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Sanji's mom always used to tell him how love could make every hurt fade.
It's one of the few things she's ever said that he still remembers, word for word, to this day. He remembers the way she always used to mention this to him, every time he came to her room with scraped or bruised knees, kissing them gently after cleaning and patching them up. He remembers how he always used to imagine her saying it to him again when she was already gone, hoping to soon see for himself again the love she had been telling him about.
He has it, now. And, even more importantly, perhaps, he has people to give his. His mom's words are still teachings that he lives by to this day, as is his role in the crew, and he prides himself in never going a day without putting them to practice. To ensure everyone receives the love they deserve and need, in the most unassuming details or the more grand gestures.
To do the girls' laundry for them, to help Usopp and Franky scavenge pieces for their tinkering on the many islands they cross, to tuck to bed their little reindeer when he keeps up too late in his doctor's office, to organize parties for his captain...
To kiss the man who, by a surprising twist of fate, became the one he had always wanted when reminiscing about his mother’s words. Strange, right?
Sanji might not give his love in the same ways at all times, or for everybody in the same gestures. But he always makes sure that the people he dedicates himself to are aware of their worth, aware of how much he loves them. And, as a mean to show it, the one he favors the most: the unabashed gift of love through his cooking.
The feelings he seeps into his dishes are the same his mom used to convey through her kisses — bisous magiques , as she used to call them. Food, to him, is the ointment to any and every wound, swollen scars or bleeding cuts alike. And even when medicine has done its job, healing the more dire predicaments, food always acts as a backup in small displays of help, seeping warmth into overworked muscles and bringing light to feverish complexions.
Those heartfelt, healing properties give flavor to a dish as much as spices and good ingredients, he always thought.
He bustles in the kitchen, tending to the fishes the boys brought to him from their last afternoon playing with fishing rods. There are so many he could almost get lost in their variety, had he not been the first class cook he prides himself to remain in front of all forms of edible goods.
He has the perfect kind of meal written inside his mind for this situation he finds himself facing. A meal that followed him through all the phases of his life, either trapped in Germa's gloomy rooms or far on the sea on the Baratie, and even now, here on their young and shiny Sunny.
Warm, cozy, and comforting. His mom's favorite.
She always told him this dish was like All Blue on a plate. So many different fishes cooked together, simmered in one big pot with love and patience; until the first sip, unleashing flavors bursting on the palate, like a symphony of waterdrops raining against the sunlight, casting millions of minuscule rainbows in the air.
A dish he's always found poetry in, that he's never stopped loving from the first time he's had a taste of it, well before even being able to make it himself. Maybe, because of this tradition his mother passed on to him. Maybe, because of its ties to the fabled Sea of Wonder.
Or maybe, simply, because it's a dish meant to be shared with loved ones, served on one big platter for everyone to rejoice around.
He's cleaning the fishes when he hears the door to the deck inch open, letting in the sound of soft thuds on the floor of the galley. He doesn't need to turn around. His nakama each have very distinctive steps, and he knows them all by heart.
His guest was probably lured in by the movement through the porthole, he supposes. Quietly trailing into the room, he imagines him watching his turned back with keen, attentive eyes, one hand tucked into his eternal haramaki, the other gently resting on the hilt of his precious swords.
Sanji sends a glance behind him, just because he can, and sees him slump on the bar, meeting his eyes with a calm blink.
"Marimo," he grins around the cigarette dangling from his lips. The other man greets him with a grunt that he knows to be fond.
"You coming for booze?" he turns back to his counter, selecting a thin knife to scale the fishes, resting in a bucket at the corner of his worktop.
"Nah," Zoro answers cooly.
"Oh? Why are you here, then?"
There's only silence answering back to him. When he sends an intrigued glance behind him, he finds the swordsman's eyes cast down, deeply focused on the grain of the wood from the bar.
"You're here for me, little Marimo?" he teases, grinning brightly when the other man's ears redden visibly, his brows furrowing low on his eyes.
"...No." the man eventually answers, unconvincing. Sanji chuckles.
"You lying?"
He looks to the side. "No."
Sanji can only let go of his knife for a few seconds to go ruffle his boyfriend's hair, placing a kiss on his uncooperative head.
"Alright, Mossy," he accepts the other man's embarrassment, cleaning his hands under the faucet and grabbing a fish from the bucket, his knife back in hand.
"This for lunch?" the other asks him.
"The fishes? Yeah."
"That much?"
"Why, you don't like it?"
"You're so annoying, Curly. Tell me about what you're making."
And this, is how he finds himself walking Zoro through the steps of preparing bouillabaisse , inspired by the old family recipe he learned from his mother.
Sanji tells Zoro about the fishes he uses, how their kind is important in the recipe he follows. lean, soft fleshed; an array of rascasse, European conger, sea robin, monkfish, John Dory, and various other shellfishes available at hand. All with, of course, a couple of sea urchins to bring it all together.
Zoro listens silently from his spot behind the bar as Sanji scales the fishes, soft eyes going over each of his movements, cataloging them all in a part of his brain reserved for the blonde. Sanji guides him through the whole process, peeking from time to time at the endearing look of intrigue in his eyes, a lightness to his heart.
He places a large pot over the fire and drizzles in a generous amount of olive oil. With it, crushed garlic, and onions he deftly slices, peeled tomatoes he cuts in quarters and takes the seeds out of.
"This, on low heat, five minutes," he explains. "So the olive oil takes on the flavors of the other ingredients."
Zoro nods, chewing on a slice of tomato the chef gave him for his troubles. He watches him cut the fishes in large slices, bones and all, smiling to himself as he always does about his partner holding a blade.
"Originally, the fishes that were used to make this dish were the ones too bony to be served in restaurants. Fishermen used them to make a broth, keeping the flavors and all the nutrients of the carcass in the dish. It's a very good way to prepare food on a ship such as ours, you know? Especially for you and Luffy. You guys burn through your energy way too quickly."
He dumps the fish into the pot, beginning with the thickest slices, and covers it with boiling water.
"Salt, pepper, cayenne powder, fennel, bouquet garni, and Saffron," he points to the various leaves and powders to Zoro, who hums at their sight. "I like to add a dried-up mikan peal with it. Brings a nice tangy hint to the flavor of the broth."
"let that simmer on low heat and stir from time to time so that the fish doesn't stick to the bottom of the pot. Then, reduce the broth for twenty minutes."
Zoro looks at him, eyebrows drawn together as he's trying to keep up with all the steps. "And now we wait?"
Sanji turns to the green-haired man, a glint in his eyes, and places a tray full of ingredients on the bar in front of him.
"Now, we're making rouille," he grins, taking a mortar out of the cabinet.
"Rouille? What's this?"
"A rich, thick sauce made of all these ingredients," he indicates, waving his hand above the tray in demonstration. "It's very tasty, you'll see."
Sanji places a few cloves of garlic in the mortar and crushes them into a fine paste. Adds a yolk, a little saffron and cayenne pepper, and blends it all, little by little, with olive oil, whistling in calm confidence as he does so. He takes a spoon from the cutlery drawer and scoops a dollop of the mixture, handing it to the other man.
"Here."
Zoro inspects the orange, glossy texture for a second, then licks the spoon, his gaze lighting up in delight.
"It's good," he huffs, cutlery still wedged between his teeth as he studies the mortar, pleasantly surprised. "Can I have more?"
"At lunch," Sanji promises. "Now, I have something to ask you."
"That so?"
The chef nods, stepping away to the other side of the kitchen.
"Uh-huh!" he calls from the cupboards, rummaging around before whipping out a basket of toasted, sliced bread. "Go wash your hands, Marimo."
Zoro obliges him without so much as a low grumble, too interested in the process to really complain about it. He cranes his neck behind him to follow what Sanji's doing while he scrubs under his nails, and dries his hands on the cloth the other man extends for him to take, peering at the new things that have been brought to the bar meanwhile.
"I'll peel these potatoes and have them boil in a separate pot," Sanji jerks his head to the fire, where the big casserole is still simmering, steam flowing out of it and seeping a hearty, appetizing smell into the room. "You, my mossy sous-chef of the day, you'll have the croutons to rub with the garlic cloves over there."
Zoro nods and rolls his sleeves, and Sanji watches him, a fleeting, fond smile on his face. He's sticking his tongue out a little as he works through every slice of bread, propping them neatly on a plate. Cute.
Sanji's done with the potatoes in no time, dumping them in the water he salted on the fire beforehand. He peers into his bigger pot, watching for a second the look of his broth, then nods to himself, satisfied, taking a slotted spatula from the wall and gently retrieving his cuts of fish to place them on a large platter.
Then, putting his steaming dish away, he turns back to the sole remainder of his fish bucket, taking scissors and a glove out of the drawer, quickly slipping the latter on his right hand.
"What are you doing, now?" Zoro enquires from his spot, still busy with his croutons.
"Preparing the sea urchins!" Sanji declares, picking one up with his gloved hand.
"Come closer so I can see?"
A chuckle. "As you wish, Moss."
He approaches with his sea urchin in hand, scissors in the other, and angles himself in a way that lets the swordsman see how he cuts through the shell with it, revealing the strong ochre color hiding inside its shielding exterior.
"Gonna remove the corail with a spoon and add it to the broth," Sanji explains.
"Corail?"
"The gonads," he elaborates.
"Weird."
"It's good, I promise."
"I know, I trust you," Zoro simply says, content in crossing his arms and watching Sanji make quick work of the prickly shells.
Sanji adds that last remaining ingredient to his broth and stirs for a minute, whistling over the pot to some mindless tune. Zoro stands up and approaches him, wrapping his arms laxly around his waist, peering over his shoulder.
"Clingy, today, aren't we?"
"Shut your trap," the swordsman shoots back, no real venom in his words. "Let me enjoy this."
He watches the chef tend to his mixture for a few instants, checking from time to time on his potatoes simmering in the corner of the fire. Nuzzles his face into his neck, fluttering his eyes closed when a hand reaches to scratch his scalp lightly.
"Can you set the table?" Sanji asks quietly. "It's gonna be ready soon. Soup plates with the regular ones, please."
"Alright," Zoro places a kiss on his temple before straightening up, turning to open the cabinets. "But you better not call me for the dishes tonight, then. I won't answer you."
Sanji laughs and calls over his shoulder. "Don't say things you don't mean, dumbass."
When the table is set, and food only waiting to be served, he beckons to the swordsman with a tablespoon of broth, tugging on his arm to bring him closer and flashing him a smile.
"Here, have a taste," he incites gently. "Blow on it before eating, it's hot."
Zoro, the fool, doesn't listen to his advice, and grimaces as he swallows, sticking his tongue out and heaving a wheeze.
"Fuck, it's hot!" he complains. "Why is it so hot?"
"I told you to blow on it, idiot!" Sanji retorts. "I just took it out of the fire! It's supposed to be served almost scalding hot!"
"How was I supposed to know?!"
The blond throws his hands in the air, scoffing in disbelief. "Yeah, right, because I didn't tell you, right before, that you had to blow on it!"
Zoro scowls, then in a flash dumps his spoon back in the pot and brings it to his face, making sure to blow on it as he pointedly looks the other man in the eyes.
"Hey!" Sanji sends him a scandalized look. "You put that spoon in your mouth! That's disgusting!"
Zoro ignores him and shoves the spoon into his mouth, squeezing his eyes shut in concentration to understand the taste better. He keeps that way for a few seconds, and Sanji almost sees the gears turning behind his eyelids, before he finally swallows, cracking his eyes open in a sheepish look.
"I got my tongue burned the first time so the flavors are probably dulled," he says, chewing on his spoon almost apologetically. "It's tasty, though."
Sanji sends him a disbelieving fond look.
"Roronoa Zoro, walking off from a duel with the greatest swordsman in the world, getting his tongue burnt on some soup."
Offended, Zoro walks over to him quickly, menacing him with the spoon. "You asshole, I'll—"
"Ah-ah," Sanji places a sturdy hand on his chest. "No fighting in the kitchen, Marimo. Chef's rules."
"Let's go outside, then. We have just the time waiting for the others to arrive for lunch."
"Absolutely not. Luffy'll be first and then we'll have nothing to eat."
Zoro flashes him a dark grin and grabs him by the waist, making Sanji yelp against his chest. "Oh yeah? Then how do you plan to settle this?"
"We'll have all the time for it later, my dumb Marimo. Any way you want. But for now, you stay polite."
Zoro huffs, tightening his hold on his middle.
"In the meantime, I got something to make your tongue better," Sanji adds as an afterthought, stroking swirly patterns on the other man's arms with the pads of his fingers.
"You do?"
Sanji nods, letting a smile curl on his lips.
He brings a hand up, brushing Zoro's jaw with featherlight touches, and gently cradles his face. Zoro looks at him, eyelashes fluttering in quiet anticipation, waiting.
"Just a little bit of love," Sanji whispers against him, brushing a thumb against his lower lip, "and it'll make the hurt fade."
Zoro grins at him, grey eyes boring into his blues before fluttering closed, dusting his cheeks of a young, tender coral tone. Sanji leans in, parting his lips just a little, and captures his mouth with his own, mirroring the smile on his lover's face.
He's glad he never forgot his mom's words.