...*[FIC] Black*...
Fandom: One Piece
Pairing/Characters: Zoro/Sanji
Rating: PG
Summary: It was the eyes that carried the entire universe in its depths that reminded Sanji that his dreams and hopes did not rest in All Blue alone.
The usual: I do not own One Piece. This is a complete work of fiction. Any misspellings or wrong grammar is unintentional. I am my own beta. I could have missed some stuff.
It is an endless black, like a starry evening sky in the middle of the sea that Sanji finds himself staring right in to. It is like the entire universe mirrors on the surface of those eyes, the stars burning brightly like the determination the cook can see so clearly on the young face. He knows well that the spark and shine of the universe he can see - like the surface of a well polished crystal ball - is due to the determination flaring behind that universe, the force and strength that holds all those stars together, is starting to wane.
He has only seen eyes like that once, on one person.
A lifetime ago.
Sanji watches a fist fly and with it a body flies bringing with it an accompanying splash and splatter of mud and and water from the still wet grounds as it lands. Rain drips from the hanging shades and plastic colorful striped roofs of the stores lining the market street. The heat is settling from the burning sun, and with it bringing forth dark clouds in this tropical island. It is going to rain again.
And those eyes are burning with a rage like the heat of the sun, like a star about to go out and explode, hoarding so much energy, and power that it cracks and causes a storm.
Sanji doesn't want to waste his time watching children scuffle over something and is about to turn away from those eyes that he can't stop looking at, from those eyes that burn so bright.
But the boy's hat flies.
And Sanji cannot look away.
The cigarette between his lips falls to the ground, embers going out like how the noise in his head goes silent like the dead. He cannot make himself breathe, entranced by the little boy and how he's so silent in his rage, at how he's taking back what seems to be his small pouch of bellis from an intimidating ring of children. Sanji watches as he kicks another boy in the shins and punches another one in the face, not once drawing the shinai that is strapped on his back, like some sort of medal. The cook watches the look of disgust and irritation amidst the storm in those eyes.
(They were eyes that reflected nothing but loyalty, eyes that carried the will of the dead and the living. They were eyes that were able to look at nakama and eyes that were able to slay down an enemy with will power alone. They were eyes of a fearless man, a man who did not know when to stop, when to give up, when to give up his own body and soul if it meant another would live to see tomorrow.)
Sanji doesn't know what compels him to follow the boy who carries the universe in his gaze, with hair that now clumps in short green spikes, like wet summer grass. They are leaving town, walking down the long winding road and passing by pastures and rice fields. Sanji does not care for them, even if this particular island is well known for their rice and the quality of the field's produce. He doesn't care that his slacks are starting to soak, along with his suit and hair and tie from the rain that is beating down hard.
It falls down as fast as Sanji's heart beats against his rib cage, because he does not know why he is even bothering to follow this boy. He does not know why he feels apprehensive and hopeful. He is hoping to find something that he knows he probably would never find again. Hope is traitorous as much as it is healing and acts like an anchor. It can be the thing that keeps one afloat or the very think that can pull one down the endless abyss to be lost forever.
(They parted without words, a simple smirk exchanged after long years that felt short when they reached the end. And when everything was said and done, when all titles and dreams were achieved, the only thing they could give each other was silence because the moment had been so perfect, so surreal that there was no room for anything else. It was just not the time for anything intimately personal, or something that amounted to intimately personal.)
He sees a house on a hill, and the boy quickens his run up the winding road, footsteps heavy and noisy in the mud. Sanji thinks they sound like boots on a ship's deck, loud and so full of power and confidence, a naturally commanding aura. Sanji watches as that confidence wanes, and the boy slips and lands face first in to wet earth and a mouthful of rain. There is a sound of frustration that slices through the heavens and again, Sanji remembers that day, when one wounded man raises a sword to the sky and a vow so strong is set free towards the heavens.
I'm going to be the best swordsman in the world! You got a problem with that, pirate king?
Sanji feels his throat tighten and his feet carry him faster towards the boy on the ground, hands linking underneath small and frail arms, lifting the muddy frame off the ground. Sanji is on his knees, wiping the mud off a forehead, exposing skin that reminds him of well brewed milk tea. Of sunshine and heat, of seagulls and blue skies and the sound of weights hitting the deck. And he's looking at those eyes that is also so full of rain like the rest of the small frame and he frowns.
"You okay, kid?"
"I'm fine!" He says with all the indignation of a child.
Stubborn and idiotic, doesn't know when to give up even when he's hurt, or admit he's hurt, the idiotic, prideful, moss headed -
"You don't look too good."
"What's it to you? I didn't ask for your help!" The boy is shaking under Sanji's hands.
This time, Sanji actually laughs and reaches up to ruffle the boy's hair and he feels his heart explode and clench at the same time. Because when Sanji came to this island, to order an entire shipment of rice for the Baratie for a special envoy who intends to celebrate an anniversary, he did not expect to find another person who carries the universe in his eyes. He did not expect to see a boy who reminds him of what he kept silent. He did not expect to see a boy who makes the pieces of what he denies to be a broken heart shake within the box that Sanji so carefully tucked the remains in to.
(It could have been fear. It could have been the fact that neither of them handled rejection so well. It could have been the arrogant smirks that said a million things but meant a mllion others. But what it surely was, without a shred of doubt, was pride. It was pride that kept their heads up, pride that maintained their silence, pride that kept those smirks plastered, pride that kept them them walking apart till the silence is not longer silence and the only thing that could be heard then, was the sound of one pair of footsteps. One pair of lungs breathing. One heart breaking.)
And Sanji feels the emotion ball up in his throat and the rain trickles down his cheeks and chin because it's been a long time since he's seen something so familiar, something that reminds him of a home and a bond that he can never forget nor replace. The feeling of helplessness washes over Sanji's frame, like the huge tidal wave of aqua lagna that drowns his joy and anguish and hope and relief.
Sanji doesn't know why he's going crazy before the boy that he doesn't even know the name of, nor why the boy is looking at him like he's the crazy one, like he's the unreal adult. Who can blame the kid? Even a five - or six or seven - year old would sense that there is something amiss.
"No. No, you didn't." And you never do even when you're in verge of dying too, you stupid mosshead. Sanji can't stop the laugh, even as he stands and his hands slip in to his pockets. "Is that your house over there?"
"What's it to you? Are you following me?" Dark eyes narrow and the small forehead crumples in to an unamused frown.
Sanji wants to laugh again because he's seeing another face in his head and one that isn't small and just four feet tall. "What's your name, young man?"
"People who ask for other's people's name should introduce themselves first!"
Sanji does not stop the smile or the flutter in his stomach at familiarity of the boy's current posture. He's standing with his feet apart and his chin up, staring at the towering frame of the cook with arms crossed across his small puffed out chest. He's so small and yet he's trying to be so big. And Sanji knows he can be big, this spitting image of someone he clearly - and fully admits to himself now, years later - holds close to his soul. Men at sea go a little crazy, Sanji knows this well. He thinks the dementia is starting to creep up and catch up on him that very instant he looks the child over once more; same appearance, same aura but smaller, same determination. He cannot make himself look away from those eyes however; it is the very thing that holds him captive and ensnared, powerless and perhaps even within their mercy.
"Ah, but my mom and dad taught me not to give my name to strangers." Sanji teases, and the grin is threatening to split his face in half as he tries not to give in to the humor fate decides to dump over his head.
"Then why did you ask in the first place? Idiot! My dad told me not to be scared of anyone!" The boy scowls even more. "I'm not scared of you! I'm going to be the best swordsman in the world and you'll know my name! Remember that!"
Sanji stares dumbly at the boy before him and he feels so weak under the gaze of that universe that is so big and powerful, with a fire that burns so bright that Sanji withers before it, dissolving to nothing but embers before its force. He does not hear the word 'weirdo' when the boy turns around and runs up the road towards the small house. It isn't far.
And he's not sure what in the heavens name compels him to run after the boy yet again, or why the rain feels searing hot against his cheeks instead of cold and wet. But he stops before a door, the image of the boy running up the few steps of their house entrance obscured by the force of the swinging door the boy leaves behind him.
It stops eventually and Sanji stands there before a stranger's house and he thinks that its coincidence and that they're just meaningless words. Childish vows coming from a small boy who knows nothing of the world. Who knows nothing of the path that would - if ever - lead him to grab the title of the world's best swordsman.
A foolish little boy.
But a boy who dreams big.
A boy with that much determination and more.
I'm going to be the best swordsman in the world! You got a problem with that, pirate king?
Sanji feels childish rage bubble in him and he thinks, what the fuck do you know, kid? You don't even know the amount shit it takes to be the best of the best. You don't even know the amount of sacrifice, the amount of pain, the amount of blood and sweat it takes. You'd never understand the amount of willpower it takes to keep moving forward. You will never find a crew like mine to help you because it's gone, you little twerp! What would you know about being the best? What would you know about wanting to be the best? You're a child!
Sanji scowls and the rain on his cheeks burns hotter, just like his eyes. It's the tropical weather of the island, he thinks. It's as shitty as the children who beats other children up and those who yells promises that will never ever come true.
Because you can't take the best from him, little boy. You don't even compare!
Sanji turns away from the doors and away from the thoughts in his head that he has no confidence in. Because that boy, his eyes are the eyes of those who can achieve the impossible and beyond. They're the eyes of those who will stop at nothing, who knows not when to give up.
They are the eyes of a true swordsman in the making.
Sanji knows. He dreams of them everyday since that day.
So lost in his thoughts and the loud hammering of his pain-filled heart that Sanji fails to hear the sound of the door swinging again, amidst the rain around him and inside him.
"You got a problem with the boy?"
Sanji pivots and turns to snap an answer, to tell this ridiculous parent that he should probably not fill the poor boy's head with ideas. That he should watch his goddamn mouth because if the boy is this cocky and so full of himself, well, then it's no wonder all the other kids wants to beat him up and take stuff from him. He wants to tell the annoying parent that he will just have his kid die a pitiful death, because no one will take that title. There is no - and never will be - another best-swordsman-in-the-world. There is no room for it. It's just not his, god fucking damnit!
The words die though because Sanji find himself staring at a face that is displays shock as much as his own. He feels like the wind is taken out of his lungs by force because right there, Sanji could see a bigger universe, clearer, brighter, with brighter stars and more power, with a blackhole that sucks the soul right out of Sanji for itself. Like it always had, only it's more intense now. Sanji pays no attention to the small boy earlier who is now peering at him with a scrunched and annoyed expression that probably would have matched the man Sanji finds himself unable to look away from even if he wants to.
"Y-Your boy fell and got beaten in town." Sanji says, and his voice doesn't sound like his. It sounds far away and in a daze, disbelieving because is this what Zoro's silence meant, all those years ago? Is this a dream that the man wants to see fulfilled, back then? Had he wanted a son? An heir to carry his name and blade?
Is this the reason why Zoro gave him complete silence and pat on the back that could have meant - meant what? I'm sorry? Good bye? Take care of yourself? I don't really want anything? It's been great? You're not my type? I don't swing that way? Nothing at all means like that?
What was it?!
Zoro looks down at the boy who ducks and a large hand ruffles the wet hair. Sanji catches a 'go on inside' and the footfalls of sandals on wet pebble stoned pathway past the swinging doors.
"He's always getting in trouble." Zoro offers with a shrug and the universe in his eyes is just as unpredictable as it had always been. Blank and full at the same time.
"I never thought you'd be the type to you know, settle down and stuff. Let alone make children." Sanji's fingers itched for a cigarette and he patted for his blazer for the pack. "Shitty marimo."
"Ah, well, circumstances change." Zoro shrugs again, like the accusation doesn't bother him. "There are a lot of shit you don't know about me, shitty cook."
Nostalgia seasons everything else Sanji is feeling and storm continues to rage on inside him. He does not understand why that simple line irks the shit out of him, or why the itch to shove his foot up the man's nose overpowers him. The lighter in his hand shakes as he lights his cigarette and blows smoke at the wet sky.
"Yeah, well, you were no social butterfly."
"And you still didn't figure out when to shut up either."
"That poor boy. He's a replica of you. Does he get shit over the pasture on his head?"
"I suppose it's a lot more charming than that unnatural eyebrow."
"There is nothing wrong with my eyebrows!"
"Sure, whatever."
"Shitty marimo!"
"Shitty cook!"
Sanji feels the grin on his face but it doesn't stay long because he catches the look on Zoro's face.
And it is something that makes the breath hitch in his throat. Zoro is looking at him like he's so far away, like he is not meant to be approached or touched or spoken to despite their exchange. It is an exchange that feels like home, like the comforts of a large ship and a sail that unites them all under one name. The illusion of Sanji's home for many years shatter with the weight and the secret behind those eyes that holds the universe.
(He tried not think about it. He tried to put it behind him and settle for his dream of All Blue and the success of everything under his floating restaurant, a tribute and salutation to Zeff, a second Baratie, right in the middle of All Blue. This is his dream. This is what Luffy, the greatest pirate, the king with a crown bigger and grander than Gold Roger himself handed to him on a silver platter. It's what he always wanted, Sanji believed. And for a while, he had been under the illusion that it was indeed behind him, that the hollow hole in his chest that he's been trying to fill up with success, fame, wealth, fortune, women and smiles and sometimes a familiar face of his old nakama was be enough and that it covered it up quite well. That even if that one face would never - could never? - set foot in his restaurant, and see everything and insult him and praise him, All Blue is enough. More than enough.)
"Are you happy, Zoro?" He asks and his voice is so small and afraid that Sanji wants to kick himself. Because even at the age of twenty nine, even after seven years, Sanji still feels fear. Even after he's seen and done, even after his bounty increase and his reputation and name has reached all across the Grandline and beyond, in all four seas, there is still something that makes his knees feel like stiff egg whites.
And it's standing right before him, soaked in rain and looking no different that seven years ago. Except perhaps for the yukata.
Zoro doesn't answer right away, but there are constellations shifting in his eyes and for a second, Sanji thinks he can read what the stars are saying.
"I am."
Liar!
"Do you think of them?" Sanji asks again, and this time he feels his knees shake like the fingers that hold his cigarette.
"I never forgot them." Zoro admits and there is no lie.
Sanji thinks it's satisfying enough of an answer because he himself never forgets the days they cross the seas and dock on numerous islands. He does not forget the singing, the fights, the bleeding, the feasts and the victories and losses. They are precious to him and a part of him that makes up who he is today.
Zoro.
Zoro is the one man he wants to forget because Zoro sums up a regret he cannot overcome or erase. Zoro and his silence and the silence that he had forced Sanji to keep back then because -
How the fuck was I suppose to tell him anything at all?
"Well good. I see your memory is still intact at least." Sanji says and watches the man tilt his head towards the house, leaning back to push the wooden door open in invitation. "Zoro ..." The single name carries the weight of his heart, the feelings that has remained silent for so many ears, the trust that he still places with high regard on Zoro's person. Because this is a man who is not afraid of Sanji, a man who gave as good as he got, who is so fearless, so strong, who is so dedicated and one who knows how to love and care hard and unconditionally.
"He's just like me. He must not have told you his name." Zoro says, holding the door open for Sanji to step in to his home.
"I didn't tell him mine." Sanji answers and steps in to the warm and small vicinity of Zoro's pathway and garden. He sees lilies and a large sakura tree with a koi pond underneath it. The house is wall less and all paper screens and polished wood; traditional.
Simple.
"Why does that not shock me?" Zoro says and leaps up the first two steps, pushing a sliding door aside. Inside, a small shadow darts from one room to the other.
"Did I ever mean anything to you?" Sanji asks suddenly, and he feels the cigarette cut cleanly behind teeth that he clenches so hard that they make his entire jaw line hurt. "Other than nakama. Because before, when we all left and went our own ways and you said nothing and I said nothing, and I - do I, Zoro?" Sanji does not look away this time; he keeps dark blue eyes firmly on the man before him. No more looking away. No more silence. Enough. "Do you even think of me at all?"
The stars are bright and the rain doesn't stop pelting down because Sanji sees no place in Zoro's life for another person. He has a son, an heir, and surely he must have a wife too. So where would Sanji fit in this? Maybe it is just not meant to be, but maybe Zoro's answer would mean something, would give him closure. Because the silence and the attraction that had been mutual and one that never got voiced back then had to carry some form of meaning, right?
(Sanji was wrong. All Blue had not been enough.)
Zoro turns to fully look at him and the smile is different.
"Everyday." He says, so simply and so honest. Not a shred of hesitation.
Sanji watches the stars line up, clear and in to a constellation that matches the emotion that he feels in his heart, the one that is so busy clenching and trying to choke him. Zoro is smiling at him in a way Sanji knows he has never done before. One that means he's welcoming Sanji to his home, to this little thing the swordsman made for himself. Sanji lets out a deep breath, one that makes him feel like he's off the ground, relief and so much warmth and joy making him feel like he's on top of the world.
Like that time he finally sees All Blue for the first time.
Sanji opens his mouth to say something. But finds no words and Zoro fills it instead.
"I never stopped." Zoro adds.
And the cigarette falls to the ground and the grin that splits Sanji's face is wide and bright and warm, like the warmth on his cheeks, the warmth of the rain and the warmth of Zoro calling out a name that is not Sanji's, but his at the same time.
Sanji laughs even as he steps in and feels Zoro's hand on the small of his back as he makes the introductions, and the cook extends long and calloused fingers in a handshake to the little boy that carries the universe in his eyes.
And his own name.
FIN
I am not sure what came over me to write this. But the filler episodes on Shiki and Strong World going on in the series helped. Oh and because mini-Zoros are just too fucking cute for words.
OMAKE:
"Zoro, you haven't introduced me to your wife."
"I don't have a wife."
"... what, you fathered the kid by yourself? Geez, you are a freak!"
"No, you goddamn shitty cook! She's not here. She's gone, somewhere, I don't know."
"What the fuck does that even mean? You brutal - "
"He's an accident okay? I was on an island, I got drunk and she was a pretty little thing and shit just happened."
"......"
"Stop looking at me like that."
"You fucked a whore?"
"Don't make it sound like a crime."
"You know how to fuck?!"
"What is your problem, shit for brains?!"
"Where is she?"
"How should I know? I took the kid and left!"
"You kidnapped the kid?!"
"She didn't want him in the first place!"
"... oh."
"Yeah. Asshole."
"........"
"........"
"... I better start lunch."
"... go make yourself useful."
"Shitty marimo!"
"Shitty cook!"
FIN
Done now. I'm writing too much OP shit lately. Durrrr.
Pairing/Characters: Zoro/Sanji
Rating: PG
Summary: It was the eyes that carried the entire universe in its depths that reminded Sanji that his dreams and hopes did not rest in All Blue alone.
The usual: I do not own One Piece. This is a complete work of fiction. Any misspellings or wrong grammar is unintentional. I am my own beta. I could have missed some stuff.
It is an endless black, like a starry evening sky in the middle of the sea that Sanji finds himself staring right in to. It is like the entire universe mirrors on the surface of those eyes, the stars burning brightly like the determination the cook can see so clearly on the young face. He knows well that the spark and shine of the universe he can see - like the surface of a well polished crystal ball - is due to the determination flaring behind that universe, the force and strength that holds all those stars together, is starting to wane.
He has only seen eyes like that once, on one person.
A lifetime ago.
Sanji watches a fist fly and with it a body flies bringing with it an accompanying splash and splatter of mud and and water from the still wet grounds as it lands. Rain drips from the hanging shades and plastic colorful striped roofs of the stores lining the market street. The heat is settling from the burning sun, and with it bringing forth dark clouds in this tropical island. It is going to rain again.
And those eyes are burning with a rage like the heat of the sun, like a star about to go out and explode, hoarding so much energy, and power that it cracks and causes a storm.
Sanji doesn't want to waste his time watching children scuffle over something and is about to turn away from those eyes that he can't stop looking at, from those eyes that burn so bright.
But the boy's hat flies.
And Sanji cannot look away.
The cigarette between his lips falls to the ground, embers going out like how the noise in his head goes silent like the dead. He cannot make himself breathe, entranced by the little boy and how he's so silent in his rage, at how he's taking back what seems to be his small pouch of bellis from an intimidating ring of children. Sanji watches as he kicks another boy in the shins and punches another one in the face, not once drawing the shinai that is strapped on his back, like some sort of medal. The cook watches the look of disgust and irritation amidst the storm in those eyes.
(They were eyes that reflected nothing but loyalty, eyes that carried the will of the dead and the living. They were eyes that were able to look at nakama and eyes that were able to slay down an enemy with will power alone. They were eyes of a fearless man, a man who did not know when to stop, when to give up, when to give up his own body and soul if it meant another would live to see tomorrow.)
Sanji doesn't know what compels him to follow the boy who carries the universe in his gaze, with hair that now clumps in short green spikes, like wet summer grass. They are leaving town, walking down the long winding road and passing by pastures and rice fields. Sanji does not care for them, even if this particular island is well known for their rice and the quality of the field's produce. He doesn't care that his slacks are starting to soak, along with his suit and hair and tie from the rain that is beating down hard.
It falls down as fast as Sanji's heart beats against his rib cage, because he does not know why he is even bothering to follow this boy. He does not know why he feels apprehensive and hopeful. He is hoping to find something that he knows he probably would never find again. Hope is traitorous as much as it is healing and acts like an anchor. It can be the thing that keeps one afloat or the very think that can pull one down the endless abyss to be lost forever.
(They parted without words, a simple smirk exchanged after long years that felt short when they reached the end. And when everything was said and done, when all titles and dreams were achieved, the only thing they could give each other was silence because the moment had been so perfect, so surreal that there was no room for anything else. It was just not the time for anything intimately personal, or something that amounted to intimately personal.)
He sees a house on a hill, and the boy quickens his run up the winding road, footsteps heavy and noisy in the mud. Sanji thinks they sound like boots on a ship's deck, loud and so full of power and confidence, a naturally commanding aura. Sanji watches as that confidence wanes, and the boy slips and lands face first in to wet earth and a mouthful of rain. There is a sound of frustration that slices through the heavens and again, Sanji remembers that day, when one wounded man raises a sword to the sky and a vow so strong is set free towards the heavens.
I'm going to be the best swordsman in the world! You got a problem with that, pirate king?
Sanji feels his throat tighten and his feet carry him faster towards the boy on the ground, hands linking underneath small and frail arms, lifting the muddy frame off the ground. Sanji is on his knees, wiping the mud off a forehead, exposing skin that reminds him of well brewed milk tea. Of sunshine and heat, of seagulls and blue skies and the sound of weights hitting the deck. And he's looking at those eyes that is also so full of rain like the rest of the small frame and he frowns.
"You okay, kid?"
"I'm fine!" He says with all the indignation of a child.
Stubborn and idiotic, doesn't know when to give up even when he's hurt, or admit he's hurt, the idiotic, prideful, moss headed -
"You don't look too good."
"What's it to you? I didn't ask for your help!" The boy is shaking under Sanji's hands.
This time, Sanji actually laughs and reaches up to ruffle the boy's hair and he feels his heart explode and clench at the same time. Because when Sanji came to this island, to order an entire shipment of rice for the Baratie for a special envoy who intends to celebrate an anniversary, he did not expect to find another person who carries the universe in his eyes. He did not expect to see a boy who reminds him of what he kept silent. He did not expect to see a boy who makes the pieces of what he denies to be a broken heart shake within the box that Sanji so carefully tucked the remains in to.
(It could have been fear. It could have been the fact that neither of them handled rejection so well. It could have been the arrogant smirks that said a million things but meant a mllion others. But what it surely was, without a shred of doubt, was pride. It was pride that kept their heads up, pride that maintained their silence, pride that kept those smirks plastered, pride that kept them them walking apart till the silence is not longer silence and the only thing that could be heard then, was the sound of one pair of footsteps. One pair of lungs breathing. One heart breaking.)
And Sanji feels the emotion ball up in his throat and the rain trickles down his cheeks and chin because it's been a long time since he's seen something so familiar, something that reminds him of a home and a bond that he can never forget nor replace. The feeling of helplessness washes over Sanji's frame, like the huge tidal wave of aqua lagna that drowns his joy and anguish and hope and relief.
Sanji doesn't know why he's going crazy before the boy that he doesn't even know the name of, nor why the boy is looking at him like he's the crazy one, like he's the unreal adult. Who can blame the kid? Even a five - or six or seven - year old would sense that there is something amiss.
"No. No, you didn't." And you never do even when you're in verge of dying too, you stupid mosshead. Sanji can't stop the laugh, even as he stands and his hands slip in to his pockets. "Is that your house over there?"
"What's it to you? Are you following me?" Dark eyes narrow and the small forehead crumples in to an unamused frown.
Sanji wants to laugh again because he's seeing another face in his head and one that isn't small and just four feet tall. "What's your name, young man?"
"People who ask for other's people's name should introduce themselves first!"
Sanji does not stop the smile or the flutter in his stomach at familiarity of the boy's current posture. He's standing with his feet apart and his chin up, staring at the towering frame of the cook with arms crossed across his small puffed out chest. He's so small and yet he's trying to be so big. And Sanji knows he can be big, this spitting image of someone he clearly - and fully admits to himself now, years later - holds close to his soul. Men at sea go a little crazy, Sanji knows this well. He thinks the dementia is starting to creep up and catch up on him that very instant he looks the child over once more; same appearance, same aura but smaller, same determination. He cannot make himself look away from those eyes however; it is the very thing that holds him captive and ensnared, powerless and perhaps even within their mercy.
"Ah, but my mom and dad taught me not to give my name to strangers." Sanji teases, and the grin is threatening to split his face in half as he tries not to give in to the humor fate decides to dump over his head.
"Then why did you ask in the first place? Idiot! My dad told me not to be scared of anyone!" The boy scowls even more. "I'm not scared of you! I'm going to be the best swordsman in the world and you'll know my name! Remember that!"
Sanji stares dumbly at the boy before him and he feels so weak under the gaze of that universe that is so big and powerful, with a fire that burns so bright that Sanji withers before it, dissolving to nothing but embers before its force. He does not hear the word 'weirdo' when the boy turns around and runs up the road towards the small house. It isn't far.
And he's not sure what in the heavens name compels him to run after the boy yet again, or why the rain feels searing hot against his cheeks instead of cold and wet. But he stops before a door, the image of the boy running up the few steps of their house entrance obscured by the force of the swinging door the boy leaves behind him.
It stops eventually and Sanji stands there before a stranger's house and he thinks that its coincidence and that they're just meaningless words. Childish vows coming from a small boy who knows nothing of the world. Who knows nothing of the path that would - if ever - lead him to grab the title of the world's best swordsman.
A foolish little boy.
But a boy who dreams big.
A boy with that much determination and more.
I'm going to be the best swordsman in the world! You got a problem with that, pirate king?
Sanji feels childish rage bubble in him and he thinks, what the fuck do you know, kid? You don't even know the amount shit it takes to be the best of the best. You don't even know the amount of sacrifice, the amount of pain, the amount of blood and sweat it takes. You'd never understand the amount of willpower it takes to keep moving forward. You will never find a crew like mine to help you because it's gone, you little twerp! What would you know about being the best? What would you know about wanting to be the best? You're a child!
Sanji scowls and the rain on his cheeks burns hotter, just like his eyes. It's the tropical weather of the island, he thinks. It's as shitty as the children who beats other children up and those who yells promises that will never ever come true.
Because you can't take the best from him, little boy. You don't even compare!
Sanji turns away from the doors and away from the thoughts in his head that he has no confidence in. Because that boy, his eyes are the eyes of those who can achieve the impossible and beyond. They're the eyes of those who will stop at nothing, who knows not when to give up.
They are the eyes of a true swordsman in the making.
Sanji knows. He dreams of them everyday since that day.
So lost in his thoughts and the loud hammering of his pain-filled heart that Sanji fails to hear the sound of the door swinging again, amidst the rain around him and inside him.
"You got a problem with the boy?"
Sanji pivots and turns to snap an answer, to tell this ridiculous parent that he should probably not fill the poor boy's head with ideas. That he should watch his goddamn mouth because if the boy is this cocky and so full of himself, well, then it's no wonder all the other kids wants to beat him up and take stuff from him. He wants to tell the annoying parent that he will just have his kid die a pitiful death, because no one will take that title. There is no - and never will be - another best-swordsman-in-the-world. There is no room for it. It's just not his, god fucking damnit!
The words die though because Sanji find himself staring at a face that is displays shock as much as his own. He feels like the wind is taken out of his lungs by force because right there, Sanji could see a bigger universe, clearer, brighter, with brighter stars and more power, with a blackhole that sucks the soul right out of Sanji for itself. Like it always had, only it's more intense now. Sanji pays no attention to the small boy earlier who is now peering at him with a scrunched and annoyed expression that probably would have matched the man Sanji finds himself unable to look away from even if he wants to.
"Y-Your boy fell and got beaten in town." Sanji says, and his voice doesn't sound like his. It sounds far away and in a daze, disbelieving because is this what Zoro's silence meant, all those years ago? Is this a dream that the man wants to see fulfilled, back then? Had he wanted a son? An heir to carry his name and blade?
Is this the reason why Zoro gave him complete silence and pat on the back that could have meant - meant what? I'm sorry? Good bye? Take care of yourself? I don't really want anything? It's been great? You're not my type? I don't swing that way? Nothing at all means like that?
What was it?!
Zoro looks down at the boy who ducks and a large hand ruffles the wet hair. Sanji catches a 'go on inside' and the footfalls of sandals on wet pebble stoned pathway past the swinging doors.
"He's always getting in trouble." Zoro offers with a shrug and the universe in his eyes is just as unpredictable as it had always been. Blank and full at the same time.
"I never thought you'd be the type to you know, settle down and stuff. Let alone make children." Sanji's fingers itched for a cigarette and he patted for his blazer for the pack. "Shitty marimo."
"Ah, well, circumstances change." Zoro shrugs again, like the accusation doesn't bother him. "There are a lot of shit you don't know about me, shitty cook."
Nostalgia seasons everything else Sanji is feeling and storm continues to rage on inside him. He does not understand why that simple line irks the shit out of him, or why the itch to shove his foot up the man's nose overpowers him. The lighter in his hand shakes as he lights his cigarette and blows smoke at the wet sky.
"Yeah, well, you were no social butterfly."
"And you still didn't figure out when to shut up either."
"That poor boy. He's a replica of you. Does he get shit over the pasture on his head?"
"I suppose it's a lot more charming than that unnatural eyebrow."
"There is nothing wrong with my eyebrows!"
"Sure, whatever."
"Shitty marimo!"
"Shitty cook!"
Sanji feels the grin on his face but it doesn't stay long because he catches the look on Zoro's face.
And it is something that makes the breath hitch in his throat. Zoro is looking at him like he's so far away, like he is not meant to be approached or touched or spoken to despite their exchange. It is an exchange that feels like home, like the comforts of a large ship and a sail that unites them all under one name. The illusion of Sanji's home for many years shatter with the weight and the secret behind those eyes that holds the universe.
(He tried not think about it. He tried to put it behind him and settle for his dream of All Blue and the success of everything under his floating restaurant, a tribute and salutation to Zeff, a second Baratie, right in the middle of All Blue. This is his dream. This is what Luffy, the greatest pirate, the king with a crown bigger and grander than Gold Roger himself handed to him on a silver platter. It's what he always wanted, Sanji believed. And for a while, he had been under the illusion that it was indeed behind him, that the hollow hole in his chest that he's been trying to fill up with success, fame, wealth, fortune, women and smiles and sometimes a familiar face of his old nakama was be enough and that it covered it up quite well. That even if that one face would never - could never? - set foot in his restaurant, and see everything and insult him and praise him, All Blue is enough. More than enough.)
"Are you happy, Zoro?" He asks and his voice is so small and afraid that Sanji wants to kick himself. Because even at the age of twenty nine, even after seven years, Sanji still feels fear. Even after he's seen and done, even after his bounty increase and his reputation and name has reached all across the Grandline and beyond, in all four seas, there is still something that makes his knees feel like stiff egg whites.
And it's standing right before him, soaked in rain and looking no different that seven years ago. Except perhaps for the yukata.
Zoro doesn't answer right away, but there are constellations shifting in his eyes and for a second, Sanji thinks he can read what the stars are saying.
"I am."
Liar!
"Do you think of them?" Sanji asks again, and this time he feels his knees shake like the fingers that hold his cigarette.
"I never forgot them." Zoro admits and there is no lie.
Sanji thinks it's satisfying enough of an answer because he himself never forgets the days they cross the seas and dock on numerous islands. He does not forget the singing, the fights, the bleeding, the feasts and the victories and losses. They are precious to him and a part of him that makes up who he is today.
Zoro.
Zoro is the one man he wants to forget because Zoro sums up a regret he cannot overcome or erase. Zoro and his silence and the silence that he had forced Sanji to keep back then because -
How the fuck was I suppose to tell him anything at all?
"Well good. I see your memory is still intact at least." Sanji says and watches the man tilt his head towards the house, leaning back to push the wooden door open in invitation. "Zoro ..." The single name carries the weight of his heart, the feelings that has remained silent for so many ears, the trust that he still places with high regard on Zoro's person. Because this is a man who is not afraid of Sanji, a man who gave as good as he got, who is so fearless, so strong, who is so dedicated and one who knows how to love and care hard and unconditionally.
"He's just like me. He must not have told you his name." Zoro says, holding the door open for Sanji to step in to his home.
"I didn't tell him mine." Sanji answers and steps in to the warm and small vicinity of Zoro's pathway and garden. He sees lilies and a large sakura tree with a koi pond underneath it. The house is wall less and all paper screens and polished wood; traditional.
Simple.
"Why does that not shock me?" Zoro says and leaps up the first two steps, pushing a sliding door aside. Inside, a small shadow darts from one room to the other.
"Did I ever mean anything to you?" Sanji asks suddenly, and he feels the cigarette cut cleanly behind teeth that he clenches so hard that they make his entire jaw line hurt. "Other than nakama. Because before, when we all left and went our own ways and you said nothing and I said nothing, and I - do I, Zoro?" Sanji does not look away this time; he keeps dark blue eyes firmly on the man before him. No more looking away. No more silence. Enough. "Do you even think of me at all?"
The stars are bright and the rain doesn't stop pelting down because Sanji sees no place in Zoro's life for another person. He has a son, an heir, and surely he must have a wife too. So where would Sanji fit in this? Maybe it is just not meant to be, but maybe Zoro's answer would mean something, would give him closure. Because the silence and the attraction that had been mutual and one that never got voiced back then had to carry some form of meaning, right?
(Sanji was wrong. All Blue had not been enough.)
Zoro turns to fully look at him and the smile is different.
"Everyday." He says, so simply and so honest. Not a shred of hesitation.
Sanji watches the stars line up, clear and in to a constellation that matches the emotion that he feels in his heart, the one that is so busy clenching and trying to choke him. Zoro is smiling at him in a way Sanji knows he has never done before. One that means he's welcoming Sanji to his home, to this little thing the swordsman made for himself. Sanji lets out a deep breath, one that makes him feel like he's off the ground, relief and so much warmth and joy making him feel like he's on top of the world.
Like that time he finally sees All Blue for the first time.
Sanji opens his mouth to say something. But finds no words and Zoro fills it instead.
"I never stopped." Zoro adds.
And the cigarette falls to the ground and the grin that splits Sanji's face is wide and bright and warm, like the warmth on his cheeks, the warmth of the rain and the warmth of Zoro calling out a name that is not Sanji's, but his at the same time.
Sanji laughs even as he steps in and feels Zoro's hand on the small of his back as he makes the introductions, and the cook extends long and calloused fingers in a handshake to the little boy that carries the universe in his eyes.
And his own name.
FIN
I am not sure what came over me to write this. But the filler episodes on Shiki and Strong World going on in the series helped. Oh and because mini-Zoros are just too fucking cute for words.
OMAKE:
"Zoro, you haven't introduced me to your wife."
"I don't have a wife."
"... what, you fathered the kid by yourself? Geez, you are a freak!"
"No, you goddamn shitty cook! She's not here. She's gone, somewhere, I don't know."
"What the fuck does that even mean? You brutal - "
"He's an accident okay? I was on an island, I got drunk and she was a pretty little thing and shit just happened."
"......"
"Stop looking at me like that."
"You fucked a whore?"
"Don't make it sound like a crime."
"You know how to fuck?!"
"What is your problem, shit for brains?!"
"Where is she?"
"How should I know? I took the kid and left!"
"You kidnapped the kid?!"
"She didn't want him in the first place!"
"... oh."
"Yeah. Asshole."
"........"
"........"
"... I better start lunch."
"... go make yourself useful."
"Shitty marimo!"
"Shitty cook!"
FIN
Done now. I'm writing too much OP shit lately. Durrrr.