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)

Hamon: From Japanese, lit. 'blade pattern'. The pattern on the steel that characterizes a katana blade, acquired during the folding, forging and tempering process.

Sanji laughed, a short, raspy bark of amusement. "Come on, geezer, you know guys like me and the marimo-head don't see a ripe old age. We live well, grab our dreams, hold tight and die hard at the age of thirty-five. Forty if we're lucky."

“He wasted food?” Was Sanji’s predictable response. “Nah, it didn’t go to waste,” Luffy assured him. “After Helmeppo left, Zoro made me pick up the dirty smushed up onigiri and feed him it all anyway! Then he told me to tell Rika it was delicious.” “Huh.” Sanji got up, looking thoughtful as he turned back to the kitchen. The rest of the crew still looked fascinated by the story of Zoro’s recruitment. (or the strawhats learn for the first time how zoro joined the crew and sanji takes the news… differently.)