#hahaha why do i make things sadder than theyre supposed to

[asliceofzosan]

drabbles? I love drabbles! how about zosan tending to each other's wounds and maybe getting a little too close...

"I said to hold still you stupid mosshead—"

"Be fucking careful with that thing—!"

"Oh, as if you were so careful with yourself earlier!"

Zoro hissed again when Sanji dabbed at a nasty cut at his temple. It's a goddamn miracle that the assailant didn't cut his brains out in battle. Either it's a miracle or dumb luck. Sanji doesn't want to call it skill. Zoro's head was big enough as it is, thank you very much.

It's times like these where Sanji wishes Chopper went with them. Would have been nice to have him here to stitch up the swordsman's wounds in the middle of the damn forest. It also would help if he wasn't squirming so much every time Sanji moves.

"I hate you," Sanji murmurs as he starts the painstaking process of stitching. There's a hand that finds itself a spot on Zoro's head, long slender fingers tangled in green hair, and there's a slight tug of warning on those wayward strands.

"Don't. Fucking. Move."

It must have been the way Sanji's voice went dangerously low. Or the way the hand buried into his hair trembled with his grip. But Zoro stayed still this time, watching from his peripherals how focused the cook was, and his frustration simply melts away. He sighs. Because he understands. No matter how many times they've assured each other that they can take care of themselves, they are two of the most self-sacrificial idiots on the crew.

Zoro would probably be the exact same way.

Eventually, Sanji finishes, clipping the excess thread away, before relaxing his grip on Zoro's hair. But his hand stays there. He plays with the green strands absentmindedly as he examines the cuts on Zoro's face, making sure he didn't miss anything.

"Cook?"

"Hm?" When Sanji finally looks into Zoro's eyes, his breath hitches, and he realizes that their faces are so close together he can feel Zoro's breath against his skin. His face feels warm all of a sudden. "Oh."

Then Zoro's hand reaches up this time, his calloused fingers tracing Sanji's face for injuries that aren't there. And it's gentle. So gentle. Sanji can't breathe. The same hands that have murdered thousands in cold blood caressed Sanji's face like he was worth more than any treasure they could ever find.

"I'm here," Zoro says and he knows that images of a blood soaked Zoro are what flashes through his mind. Sanji's grip tightens again in Zoro's hair. The swordsman presses their foreheads together – warm and familiar and secure.

"Nothing can take me away from you." And Zoro's gaze is piercing. Unwavering. True. "Nothing. Okay?"

He says it with the cadence of a man taking a blood oath for a dead god — loyalty as a form of worship.

And Sanji takes the offering from the swordsman's lips when he leans in to kiss.