Chapter Text
Sanji wouldn’t have pegged Zoro as being particularly observant. In battle— sure, he had eyes almost as sharp as Hawk-Eye Mihawk. But day-to-day? He might as well have tumbleweeds for brains. However, it seemed for once that he had noticed something. A pattern, if you will. One that Sanji tried very hard to keep covert.
It was something that Zoro had no business sticking his nose in. A rather personal matter that Sanji did not need any further prying minds into, thank you very much. And something he certainly didn’t want to be called attention to.
“Cook,” Sanji had been leaning against the counter, flipping through a stained and dog-eared recipe book- an old gift from Zeff- when Zoro’s voice cut through the background chatter of the Going Merry’s galley. “You gonna come eat?”
For a split second he could hear his heartbeat in his ears, though he showed no cracks in his composure.
“I’ll eat when everyone else is done,” he said, not looking up from the page. A recipe for sponge cake with fresh whipped cream and a glazed fruit topping.
“You should eat now.” Zoro’s voice was low and serious. Sanji had never heard him use that voice anywhere except the battlefield. He spoke with a cadence that carried urgency, a kind of command. He was ordering him to eat. It was as if Sanji was injured, Zoro’s voice ringing with a bark like he was telling him to fall back, away from danger.
But there was no danger here in the galley. Except for maybe the danger that was Luffy’s appetite. Which Sanji had already planned to later use as his excuse. No danger, except for what Zoro was doing, which was potentially announcing to the whole crew what Sanji was doing. Or rather, not doing.
No one else seemed to have noticed yet. Luffy and Chopper were enraptured by a particularly embellished story as told by Usopp, Nami and Robin eagerly discussing the latest release from a favored novelist. It had never been an issue before. Sanji had the practice of an experienced chef. And a liar. The only person who had ever noticed had been Zeff, who had dented Sanji’s skull with his wooden leg when he put two-and-two together. Then, a long and heartfelt conversation that had left a young teenage Sanji in a mess of genuine tears. It wasn’t something he imagined anyone except Zeff would be able to understand.
Except that now Zoro had noticed, becoming the only other person in Sanji’s life who had managed to stitch together such small details. Surely it had to mean something. Maybe Zoro was more intelligent than he had previously given him credit for.
“I said I’ll eat later.” Sanji’s voice was firm as he snapped back at Zoro’s uninvited command with an authority of his own. A little louder than anticipated. A hush fell over the table, five more pairs of eyes now turning to fix on him. His heart beat unevenly, the familiar anxiety rising to his chest and quickly elevating dangerously close to panic.
“Sanji-kun, do you need a plate. . ?” Nami’s voice was high pitched, unsteady as she asked him.
He could feel his face flush as he stood up straight and let the recipe book thump closed. Shit. He was gonna kick Zoro’s ass later for sure.
“Ah, t-that’d be wonderful, Nami-san! You’re so sweet for thinking of me.” For once however, he wished Nami wasn’t thinking of him. In fact, he’d prefer no one be thinking about him right now.
Everything after that was a blur. The anxiety and embarrassment of the whole scene had created a sort of silkscreen over his memory. But one thing he could remember was Zoro’s eyes fixating on him across the table. Staring, unwavering the entire time. It seemed every bite Sanji took, the heavier the space between them grew. He was acutely aware of the laser-focus Zoro had on him each time he lifted the fork to his mouth. It became more and more frustratingly annoying until he couldn’t bear it for even a second longer.
Rather forcefully, he thumped his open hands down on the table, pushing back from it and standing up to feign a tired stretch.
“Well, I’m beat! I think I’ll hit the hay early tonight. Luffy, Usopp, you do the dishes tonight.” He didn’t wait for a response as he turned to exit.
“How come it’s always me who gets stuck with the boring chores?!” Luffy groaned.
“Shut up, you never do chores!” Sanji snapped with admittedly a bit too much bite. “Just be careful with the knives. . . And don’t break anything!” And with that, the door swung closed behind him.
***
Since childhood, food had been a source of high anxiety for Sanji. Something that could have previously been a talent to be nourished was stolen, twisted and demonized by those around him. And his later shared experience with Zeff had only helped to further cement any trauma he may have developed.
Restricting, that came easy. Call it a. . . “Side effect” of those experiences. It somehow soothed the anxiety. Even if he could see it, even if he could make it, he didn’t dare eat it. The ability to cook and create such intricate dishes he thought of as more of an artform. It was a craft, a service he provided that was to be enjoyed only by others. He took great pride in his work, and the most rewarding part for him was always being able to see that enjoyment. Any good artist created art for the people, never himself.
That was how he tried to justify it, anyways.
There was a word for it. Sanji knew the word, but he had never said it out loud. Zeff had been the one to tell him, sat him down and explained to him what it was. ‘That's what you have, Sanji.’ He remembered the word sounding foreign, the syllables not fitting in his mouth quite right. Ever since that moment, Zeff had been his pillar who stood to help him tolerate it, and the feeling that came with it; Fear.
Fear of being discovered, of subsequent abuse. By who, he had no idea. His father was long gone, and he didn’t anticipate ever seeing him again. It was just what he had come to expect.
Fear of overindulging. His tryst with starvation had taught him to conserve, conserve, conserve. At times, stealing and hiding food on his own just in case it were to happen again. He never wanted to be in that place again. Not by anyone's control but his own.
Now Zeff was gone. And with him, Sanji’s support pillar. He was isolated again, left to sort through all of that fear by himself.
It wasn’t that he didn’t trust the rest of the crew. Of course he did, he’d be dead without them. It was just that he didn’t trust them with this. He didn’t trust anyone, really. It was his cross to bear.
Alone.
***
The next morning at breakfast, Sanji made a great show of sitting down to eat with everyone. A normal portion, too. It’ll be fine, he told himself. It’s worth it to throw him off your trail. And surely a meal shared with friends would carry less guilt.
It was after everyone had left the breakfast table and gone off to attend their own various activities that Zoro managed to corner him.
“Hey,” he said.
Sanji ignored him, whistling as he washed dishes.
“Cook.”
He sponged a plate in heavy precise circles, ran it under the clean water, and set it aside.
“I’m talking to you,” Zoro’s voice was suddenly right behind him. Without flinching, Sanji looked over his shoulder and pointedly glared at him.
“And I’m ignoring you.”
Zoro sighed like an angry bull as Sanji went back to his task of scrubbing a small glass pitcher.
“You make everything so damn difficult! I wanted to apologize.” Though he sounded genuine, it was clear he was also irritated. Serves him right.
“What is there to apologize for?” Whether he realized it or not, Sanji had officially begun their game of cat-and-mouse.
“For- ‘Cause of last night. Y’know.”
“You’re gonna have to talk more plainly than that if you want me to understand whatever it is you’re on about, Marimo.” Sanji bit the end of his cigarette in frustration, the paper crumpling under his teeth.
“Sorry I said something in front of everyone.” Zoro's voice had dropped to a low mumble. As if he was embarrassed at having to apologize.
Sanji was silent.
“I shouldn’t have said. . . I shoulda said something in private.”
“Said what in private?” Sanji was more than frustrated now- He was pissed. How long was this going to go on? This wasn’t the plan. The plan was to ignore it until it went away. Play dumb and hope the idiot either forgot or left him alone. God, he was so fucking dense. He dropped the sponge, rinsed his hands off, and twisted around to make eye contact.
Zoro had his head hung low, his eyes boring into Sanji with a sick type of pity that made his stomach churn.
“You never eat, Cook.” Which was a lie, by the way. Sanji did eat. He had to in order to live, obviously. It was just that he hated every single part of it and avoided doing it as much as he possibly, humanly, could.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Sanji spit back.
“I’m not stupid,” he said, stupidly.
“Shut up!” Sanji leaned back to grip the edge of the sink so hard his knuckles went white. “That’s none of your business.” Shit. The cat was getting dangerously close to the mouse now.
“Okay, listen, I-“ Zoro started to speak, but Sanji quickly cut him off.
“No, you listen.” He pointed an angry finger at Zoro now. “Whatever you think you know, you can forget it. I don’t need help, and even if I did I certainly wouldn’t need help from you. Why don’t you do something actually useful for once, and finish these shitty dishes!”
Zoro’s face fell slack as Sanji grabbed a sponge from behind him and shoved it into his chest.
Once again Sanji found himself storming out of the galley, the door slamming shut behind him.
Everything else aside, he had to admit- it was pretty nice to not have to wash dishes lately.
He sprinted to the bathroom as the tears began to fall and tried his best to close the door quietly behind him, but still flinched at the way the heavy lock clicked.
Instead of switching the light on, he turned the water on to cover up any noise made as he cried. It was like he was a kid all over again, now as he stared at himself in the mirror.
What am I doing. . ?
What would Zeff think of him. . ?
After all the work they’d done together, after everything he had done for Sanji. The things he had taught him, tossed out the window and into the sea. What was his goal here exactly? What was the point of it all? Why was he working so hard to unspool all of that care that Zeff had so kindly given him?
He gripped the edges of the sink the same way he had in the kitchen, his knuckles white and numb. He was a mess. Despite having eaten two meals, his eyes were gaunt. Lack of sleep, probably. And the on-again-off-again relationship he had with food lately, well, his body was probably not too thrilled.
Everything hurt.
It was a dull kind of hurt, an old ache that was more familiar to him than his own hands. It wasn’t physical exactly. No, it was a feeling he had learned, something that had been given to him as the world's shittiest gift. It settled in his bones and slept there, waiting for him to wake it up whenever he needed it. It was always waiting, like a snake, coiled around his insides. And he knew that it would always be there to strangle him.
He stared at his own distorted visage in the mirror, hating it. He hated the way his cheeks just barely hollowed, the way the purple clung to the underside of his eyes like permanent bruises, haunting his face. He hated his lips, his nose, his eyes, his jaw, everything. He wanted to punch the mirror and let his body shatter with it. Instead he watched himself, loathing his ugly face covered with ugly tears, ugly patches, spotted and reddened from crying.
It was about control. The ability to control what happened to him. He knew this- Zeff had known this, he had explained the reasons why when even Sanji himself didn’t know.
He didn’t care what his body looked like, deep down he didn’t care. It was simply that he needed to know he was the only one who could do this. He needed to know he was his own property. Not Judge’s, not the oceans, not anyone else’s.
He was his own person, and what he did with his body was his own choice.
Slowly the tears stopped falling, and he stood up, shaking his hands to regain feeling in his fingers. He looked like shit. He couldn’t go out there like this. But a quick splash of water, a straightening of his tie, a comb through his hair, and he looked good as new.
As if.
He was at least passing. Maybe no one would notice he looked worse than usual. Hopefully.
***
A full three weeks passed without any mention of it.
A full three weeks of Sanji trying to eat, hating himself for it, and going back to starving, as the cycle had always gone. But every time he sat down at the table, he could feel Zoro’s eyes burning holes through his body, directly into his soul. It was like he could see the snake curled around his insides, and he was trying to coax it out with that glare.
Why?
Why did he care so damn much? Why did it matter to him? What did it matter what Sanji did as long as he could hold his own in a fight- Which he could, thank you very much.
Whatever. He had finally gotten the point to drop it, at least. But now Sanji was starting to get sick of having an audience. He made the decision to prove his final point to Zoro.
Sanji was the one who cornered him this time. They had been the last ones left out on the deck, the moon sitting restfully on the sea. It was full. It would’ve been a beautiful romantic setting, he thought. Shame it was to be wasted on a thick skulled idiot. He made his way from the stern to the bow where Zoro was leaning, every step he took feeling heavier than the last. Zoro looked so casual, so utterly at peace as he stared out at the water. For a moment, Sanji thought he ought not to disturb him- and then he remembered how angry he was.
Finally he had closed the distance between them, leaving a couple of feet for comfort and he leaned, mimicking Zoro’s posture. They sat in awkward silence for a moment.
“I wanna talk,” Sanji said.
“So talk,” Zoro didn’t look at him. Sanji had to steel himself from saying something nasty.
“Why do you care?”
“What?”
He waited until he had carefully chosen his words before he dared speak again. This was either something that could go over smoothly, or have disastrous results. And it all rested on him now. He turned his head to look at Zoro, whose profile was smoothly cut from the sea behind him.
“Me. Why do you care about what I eat?”
Zoro paused. “I don’t.”
“You sure act like it with how hard you stare at me at every fucking meal, shitty Marimo.”
“I thought you were the one who wanted to leave it alone. Let’s just drop it.”
“Oh, you’re gonna tell me to drop it?” Sanji could feel the frustration in his chest beginning to build and swirl, his voice getting louder with every word. “You’re the shitty big-mouth idiot who decided to announce to the whole shitty crew ‘Hey everyone, guess what!? Sanji’s anorexic!’—“
Whoops.
Sanji’s stomach fell through the deck as Zoro turned to make eye contact, that gut-wrenching pity that made Sanji want to kick him, covering his entire face.
Zoro opened his mouth, but before he could think, before he could make things any worse than they already were, Sanji straightened up, spun on his heel, and began walking briskly in the opposite direction.
“Cook, wait!” Zoro’s voice sounded like he was underwater and Sanji’s vision began to cloud over as he realized the weight of what he had just done. He came here intending to set things straight, to tell Zoro he had nothing to worry about Sanji. Really, promise, it’s not even a big deal. Instead, he himself had announced it not only to Zoro, but to himself.
Calloused hands around his wrist brought him back to reality, albeit, a little too aggressively. Without thinking, he jerked his hand away, spun in a 180, and felt his foot make contact with the right side of Zoro’s face, sending him across the deck.
“Sorry,” he mumbled, unmoving.
Zoro groaned as he climbed to his feet. “You know, you make it really fucking hard to feel bad for you.”
“Then don’t! I don’t need you to feel bad for me! I don’t need you, or Luffy, o-or anyone-!” He hadn’t realized he was already crying.
Zoro seemed to be on him in seconds, strong arms wrapping around Sanji as he sobbed. He would’ve pushed him off, had he any energy left, but his body felt heavy as an anchor.
“It’s okay,” he murmured.
“You don’t- You don’t get it, no one gets it!” Sanji choked between sobs. Why was he letting him do this? He hated Zoro. He was pissed at him. But the way he held him, it was like everything Sanji had needed and more. A hug.
“You’re right,” Zoro’s voice was so soft, a nice contrast to his strong embrace. “You’re right, we don’t get it.”
Sanji thumped a fist against Zoro’s chest. “So then why are you- hic- doing all of this?! Why do you give a shit?!”
Zoro seemed to crush him even closer to his chest now.
“‘Cause I care about you.”
Sanji’s heart stopped, and then began beating faster than before.
Care?
Care?
Sanji looked up at Zoro, whose pitiful face had been replaced with one of. . . Adoration? Sanji sniffled and pulled himself away, watching Zoro’s face fall as their bodies broke contact.
“Don’t. . . Don’t tell anyone,” Sanji mumbled as he wiped his face with the heel of his hand.
“I wouldn’t- I didn’t mean to the first time.”
Sanji nodded.
“You should probably get to bed, yeah?”
“Yeah I just,” he paused to clear his throat. “I just don’t wanna go in there like this. . .”
“They’re all asleep, no one will see you.”
Sanji looked at the deck for a long minute, studying a particularly interesting knot in the wood before lifting his face to look at Zoro again.
“Can I stay out here. . . With you. . ?”
Zoro gave him a small crooked smile and nodded. “Yeah, sure.”