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[inoreuct]

i’m thinking about zosan.

thinking about sanji who says you’re the dumbest fucking man i’ve ever met but also god, i’m so in love with you it hurts and you call and i answer, because you’d do the same. i would move mountains to get to you if you needed me.

thinking about zoro who says you’re a priss and an ass and absolutely insufferable but also i’d fucking kill for you. i don’t know what i’d do if you ever got hurt because that would mean i failed to protect you and also i’ll be there. no matter what, i will be there. say my name and i’ll cross oceans for you.

zosan who bicker and fight and and snip at each other’s heels like they’re getting paid for it, but as soon as one of them actually gets hurt it’s over.

zoro takes a bullet to the side and sanji’s there, furious and incandescent in his rage, covering for him, fighting for the both of them because he can. he’s strong enough for zoro to be weak, just for a moment.

sanji gets a slash to the thigh and zoro’s tearing across the battlefield with a vengeance, desperately cutting down anything that gets in his way because they’re insignificant, they don’t matter, not now, not ever, not when sanji’s compromised.

and their love isn’t all just blind rage in the name of protectiveness, either; it’s the way sanji stocks up on zoro’s favourite liquor and yet still locks the cabinet to give zoro the satisfaction of stealing it and not getting caught. it’s the way zoro appears in the galley after dinner, gently taking the clean plates from sanji’s hands with a dishcloth, drying as sanji washes.

it’s the way their things keep shifting around until there are more of sanji’s clothes in zoro’s room than zoro’s, until zoro’s sword cleaning kit becomes a permanent fixture on sanji’s nightstand. they still decide to not share quarters; they’d really drive each other mad if they did. they’re the kind of people who need their own space.

but on the nights when the quiet gets a little too quiet and the silence gets a little too loud, they know where to go. they show up at each other’s doors in the middle of the night to crawl back into sleep-warm sheets and familiar arms; zoro runs hot and sanji runs cold, and it never gets too much of either.

the nightmares are vicious, with the lives they lead. the ghosts of their pasts are still very much alive when they close their eyes. but when it gets too much, there is always, always a door open. a designated side of the bed. soft reassurances mumbled half-asleep but no less concerned, no less tender, lips pressed to mussed hair, a second heartbeat, an anchor, a safe port to dock in the night.

and even when they don’t need the company they seek each other out anyway, simply because they can and they want to; late nights in the flickering light of the electric lamps, laughter hushed so that they don’t wake the others, curled together so closely they can’t tell which limbs belong to whom. it’s easy— warm and content and strong like the rhythm of the sea, and they don’t need to say anything to hear what they already know. i know you. you know me. i care for you. you care for me. i choose you and you choose me and i need you, i never learned how to love but by god will i try, because i’m learning from how you love me.

their love is a constant. it flows like the waves they sail, but it will never ebb— and it says we may fight and we may argue but i don’t care, i don’t care, i will be there. call for me. please. do not doubt me. do not doubt us. we may drift but you are the home i return to. i will come home, always. always, for you. to you.