murmured. “I’ve read about it. The Reverse Mountain, the different islands, the weather patterns. But reading about it isn’t the same as seeing it.”

“No, it’s not.” Zoro leaned his head against Sanji’s shoulder. “But you’ll get to see it all now. Whatever you want.”

The promise of it—of freedom, of choice, of a future that was his to decide—still felt surreal. But with Zoro beside him, it was starting to feel possible.

But the freedom was terrifying too.

One afternoon, Sanji found himself frozen in the galley, staring at the ingredients laid out before him. He’d been about to start preparing lunch when suddenly his mind went blank. What should he make? What did he want to make?

In Germa, his meals had always been dictated by Judge’s preferences, by what would be served at formal dinners, by what his brothers demanded. He’d never had to think about what he wanted to cook.

His hands started shaking. The trembling spread up his arms, into his chest, until his whole body was quaking. His breath came in short, sharp gasps.

“Sanji?” Zoro appeared in the doorway, concern etched across his face. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t— I can’t—” Sanji gestured helplessly at the ingredients. “I don’t know what to make.”

“Okay.” Zoro stepped closer, his movements slow and careful. “That’s okay.”

“It’s not okay! I’m a chef, I should be able to—”

“Hey.” Zoro caught his wrists gently, stilling the shaking. “You’ve spent your whole life cooking what other people told you to cook. It’s okay if it takes time to figure out what you want.”

Sanji’s eyes burned with unshed tears. “What if I never figure it out? What if I’m so broken that I can’t even make a simple decision without—”

“You’re not broken.” Zoro’s voice was firm, leaving no room for argument. “You’re healing. There’s a difference.”

“I don’t feel like I’m healing. I feel like I’m falling apart.”

“Sometimes that’s part of it.” Zoro pulled him close, wrapping his arms around him. “You’ve been holding yourself together for so long, keeping everything locked down just to survive. Now you’re safe enough to fall apart. So fall apart. I’ll be here to catch you.”

Sanji clung to him, his face pressed against Zoro’s neck, and let himself cry. When the tears finally subsided, Zoro was still there, solid and steady.

“How about we make something together?” Zoro suggested quietly. “You can teach me, and we’ll figure out what sounds good as we go.”

“You want to cook with me?”

“Why not? I can follow instructions. Probably.”

Despite everything, Sanji found himself laughing. “You’re going to be terrible at this.”

“Probably,” Zoro agreed with a grin. “But at least we’ll have fun.”

They did have fun. Zoro was, as predicted, terrible at cooking—he nearly burned the rice and cut the vegetables into uneven chunks—but he tried, and he made Sanji laugh, and by the end they had a simple but satisfying meal of fried rice and vegetables.

“See?” Zoro said, taking a bite. “Not so bad.”

“It’s a disaster,” Sanji said, but he was smiling.

“It’s our disaster.”

~*~*~

The nightmares came frequently. Sanji would wake gasping, his heart racing, the phantom sensation of his brothers’ fists still echoing through his body. Or he’d dream of Judge’s cold eyes, of being dragged back to Germa, of Zoro being killed in front of him.

Every time, Zoro was there. He’d pull Sanji close, murmuring reassurances, running his hands through his hair until the panic subsided.

“I’m sorry,” Sanji whispered one night after a particularly bad dream. “I keep waking you up.”

“Don’t care.” Zoro pressed a kiss to his temple. “I’d rather be woken up than have you deal with this alone.”

“I should be better by now. We’ve been gone for over a week.”

“Sanji.” Zoro tilted his chin up, making him meet his eye. “Healing isn’t linear. Some days will be better than others. That’s normal.”

“How are you so patient with me?”

“Because I love you.” Zoro said it simply, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “And because you’re worth it.”

Sanji’s throat tightened. “I don’t know if I believe that.”

“I know. But I believe it enough for both of us. And one day, you’ll believe it too.”

~*~*~

They read together, sprawled on the bunk with books from the small library Reiju had included. Zoro preferred adventure stories and historical accounts of famous swordsmen. Sanji gravitated toward cookbooks and novels, losing himself in stories of people living ordinary, peaceful lives.

Sometimes Sanji would read aloud, his voice filling the quiet space. Zoro would listen with his eye closed, his hand resting on Sanji’s thigh, his thumb tracing idle patterns.

“You have a nice voice,” Zoro said one evening.

Sanji paused mid-sentence. “What?”

“Your voice. It’s nice. I like listening to you.”

Warmth bloomed in Sanji’s chest. “That’s... thank you.”

“Keep reading, Cook.”

So he did, and Zoro’s hand stayed on his thigh, grounding and comforting.

~*~*~

Two weeks into their journey, something shifted.

They were in the bedroom, Sanji sitting on the edge of the bunk while Zoro stood between his legs, kissing him slowly. It was late—or what they’d decided was late—and they were both tired, but neither wanted to stop touching each other.

Sanji’s hands slid under Zoro’s shirt, mapping the familiar planes of muscle and scar tissue. Zoro’s fingers threaded through his hair, tilting his head back to deepen the kiss.

“Zoro,” Sanji breathed against his lips.

“Yeah?”

“I want...” He trailed off, suddenly uncertain.

“What do you want, Cook?” Zoro’s voice was low, rough with desire but patient.

“I want you. But...” Sanji bit his lip. “In Germa, we always had to be so quiet. So careful. I want... I want to not have to hold back.”

Understanding dawned in Zoro’s eye. “We don’t have to hold back here. There’s no one to hear us. No one to hide from.”

“I know. But I don’t know if I can... if I remember how to not hold back.”

Zoro cupped his face gently. “Then let me help you remember.”

He kissed Sanji again, slower this time, more deliberate. His hands moved to Sanji’s shirt, unbuttoning it with careful precision. When he pushed it off Sanji’s shoulders, his fingers traced over the scars there—some from training, some from his brothers’ cruelty.

“You’re beautiful,” Zoro murmured.

Sanji’s breath hitched. “I’m not—”

“You are.” Zoro kissed his collarbone, his shoulder, the hollow of his throat. “Every part of you.”

Sanji’s hands fisted in Zoro’s shirt, pulling him closer. “I need you.”

“You have me.” Zoro pulled back just long enough to strip off his own shirt before guiding Sanji to lie back on the bunk. “You’ve always had me.”

He settled between Sanji’s legs, his weight familiar and comforting. They kissed until Sanji was breathless, until his hips were rocking up against Zoro’s, seeking friction.

“Tell me what you want,” Zoro said, his lips brushing against Sanji’s ear.

“Everything.” Sanji’s voice came out shaky, desperate. “I want everything.”

Zoro’s hands moved to Sanji’s pants, unbuttoning them and sliding them down his legs along with his underwear. The cool air of the sub made Sanji shiver, but then Zoro’s warm hands were on his thighs, spreading them wider.

“So fucking beautiful,” Zoro breathed, his eye dark with want.

Sanji felt exposed, vulnerable, but not in the way he had in Germa. This was different. This was safe. This was Zoro, who loved him, who would never hurt him.

“Touch me,” he whispered. “Please.”

Zoro’s hand wrapped around his cock, stroking slowly. Sanji gasped, his back arching off the bed. In Germa, he would have bitten his lip, would have swallowed the sound. But here, there was no need.

“That’s it,” Zoro encouraged. “Let me hear you.”

He stroked faster, his grip firm and perfect, and Sanji moaned, the sound echoing in the small space. It felt strange, being loud, but also liberating.

“Zoro, please, I need—”

“I know what you need.” Zoro released his cock and reached for the oil they kept in the bedside drawer. “Gonna take care of you.”

He slicked his fingers and pressed one against Sanji’s entrance, circling gently before pushing inside. Sanji’s breath caught, his body tensing for a moment before he forced himself to relax.

“That’s it, Cook. Just relax for me.” Zoro worked his finger deeper, his other hand stroking Sanji’s thigh soothingly.

It had been a few days since they’d last done this, and Sanji’s body needed time to adjust. But Zoro was patient, working him open slowly, adding a second finger when he was ready, then a third.

“Fuck,” Sanji gasped when Zoro’s fingers brushed against his prostate. “Right there, please—”

Zoro obliged, rubbing against that spot until Sanji was writhing, his hands clutching at the sheets. The pleasure was intense, overwhelming, and he didn’t have to hide it. He could moan as loud as he wanted, could beg and plead and fall apart.

“You’re so responsive,” Zoro murmured, his voice full of awe. “So perfect.”

“Not perfect,” Sanji managed. “Just— ah!— just yours.”

“Yeah. Mine.” Zoro’s fingers pressed deeper, stretching him wider. “And I’m yours.”

“Yours,” Sanji repeated, the word feeling like a promise. “Zoro, I’m ready. Please.”

Zoro withdrew his fingers and slicked his cock, positioning himself at Sanji’s entrance. “Look at me.”

Sanji met his eye, and Zoro pushed inside slowly, carefully, watching his face for any sign of discomfort. Sanji gasped at the stretch, at the fullness, but it was good, so good.

“Okay?” Zoro asked, his voice strained with the effort of holding still.

“More than okay.” Sanji wrapped his legs around Zoro’s waist, pulling him deeper. “Move. Please move.”

Zoro started with slow, deep thrusts, letting Sanji adjust to the feeling. But as Sanji’s moans grew louder, more desperate, he picked up the pace.

“That’s it,” Zoro groaned. “Let me hear you. Don’t hold back.”

Sanji didn’t. He moaned and gasped and cried out with every thrust, his voice echoing off the metal walls of the sub. It felt incredible, being able to express his pleasure without fear, without shame.

“Feels so good,” he gasped. “Zoro, you feel so good inside me.”

“Fuck, Sanji.” Zoro’s hips snapped forward harder. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

“Tell me.” Sanji’s hands clutched at Zoro’s shoulders, his nails digging into skin. “Tell me what I do to you.”

“You drive me crazy.” Zoro’s voice was rough, breathless. “Every sound you make, every time you say my name. I can’t get enough of you.”

“Then take more.” Sanji pulled him down into a kiss, messy and desperate. “Take everything.”

Zoro groaned into his mouth and shifted the angle, hitting Sanji’s prostate dead-on with every thrust. Sanji broke the kiss with a cry, his head falling back against the pillow.

“Yes! Right there, don’t stop!”

“Not stopping.” Zoro’s hand wrapped around Sanji’s cock, stroking in time with his thrusts. “Want to feel you come around me.”

The dual stimulation was too much. Sanji’s whole body tensed, pleasure coiling tight in his belly. “Close, I’m so close—”

“Come for me, Sanji. Let go.”

Sanji shattered, his orgasm crashing over him in waves. He cried out Zoro’s name, loud and unrestrained, his body clenching around Zoro’s cock. Distantly, he heard Zoro curse, felt him thrust harder, faster, chasing his own release.

“Sanji, I’m—”

“Inside me,” Sanji gasped. “Want to feel you.”

Zoro groaned, his hips stuttering as he came, filling Sanji with warmth. He collapsed on top of him, both of them breathing hard, their bodies slick with sweat.

For a long moment, they just lay there, tangled together, hearts racing in sync. Then Zoro pressed a soft kiss to Sanji’s temple.

“You okay?”

“More than okay.” Sanji’s voice was hoarse from crying out, but he was smiling. “That was... we’ve never been able to do that before.”

“No.” Zoro shifted to look at him, his expression tender. “We’ve never been free before.”

Free. The word settled over Sanji like a blanket, warm and comforting. He was free. Free to be loud, free to express his pleasure, free to love Zoro without fear.

“I love you,” he whispered.

“I love you too, Cook.” Zoro kissed him softly. “And we have the rest of our lives to be this free.”

The rest of their lives. It was a promise and a gift, and for the first time, Sanji let himself believe in it.

~*~*~

As they neared the end of their journey, Sanji found himself growing anxious again, but for different reasons. Soon they’d reach the East Blue. Soon he’d see Zeff again—if Zeff even remembered him, if he even wanted to see him.

“What if he doesn’t want me there?” Sanji asked one evening as they sat by the window, watching a school of glowing fish swim past.

“Then we’ll figure something else out,” Zoro said simply. “But I don’t think that’s going to happen.”

“You don’t know that.”

“No, but I know you. And anyone who spent time with you and didn’t want you around would have to be an idiot.”

Sanji leaned his head on Zoro’s shoulder. “You’re biased.”

“Maybe. But I’m also right.”

Despite his anxiety, Sanji found himself smiling. Whatever happened when they reached the Baratie, he wouldn’t be facing it alone. He had Zoro. And that made all the difference.

The sub’s navigation system chimed, indicating they were approaching their destination. Sanji’s heart leapt into his throat.

“We’re almost there,” he whispered.

Zoro squeezed his hand. “Ready?”

Was he ready? Ready to face Zeff, to start a new life, to step into a world he’d only ever dreamed of?

No. But he was going to do it anyway.

“Yeah,” Sanji said, squeezing back. “I’m ready.”

When the sub finally began to show Baratie in their vicinity, Sanji pressed a button to have the sub surface before he opened the hatch and stared out into the sea. He took a moment to breath in the fresh air before taking in his surroundings. It was foggy, a thick layer of it hanging low over the sea, making it hard to see anything.

“See any land yet? I’m ready to get out of this thing.”

“Not yet,” Sanji muttered back, narrowing his eyes as he glanced around. He could barely see a few feet in front of him but on his next pass he noticed something through the fog.

A lighthouse, a beacon shining across the water. He kept his eyes peeled as they got closer and soon saw the anchored ship shaped like a fish with a sign reading Baratie posted on the front.

“It’s real. It’s really here,” he muttered to himself, pressing a hand to his chest as they got closer until the sub stopped right outside the restaurant alongside several other ships.

“What if he doesn’t recognize me? I mean, most of our time together, I was wearing a helmet. He won’t know my face.”

“You’ll have two very obvious defining features for him to know you by even if he never saw your face, Curls,” Zoro pointed out, running his finger over Sanji’s eyebrows and through his blonde locks.

“Besides, that North Blue accent of yours gives you away too.”

“What if he doesn’t want me?”

“No man would sacrifice what he did for someone he didn’t want. He called you his son of his own free will. He isn’t Judge. If all you’ve told me about him is true, he’ll know you and he’ll want you. Besides, there isn’t any sane person on this earth who could truly know you and not want to keep you.”

Sanji blushed at that.

“You can’t just say things like that to me.”

“Yeah I can. I just did, Prettybrows.”

Sanji turned even redder then.

“Don’t call me that.”

Zoro leaned over and kissed his hot cheek before he climbed out of the submarine and hopped onto the deck. He stretched his back and twisted his hips before resting one hand on his swords and reaching the other out to him.

“C’mon, Love Cook. Let’s go see your old man.”

Sanji hesitated momentarily before accepting Zoro’s hand and stepping onto the deck. Once he did, the submarine gave a beep before the hatch closed on its own and the ship submerged back into the water.

“Well, there goes our ride. Guess we’re stuck here. No backing out now, Cook.”

Sanji took a deep breath before nodding to himself and walking towards the entrance, Zoro’s hand clasped his own in a death grip.

The dining room was packed given it was around lunchtime. Sanji smiled to see Zeff’s business doing so well as they approached the front desk.

“Welcome to the Baratie. Do you have a reservation,” a man with a blue buzzcut asked.

“Um, no. Actually, I’m here to speak with the owner. It’s Zeff, isn’t it?”

“It is. Do you have an appointment?”

“No.”

“I’m afraid the head chef is very busy at the moment.”

“Oh, um, then I guess—”

“He’ll make an exception for this,” Zoro interrupted him just as Sanji was about to accept the maître d’s words.

Sanji shot him an annoyed look.

“No backing out, Cook.”

Sanji’s lips pursed before he turned back to the man behind the desk.

“Tell him it’s about the eggplants from the North. He’ll know what it means,” Sanji told him.

The man seemed to hesitate before ultimately turning to walk to the kitchen.

“If this turns out to be a disaster, I’m blaming you,” Sanji muttered.

“Does that mean if it turns out well that I get credit for it,” Zoro asked back.

“I hardly think—”

Sanji was cut off as the door to the kitchen suddenly banged open with enough force to rattle the frames on the walls, cutting short all the conversations in the room.

Every head turned toward the sound. Sanji’s breath caught in his throat.

Zeff stood in the doorway, one hand still gripping the door handle, his chest heaving like he’d run the entire length of the kitchen. He was older—so much older than Sanji remembered. Deep lines creased his weathered face, his braided mustache more gray than blond now. He wore a pristine white chef’s coat and that ridiculously tall toque he’d always favored, and his peg leg gleamed under the dining room lights. But it was his eyes that made Sanji’s heart clench—wild, desperate, disbelieving as they swept across the crowded room.

Then they landed on Sanji.

The world seemed to stop. Sanji couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, couldn’t do anything but stare back at the man who had saved his life, who had shared his dream, who had been the closest thing to a real father he’d ever known. Part of him still couldn’t believe this was real, that Zeff was actually standing there, that he wasn’t going to wake up in his cell in Germa to find this had all been a cruel dream.

Zeff’s face went through a dozen emotions in the span of a heartbeat—shock, disbelief, recognition, and then something that looked almost like pain before settling into fierce, overwhelming joy.

“Sanji?” His voice cracked on the name, rough and uncertain, like he was afraid saying it too loud would shatter the illusion.

Sanji’s legs moved without his permission, carrying him forward through the maze of tables. Diners pressed back to give him room, their conversations dying to whispers. He was vaguely aware of Zoro following a few steps behind, a solid presence at his back, but all his focus was on Zeff.

He stopped a few feet away, suddenly uncertain. What if Zeff was angry he’d never tried to contact him? What if he blamed him for what Judge had done? What if—

“Eggplant?” Zeff’s voice was softer now, wondering. “That really you?”

The old nickname—the one Sanji had always protested, always complained about—hit him like a physical blow. His vision blurred with tears.

“Yeah,” he managed, his voice breaking. “Yeah, it’s me. Hi, old geezer.”

For a long moment, Zeff just stared at him, his single visible eye roving over Sanji’s face like he was trying to memorize every detail. Sanji watched his throat work, saw his hands clench and unclench at his sides.

Then Zeff moved.

He was fast—faster than a man his age with a peg leg had any right to be—and suddenly Sanji was being pulled into a crushing embrace. Strong arms wrapped around him, one hand coming up to cradle the back of his head, and Sanji found himself pressed against Zeff’s broad chest.

The smell hit him first—garlic, oregano and herbs, the lingering scent of the kitchen, and underneath it all something that was purely Zeff. Clean cotton and sea salt. The chef’s coat was soft against Sanji’s cheek, worn from countless washings, and he could feel the steady thump of Zeff’s heartbeat against his ear.

It was real. This was real.

Sanji’s hands fisted in the back of Zeff’s coat as a sob tore from his throat. All the years of separation, all the loneliness and fear and desperate hope came crashing down on him at once. He buried his face in Zeff’s shoulder and let himself cry, great heaving sobs that shook his whole body.

Zeff held him through it all, one hand stroking his hair, the other arm locked around him like he was afraid Sanji might disappear if he let go.

“How?” Zeff whispered against his ear, his voice thick with emotion. “How are you here?”

“Reiju,” Sanji gasped out between sobs. “And Zoro. They—they got me out. We took a submarine through the Calm Belt and I—I thought—maybe you’d—you’d want to see me—”

“Want to see you?” Zeff’s arms tightened almost painfully. “You’re damn right I would. I’ve spent years worrying about you, wondering if I’d ever see you again, if you were even still—” His voice broke and he didn’t finish the sentence.

“I’m sorry,” Sanji choked out. “I’m so sorry, I should have—”

“Don’t.” Zeff’s voice was fierce. “Don’t you dare apologize to me, you little brat. That was Judge’s doing, not yours. You hear me? None of this was your fault.”

“But he hurt you because of me. All because you tried to—”

“That man never needed an excuse to hurt anyone,” Zeff cut him off. “And I don’t regret what I did. Not for a second. A man’s got to take responsibility for his own, and you were mine the moment I decided to teach you. That’s all I did.”

Sanji let out a sound that was half laugh, half sob, something breaking open in his chest. He pressed his face harder into Zeff’s shoulder, breathing in his scent, letting the solid warmth of him chase away the lingering cold of Germa’s halls.

The world around them faded—the watching diners, the clatter of dishes, even Zoro’s presence behind him. There was only this: Zeff’s arms around him, the proof that someone had missed him, had worried about him, had kept hoping he’d come back.

Something that had been broken and askew inside him for so long finally clicked into place.

They stood like that for a long time, neither willing to let go. Sanji felt Zeff’s chest hitch once, twice, and realized the old man was crying too. That made him cry harder.

Finally, after what felt like both an eternity and no time at all, Zeff pulled back. He kept his hands on Sanji’s shoulders, his grip firm and grounding, and studied his face with an intensity that made Sanji want to squirm.

“Look at you,” Zeff said, his voice rough. “All grown up.” His eye traced over Sanji’s features—the sharper angles of his face, the faint shadows under his eyes, the way he held himself. “Still a string bean though. How the hell have you been eating?”

Despite everything, Sanji found himself laughing wetly. “Well, I’ve only had MREs to work with for the last couple months, and I needed to prioritize Zoro’s dietary needs anyway.”

“No, you didn’t,” came the immediate grumble from behind him.

Sanji turned his head to glare at the swordsman. “We’re not having that argument again right now, Moss. Especially not in front of my dad.”

The word slipped out before he could stop it. Dad. He’d never called Zeff that before, had always stuck to “old man” or “geezer” or his name. But it felt right. It felt true.

Zeff’s eye widened slightly, something soft and vulnerable crossing his face before he cleared his throat roughly. His gaze shifted past Sanji to the green-haired man standing a few feet back.

Sanji watched as Zeff assessed Zoro with the same critical eye he’d once used to judge Sanji’s knife work. He took in the three swords, the hard muscle, the way Zoro stood with his weight balanced and ready despite his relaxed posture. The protective way he hovered near Sanji without crowding him.

Zoro met Zeff’s gaze steadily, his jaw set, his single eye unwavering. There was a challenge in his stance—not aggressive, but firm. A clear message: I’m not going anywhere.

Zeff’s eyebrow rose slowly. He looked back at Sanji with an expression that was equal parts knowing and amused.

“So,” he said slowly. “This is the one who got you out?”

“One of them, yeah.” Sanji stepped back and gestured for Zoro to come closer. The swordsman moved forward immediately, and Sanji found himself reaching for him, his hand finding Zoro’s arm and holding on. “This is Zoro. He’s... he’s my...”

The words stuck in his throat. What were they? Lovers? Partners? Boyfriends seemed too casual for what they had, too small to encompass everything Zoro meant to him. They’d never put a label on it, had never needed to when it was just the two of them.

But now, standing in front of Zeff, Sanji realized he needed to find the words. Needed Zeff to understand.

“He’s my Moss,” he finally said, the nickname feeling inadequate but somehow right. “My... my person.”

Zoro’s hand came up to cover his where it gripped his arm, squeezing gently. When Sanji glanced at him, he found Zoro looking at him with that soft expression that was reserved only for him, the one that made his chest feel too full.

Even if Zeff rejected him for this—for being with a man, for choosing a pirate, for any of a dozen reasons—he’d still have Zoro. It would hurt, would tear something vital inside him, but he wouldn’t be alone.

Zeff was quiet for a long moment, his gaze moving between them. Sanji held his breath.

“Your moss, eh?” Zeff’s mouth twitched. “Can’t say I’m surprised.”

“What?” Sanji blinked.

“You always did have a type.” Zeff crossed his arms, his expression turning thoughtful. “Remember that doctor lad who broke into Germa to raid the labs? The one with the spotted hat?”

Sanji’s face immediately heated. “That was—Trafalgar Law was just—”

“You two got along a little too well for it to be ‘just’ anything,” Zeff continued, clearly enjoying himself now. “I watched you sneak him extra food, saw the way you’d light up when he came to visit. The boy was half in love with you by the time Judge ran him off.”

“We were friends!” Sanji protested, his face burning. “He was interesting and he didn’t treat me like—like I was nothing. That’s all.”

“Uh-huh.” Zeff’s grin widened. “And what about that other pirate lad? The one from Whitebeard’s crew with the fire powers?”

Sanji wanted to sink through the floor. “Oh my god.”

“Firefist Ace,” Zeff said, his tone almost fond. “Now that boy was ready to sweep you off your feet and carry you away as his bride if Judge hadn’t caught wind of it. I’ve never seen someone so determined to flirt their way through reinforced steel bars.”

“He was keeping me company during my captivity,” Sanji said weakly. “That was all. We talked about cooking and the sea and—”

“And he brought you flowers,” Zeff added. “And wrote you poetry. Terrible poetry, mind you, but poetry nonetheless.”

“It wasn’t that bad,” Sanji muttered, then realized what he’d admitted. “I mean—”

“I’m old, Eggplant, not blind. I know what flirting looks like.” Zeff’s expression softened slightly. “I also know what it looks like when someone’s trying to bring a little light into a dark place. Those boys cared about you. I was grateful for that, even if it made Judge’s security team lose their minds.”

Sanji couldn’t look at Zeff anymore. His gaze slid sideways and landed on Zoro—whose jaw was clenched tight, whose eye had gone dark and stormy, whose entire body had gone rigid with tension.

Oh no.

Zoro’s lip was jutted out more than normal, his brows drawn together in a scowl that would have been comical if Sanji didn’t recognize it for what it was. The swordsman was staring at a point somewhere past Zeff’s shoulder, his expression thunderous.

He was pouting. Actually, genuinely pouting.

“Oh, don’t tell me you’re jealous, Moss,” Sanji said, exasperated and fond in equal measure. “I knew them each for the span of a month, maybe two. I’m here with you, not them. I’m introducing you to my dad, for heaven’s sake.”

Zoro’s scowl deepened. “Didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t have to. Your face is doing all the talking.” Sanji squeezed his arm. “Law was a friend who understood what it was like to be trapped. Ace was... Ace was kind to me when kindness was rare. But neither of them are you.”

“They wanted you,” Zoro muttered, still not looking at him.

“Maybe. But I didn’t want them. Not like—” Sanji cut himself off, suddenly aware of their audience. The entire dining room had gone silent, every eye fixed on them. He could feel the weight of their stares, the curiosity and speculation.

A low, dangerous sound rumbled from Zoro’s chest—not quite a growl, but close. Several nearby diners actually leaned back in their seats, their eyes widening. Sanji had to admit, Zoro did look rather homicidal at the moment, all sharp edges and barely contained violence.

“Zoro,” Sanji said quietly, turning to face him fully. He reached up to cup the swordsman’s face, forcing him to meet his eyes. “Hey. Look at me.”

Zoro’s gaze snapped to his, still stormy but focused now.

“You’re the one I chose,” Sanji said, low enough that only Zoro and maybe Zeff could hear. “You’re the one who came for me. You’re the one I’m standing here with. That means something, doesn’t it?”

Some of the tension bled out of Zoro’s shoulders. His hand came up to cover Sanji’s where it rested against his cheek. “Yeah. It does.”

“Then stop pouting like a child who had his toy taken away.”

“I don’t pout.”

“You’re literally pouting right now.”

“Am not.”

“Are too.”

Zeff cleared his throat loudly, and Sanji suddenly remembered where they were. He dropped his hand from Zoro’s face, his own face heating again as he turned back to find Zeff watching them with barely concealed amusement.

“You two done?” the old chef asked.

“Sorry,” Sanji muttered.

“Don’t be. It’s good to see you happy.” Zeff’s expression turned serious. “Even if your taste in men is questionable.”

“Hey,” Zoro protested.

“Three swords?” Zeff continued, ignoring him. “What kind of ridiculous fighting style is that? And that hair—did you lose a bet, son?”

“It’s natural,” Zoro growled.

“Even worse.” But there was no real heat in Zeff’s words. He was still studying Zoro with that assessing gaze, and Sanji could practically see him cataloging everything—the calluses on Zoro’s hands, the way he stood, the quality of his swords, the protective way he angled himself toward Sanji.

Finally, Zeff gave a small nod, like Zoro had passed some invisible test.

“Well,” he said, his voice gruff. “At least he looks like he can handle himself in a fight. You’re going to need that, the trouble you attract.”

“I don’t attract trouble,” Sanji protested.

“Eggplant, you were born into trouble and you’ve been swimming in it ever since.” Zeff’s expression softened. “But maybe now you’ve got someone to help you swim.”

Zoro’s hand found Sanji’s, their fingers threading together. “Yeah. He does.”

The simple certainty in those words made Sanji’s throat tight. He squeezed Zoro’s hand, grateful beyond words.

A throat cleared nearby, and Sanji looked over to see the maître d—Patty, he remembered—standing a few feet away. The man’s eyes were suspiciously bright, and he was dabbing at them with a handkerchief.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Patty said, his voice thick. “But the kitchen’s starting to back up, and—” He broke off, looking at Sanji with wonder. “You’re really him. You’re really Sanji.”

“I—yes?” Sanji said, uncertain. He’d never met this man before.

“The old man’s talked about you for years,” Patty continued, his voice thick with emotion. “Told us all about his son. About your dreams of finding All Blue, about how talented you were in the kitchen, about...” He trailed off, shaking his head. “We all hoped someday you’d make it here. That he’d get to see you again.”

Around the dining room, Sanji noticed other staff members had paused in their work.

“It’s good to finally meet you,” Patty said, his eyes glistening. “Really good.”

Sanji looked around the dining room and realized that several of the staff were watching him with similar expressions—recognition, joy, welcome. These people had never met him, but they knew him through Zeff’s words, through years of stories and hope. And now, finally, he was here.

The realization made his eyes sting again.

“Alright, alright,” Zeff said, waving a hand. “Show’s over. Everyone back to work or back to your meals before I start charging a spectator fee.”

There was a ripple of laughter, and slowly the dining room returned to its normal buzz of conversation. But Sanji could still feel eyes on him, could sense the curiosity and speculation.

Zeff must have noticed his discomfort because he jerked his head toward the kitchen. “Come on, you two. You look like you need a proper meal, and I’m not having this conversation in the middle of the dining room. I’ll make you something and you can tell me everything—how you got out, where you’ve been, what your plans are.”

He started toward the kitchen, then paused and looked back at Patty. “Make up a room for them. The big one on the third floor.”

“The big one?” Patty’s eyebrows rose. “But that’s—”

“I know what it is. Move Sanji’s things there and make sure there’s space for his... Moss.” Zeff’s mouth twitched on the word.

“Wait.” Sanji’s brain finally caught up. “My things? What things?”

Zeff turned back to him, his expression unreadable. “Your room, Eggplant. Did you think I wouldn’t keep one ready for you?”

“I—” Sanji’s voice failed him. “You kept a room for me?”

“Of course I did.” Zeff’s voice was gruff, almost defensive. “I wasn’t going to build this place without making sure there was space for you. Been waiting for you to come home since the day I opened the doors.”

The words hit Sanji like a physical blow. All these years, Zeff had been waiting. Had kept a room ready, had hoped, had believed Sanji would come back someday.

“I didn’t know if you’d want me here,” Sanji whispered. “After everything that happened, after what Judge did to you—”

“What Judge did to me was his choice, not yours.” Zeff stepped closer, his hand coming up to grip Sanji’s shoulder. “You’re my son in every way that matters. This is your home. It always has been.”

Sanji couldn’t speak past the lump in his throat. He nodded, not trusting his voice.

“Didn’t expect the plus one though,” Zeff added, glancing at Zoro. “But we’ll make it work. The room’s big enough for two.”

“Thank you,” Zoro said quietly. It was the first time he’d spoken directly to Zeff, and there was a weight to the words—gratitude, but also a promise. I’ll take care of him. I’ll keep him safe.

Zeff seemed to hear it too because he nodded slowly. “Just don’t break anything. And keep the noise down—we’ve got paying customers.”

Sanji’s face flamed. “Oh my god.”

“What? I’m just saying—”

“We’re not having this conversation.” Sanji grabbed Zoro’s hand and started pulling him toward the kitchen. “Come on, Moss. Let’s go before he gets worse.”

Behind them, he heard Zeff’s rough laughter and Patty’s amused chuckle. Despite his embarrassment, Sanji found himself smiling.

He was home. He was really, truly home.

~*~*~

The kitchen was exactly as Sanji remembered and nothing like it at the same time.

It was bigger, for one thing—a sprawling space with multiple stations, industrial stoves, and gleaming prep counters. The air was thick with heat and the smell of cooking food—searing meat, simmering sauces, fresh bread. Chefs moved through the space with practiced efficiency, calling out orders and plating dishes with swift precision.

But the bones of it were the same. The layout, the flow, the way everything was organized—it was all familiar, like coming home to a place he’d only ever visited in dreams.

Zeff led them to a small table in the corner, away from the main cooking area but still within sight of everything. “Sit,” he ordered. “I’ll make you something.”

“You don’t have to—” Sanji started.

“I’m making you something,” Zeff repeated firmly. “You’re skin and bones, and I’m not having you waste away on my watch. Now sit.”

Sanji sat. Zoro settled beside him, close enough that their thighs pressed together, his presence warm and grounding.

They watched as Zeff moved through the kitchen, barking orders at his staff, checking dishes, adjusting seasonings. He moved with the same confidence and grace Sanji remembered, peg leg and all, completely in his element.

“He’s good,” Zoro observed quietly.

“He’s the best,” Sanji said, unable to keep the pride from his voice. “He taught me everything I know about cooking.”

“That why you’re so good at it?”

“Part of it. The rest is just... it’s the only thing that’s ever been mine, you know? The only thing they couldn’t take from me.”

Zoro’s hand found his under the table, squeezing gently. “You’ve got more than that now.”

“Yeah.” Sanji squeezed back. “I do.”

Zeff returned a short while later with two plates piled high with food—perfectly seared fish, roasted vegetables, creamy risotto, and fresh bread still warm from the oven. The smell alone made Sanji’s mouth water.

“Eat,” Zeff commanded, setting the plates in front of them. “And while you eat, you talk. I want to know everything.”

So Sanji talked. He told Zeff about the years in Germa, about the isolation and the training and the slow erosion of hope. He told him about Zoro appearing, about their stolen moments, about falling in love in the spaces between surveillance. He told him about Reiju’s plan, about the escape, about the submarine journey through the Calm Belt.

Zeff listened to all of it, his expression growing darker with each detail. When Sanji mentioned his brothers’ abuse, Zeff’s hands clenched into fists. When he talked about Judge’s cruelty, the old chef’s jaw tightened until Sanji could see the muscle jumping.

But he didn’t interrupt. He let Sanji talk, let him get it all out, and when Sanji finally fell silent, Zeff was quiet for a long moment.

“I should have done more,” he finally said, his voice rough. “Should have fought harder to get you out.”

“You did everything you could,” Sanji said firmly. “Judge had an army. You had a restaurant. There was nothing more you could have done.”

“Still should have tried.”

“And you would have died.” Sanji met his eyes. “I’m glad you didn’t. I’m glad you’re here now.”

Zeff’s throat worked. He looked away, blinking rapidly. “Yeah. Well. You’re here now too. That’s what matters.”

They finished their meal in comfortable silence, the food as incredible as Sanji remembered. When they were done, Zeff stood and gestured for them to follow.

“Come on. I’ll show you to your room.”

He led them through the restaurant, up a set of stairs to the third floor. The hallway was quiet, lined with doors that Sanji assumed led to other rooms. Zeff stopped in front of one near the end and pulled out a key.

“This one’s yours,” he said, unlocking the door and pushing it open.

The room was spacious—larger than Sanji’s cell in Germa by a factor of ten. There was a big bed with a thick comforter, a dresser, a desk, and a window that looked out over the ocean. The walls were painted a warm cream color, and there were small touches everywhere that made it feel lived-in—a bookshelf with cooking texts, a small plant on the windowsill, a framed photo of the ocean at sunset.

But what caught Sanji’s attention was the small pile of belongings on the dresser. A few books, a worn apron, a set of kitchen knives in a leather roll.

“Are those...” He stepped closer, his hand hovering over the knives. “These are mine. From before.”

“Kept them safe for you,” Zeff said gruffly. “Figured you’d want them back someday.”

Sanji picked up the knife roll with shaking hands. He unrolled it slowly, revealing the blades inside—perfectly maintained, sharp and gleaming. These were the knives Zeff had given him when he’d first started teaching him, the ones he’d used before Germa.

“You kept them,” he whispered.

“Of course I kept them. They’re yours.” Zeff cleared his throat. “There’s more in the closet—some clothes, other things. Patty will bring up anything else you need.”

Sanji couldn’t speak. He clutched the knife roll to his chest, overwhelmed by the evidence of Zeff’s faith, his hope, his love.

Zeff stepped forward and pulled him into another hug, this one briefer but no less meaningful. “Welcome home, Eggplant,” he murmured. “Welcome home.”

When he pulled back, his eye was suspiciously bright. He cleared his throat roughly and turned to Zoro. “You take care of him, you hear me? Or you’ll answer to me.”

“I will,” Zoro said simply.

Zeff nodded, satisfied. “Good. Now get some rest. You both look like you need it.” He headed for the door, then paused and looked back. “Sanji?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m glad you’re home.”

Then he was gone, the door clicking shut behind him.

Sanji stood in the middle of the room, still holding his knives, and felt something inside him finally, fully settle. He was home. He was safe. He was loved.

Zoro’s arms came around him from behind, pulling him back against his chest. “You okay, Cook?”

“Yeah.” Sanji leaned into him, letting Zoro’s warmth seep into him. “Yeah, I think I am.”

They stood like that for a long moment, just breathing together, letting the reality of their new life sink in. Then Zoro pressed a kiss to the top of Sanji’s head.

“Come on. Let’s get some rest. We’ve got time now. All the time in the world.”

Time. Freedom. Home. Sanji had all of it now, and he had Zoro beside him.

It was more than he’d ever dared to dream of.

He set the knives down carefully on the dresser and turned in Zoro’s arms, reaching up to cup his face. “I love you,” he said softly.

“I love you too, Curls.” Zoro kissed him, slow and sweet and full of promise.

When they finally pulled apart, Sanji smiled—a real, genuine smile that felt like it came from somewhere deep inside him.

“Let’s go to bed,” he said.

“Yeah. Let’s go home.”

And they did.