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Nami wonders what she’s going to see when she gets back to Merry.
Zoro’s there, having pulled the short straw for watch duty, but more importantly, so is Sanji, who’s down for the count after a rough fight with the island locals. It’s just the two of them now on the ship, and Nami has to admit she’s—curious.
They’re together, after all. Together together—with all the romantic implications that entail, they’ve told the crew as much—but nobody ever catches them actually being, well, romantic. Acting like a real couple. Not that she’d want to walk in on them fucking, obviously, but she does wonder what it’d be like to catch them cuddling or holding hands. Domestic, is the word Usopp uses.
She notices something is odd as soon as she steps onto the deck.
The ship’s quiet, for a start. Quieter than it should be, considering the people who are supposed to be on it. The sun is beginning to set, and nobody clearly bothered to turn on the lights, because darkness slowly envelops the ship.
She’s about to scold Zoro for neglecting his watch duties when she notices the light from the infirmary is still on, and out of curiosity, she peeks in.
Zoro is tending to Sanji’s wounds.
It shouldn’t be something unusual—it’s probably time for Sanji to change his bandages, and Zoro is simply helping—but it is, because Zoro touches Sanji with tenderness she never expected he’d have. Delicate, feather-light; almost hesitant. The swordsman is holding Sanji’s hand in his, thumb brushing the inside of Sanji’s wrist—a small, quiet gesture—and Nami’s breath snugs in her chest.
“Stay still,” Zoro says, almost a whisper. Nami wouldn’t have caught the words if she wasn’t paying attention.
“Easier said than done,” Sanji huffs, pain lacing his voice. He grimaces as Zoro slowly rolls up the bandages along the wounds on his arm. His entire body shudders, slightly.
“It’s gonna scar if you keep moving around like an animal,” Zoro chastises.
“That’s rich,” Sanji fires back, “coming from Mr. I Have a Giant Scar Across My Chest.”
Their banter is light, familiar. There’s no trace of hostility behind every word, and Nami realizes that she might be witnessing the two of them flirt.
The bandage reaches a particularly nasty wound, and Sanji grits his teeth, audibly sucking in breath. Zoro’s hand stills.
“Did I hurt you?” He asks.
Nami expects a fervent denial from Sanji, who dives headfirst in front of a bullet and hides his pain with a smile. It surprises her then, when Sanji just leans his head on Zoro’s shoulder, and mutters, “—hurts.”
Zoro looks down, burying his face in Sanji’s hair. There’s something—soft, almost reverent, in the way Zoro looks at the other man, and Nami suddenly feels like she’s interrupting something private. This isn’t something for her to see. This isn’t something for anyone to see.
“Don’t be such a baby,” Zoro teases, and Nami flees the ship before she could hear Sanji’s reply.
She almost runs into Usopp on the way back to the town. He looks at her funny, and offers her a sip from a colorful drink he bought from a stall. “What happened?” He asks, handing her the glass, “it’s Zoro and Sanji, isn’t it? Did you catch them, you know—being domestic?”
Nami takes the drink gratefully. There was no cuddling or hand holding, but—
“Yeah,” she answers, thinking of the moment in the infirmary, of soft words and softer touches. “I think I did.”