List of Bookmarks
Sanji is carefully placing a cherry on top of the ice cream, his hands nimble, soft, almost—gentle. But all Zoro sees is the way the hems of his pants are still soaked in blood from an earlier skirmish with a marine ship, red seeping into the cracks on the floorboard, spattering across the kitchen floor in a slow drip, drip, drip.
Zoro stares, fascinated. He can’t bring himself to look away.
(Or, Zoro and Sanji—terrible monsters, in love)