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It had started as a small habit.
A small, innocent habit that Zoro started not too long after meeting Kuina at the town's dojo.
He'd liked the way the blue haired girl would win everytime (even though he wouldn't admit it). He'd liked the way she could easily pick up the sword, Wado Ichimonji, under the moonlight and still win. The way her sword grazed against him, thick and thirsty with the want to pierce through tanned skin.
They were going to fight to the death when both of them were great swordsmen, finally declaring the winner to the world. Deciding who was going to be the best after Mihawk.
—
He didn't know the graze of Wado Ichimonji would become a habit of his.
So now was Zoro in the bathroom of the Merry, gliding Kuina's sword across his thigh and seeing the way his skin opened, the way blood gushed out and streamed down his leg onto the shower floor.
He sighed, doing it again and feeling the slice; the sting, the burn. Roronoa Zoro got a weird pleasure from it, a grounding comfort. He knew he should ask for help– this obviously wasn't normal. But how can he ask for help when the thick wounds on his thighs revive Kuina; make him forget all of his grief?
He pressed the blade deeper, slicing with such ease– seeing the way he cut through a layer of skin.
It's enough now. Zoro cleaned the sword, sheathing it before bandaging his thigh and washing his hands, getting ready for supper.
—
Sanji had noticed how Zoro would disappear after every meal, making his way to the bathroom to do god-knows-what and then come back about an hour later to nap on deck.
He'd noticed how the mosshead would get frequently dizzy after standing up too fast, how he lost his appetite often and how his fingers were always reaching for something.
Sanji never really put too much thought into it since the mosshead always claimed to be fine but... of course he'd worry! Zoro is nakama, for fucks sake! Who does he think he is? Telling Sanji he's fine and expecting the cook to believe him– was Zoro making fun of him? Did he think he was that fucking dense?
—
The blonde never really thought about confronting Zoro.
Sure, they were friends. Best friends, even. Those late night talks in which they ended up falling asleep and waking up in each other's arms. Those confessions they'd made: mistakes, past loves (though only Sanji talked about love), achievements, friends, jobs... just– anything that came to mind. Sanji would easily make Zoro smirk and supress a giggle, lighting up a cigarette and blowing smoke at the swordsman's face.
They had that kind of bond.
Rivalry. Respect. Trust. Love.
And tonight was no different. After dinner, Zoro had gone to the bathroom once more. For the 2nd time today. He had done it right before lunchtime, too. Needless to say, Sanji was worried out of his mind.
God, how could he confront the mosshead about this? About his mental health? The fucker rarely spoke, anyway– so he definitely wouldn't talk about feelings.
Sanji looked up at the clock; 9:38PM was marked by the object that hung on the walls of his kitchen. He sighed, getting up from his chair and making his way to the bathroom.
—
Tonight was one of the nights where Zoro felt really guilty after cutting. It was one of the nights where he felt disgusted with the amount of keloids and blood-clotted cuts that were now the owners of his thighs. And yet, he still kept going deeper. He didn't know why– it was just that overwhelming feeling of not being a good enough swordsman. Of needing more. This kept him sane. This kept Kuinas' memory alive.
This is what he needed to do to feel better, or else, he was sure he'd die.
So, as usual, he washed his hands, ready to go out after sheathing Wado. He opened the door and...
"Marimo." He was met with a face he didn't expect to see. Oh fuck– had the cook known? Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. There was no way of escape now. This was where it ended. Where he ended.
"Curly, I can explai–"
"No need to, Zoro." Despite Zoro's efforts, his voice was shakier than he'd liked it to be. It was weak. It was uncommon. He felt his throat tightening, tears threatening to spill. Now that the cook knew, it was over. His body begged to cry and his mind ached for the smell of blood and for the sting of a katana.
"Zoro, I know bulimia is hard to deal with but–"
"Cook, I know I should tell someone about the cuts but–"
Oh.
"Cuts? What cuts?"
Shit.
They both stared at each other wide eyed, unsure of what to say next. Zoro's chest tightened in panic, quickly breaking his gaze with a very concerned cook. He felt arms grab him, hold him in his place. Sanji's voice was steady and harsh.
"I asked a question." His grip was tight, making Zoro completely unable to move. "What. Cuts."
"Nothing." The tone of Zoro's voice was giving away every thought his mouth wouldn't dare speak.
Sanji cornered him, pinned him up against a nearby wall and Zoro was expecting to get scolded but.. as he looked up, all he was met with was pure terror.
Sanji's eyes were worried and sad and scared.
Zoro quickly looked down, refusing to look at those eyes again before feeling the tip of two fingers at his chin.
"Zoro..?" His voice was soft and mindful. The swordsman raised his head once more and saw Sanji's eyes again. Those damn blue eyes. "I won't– I won't judge or get mad, if that's what you're worried about."
Zoro and Sanji stared at each other. Silence filled the hallway and the smell of nicotine and seafood was all too familiar, intoxicating Zoro with that kindness the cook always seemed to radiate. The blue eyes he claimed he hated were looking into his, trying to find an answer.
I won't leave you.
You have me.
I won't judge you.
Please talk to me.
"S'just a dumb habit. I don't do it out of self loathe or somethin'.. s'just a habit." Zoro tried to explain, despite his voice being inaudible and his eyes close to tears. He heard- felt Sanji sigh.
"Right.. not out of low self-esteem.. wanna talk about it in the galley? I'll brew you some tea." The blonde gave him personal space and, as Zoro nodded, Sanji smiled and pat his shoulder.
—
Once in the kitchen, Zoro sat down and propped his elbows on the table, hiding his head between his hands. Was Sanji going to tell Chopper? Luffy? He breathed in deeply and felt his throat tighten once more. He heard a soft clank and lifted his head to see a cup of black tea. He mumbled a thanks and took a sip. It was perfect.
Sanji sat down. Close. But a bit far– like he didn't want Zoro to feel scared or overwhelmed. Zoros' gaze dropped to the tea,
"I promise I don't do it 'cuz 'm sad.. it jus' started and now I can't stop." He took another sip, hating the way his hands trembled.
"Got it. So no weird thoughts in that moss-infested brain?" Zoro shook his head, sniffling. Sanji sighed and stood up, walking over to a cabinet. He pulled out a bag and made his way to Zoro.
"I'll disinfect them, c'mon," He spoke softly as he tapped the table. Zoro wiped some of his tears and nodded, turning his chair and looking at the way Sanji kneeled infront of him.
Zoros' eyes narrowed, "How did you know it was my thighs?" He's sure Sanji will tell someone. His legs are too ugly, too scarred.
"Your arms are uncovered and it isn't your ankles. Your abdomen is always uncovered, too." Sanji explained and Zoro nodded and frowned as he realized something.
"I don't have underwear on," He whispered.
Sanji immediately took off his coat and softly lowered Zoros' pants. He draped the coat over his gentials and nodded to himself; preparing himself.
The cook inhaled when he saw the mess of Zoros' thighs, muttering something in French. Zoro felt his heart sink as he saw the reaction.
Sanji disinfected the cuts. It stung a bit. It actually stung a lot. But Sanji bandaged him neatly and even put some ointment, so Zoro didn't mind too much.
"Uh.. y'won't tell Chopper, right?" He asked, his eyes stuck on his bandaged thighs.
Sanji looked up at Zoro and frowned. "I think I'll have to.. I don't know, Zoro.. fuck, this is serious–" The blonde stood up and ran his hands through his hair, clearly distressed.
Zoro felt really shitty.
This is where he ended as a swordsman– this is where Kuina finally dies.
Zoros' gaze remained fixed on his thighs, a sob trying to make its way out his throat. He put his hands on his knees and sighed, hanging his head low.
Ah, he'd messed up.
Sanji noticed Zoros' anxiety and fixed his tie. "I won't tell anyone."
Zoros' heart skipped a beat.
"Just.. the kitchen is always open." He spoke softly and the swordsmans' eyes lit up. He understood, then; Sanji trusted his word. Zoro nodded and cleared his throat, downing the rest of his tea.
"M'friend and I'd swordfight all the time when I was younger," Zoro began, his voice soft and hesitant. Sanji kneeled once more, taking his best friends' hands in his own. "She'd beat my ass every time. 'D return to the dojo full o'cuts an' bruises... I jus' began t'crave that feeling again after 'er death."
Sanji nodded and held Zoros' hands tighter. He understood that feeling to an extent– self-sabotaging out of grief.
"Makes m'feel closer t'her, I guess.. like she was never gone." His voice was small, Zoro was sure he'd break down if he spoke any louder.
Zoro finally gained the courage to look at Sanji in the eye.
He was met with concern, a frown. Bright blue eyes he loved, sad because of his stupid choices.
The swordsman took a deep breath, squeezed Sanjis' hand and smiled; his thighs burning slightly as the antibiotics fought off the infected cuts.
"Let's tell Luffy."