Chapter Text
Zoro finds the club after a lot of wandering. He didn’t get lost, but their website could do with clearer instructions.
It doesn’t open this early in the day – which is great, since Zoro is not much of a morning person – so the door is locked and he has to knock and wait out in the street for someone to open it.
He waits at the doorway with his documentation, his hood yanked up over his head, scraping the sole of his boot against the edge of a step to dislodge a rock he can feel is stuck between the ridges. The sign for the club is fastened above his head, the frame twisted into a big carrot, and the cable that glows neon orange in the dark loops around it and into the middle to spell out the club’s name in cursive.
Perona made him put his letter of recommendation and all other stuff the job advert was listing into a plastic paper sleeve, and he rolls it up, sighing as the seconds tick on.
It’s not like he wants to work in a nightclub. Nightclubs are fun because they have alcohol, but Zoro can’t drink it if he’s working, which takes away all the fun of being in a nightclub in the first place. But it’s the only place that works with his college schedule.
Argh. He’ll have to adjust his gym time too.
Finally, the door clicks open and Zoro turns to face a middle-aged woman with leopard print pants that look painted on. She’s a head shorter than he is and looks up at him with a suspicious squint.
Zoro pulls down his hood, but makes no effort to fix his hair.
She takes a look at the papers in his hand and says, “We don’t hire men.”
Zoro blinks. Then – because this was the last place on his long list of possible jobs and it’s only a matter of time before Perona kicks him out of their shared apartment for not paying rent – he pitches his voice as high as he can without it breaking and lies .
“I’m not a guy.”
✻✻✻
“Well, at least you haven’t changed your old name yet,” Perona tells him after she’s done laughing at his expense.
Zoro lies sprawled on their couch, face down, and groans. “I’ll have to shave my legs.”
“I’ll wax them for you,” Perona says. “You’ll get lazy shaving them anyway.”
Zoro can’t dispute that. He looks at her. She’s sitting cross-legged at the coffee table and looking through his copies of the contract.
“Your signature looks like shit,” she informs him. Then she peers up at him and says, “My poor little brother, having to hide his true self to survive in this capitalist world…”
Zoro rolls his eyes. It’s not that deep. The people at work don’t matter to him – he doesn’t care what they call him or think he is.
“You’re the one who said she wants to save some money for a new makeup mirror,” he tells her.
“It’s called a vanity mirror,” Perona informs him primly. “And it’s not my fault you’re unemployable.”
“Hah?” Zoro demands. “I’m employable. I just don’t have time.”
“Yeah, and that’s with a major you can breeze through,” Perona agrees, easily moving on. “I still think it’s unfair how good at maths you are. Considering you’re so dense in general.”
“Don’t you have plushies to dismember? Dolls to behead?”
“Meanie!” Perona tells him. “Your attitude is not cute at all!”
“Good,” Zoro says and sticks his head into one of the fluffy decorative pillows.
✻✻✻
His first shift is that Saturday. The owner lady walks him to the changing room, introduces him, and then leaves.
The walls are painted pink and the lockers lining the walls and the middle of the room gleam with polished white paint. In the sea of glitter and high heels, Zoro sticks out like a sore thumb in his basketball shorts and a t-shirt. He doesn’t have any of his old clothes and everything Perona has is just too frilly for him to ever consider putting on.
The girls are nice, mostly. They welcome him in, introduce themselves and go back to their chatter as they change into their uniforms. He uses the term uniforms extremely loosely.
He takes his assigned bunny suit in hands and grimaces. There’s not a lot of give in the material, and he slinks off to the showers area to change in privacy.
He’s been on sports teams and going to the gym for years, he’s used to sharing a locker room and being naked in front of other people. But this situation – this assumption that he’s a girl – makes him want to retreat into shadows, unseen. Or at least give the girls – the real girls – privacy to change. They might not care because they think he’s a girl like them, and it’s not like he has any interest in their bodies, but he’s still a guy.
The bunny suit is skin tight. It’s skimpy. Zoro can’t pull up the front to reach his collarbones without the bottom slipping into his asscrack and his cheeks hanging out. When he adjusts the rear, the V of the neckline is so deep and tight that he could rest a glass in his cleavage.
He tried that once when Perona put him into a corset for one of her fashion school projects.
Zoro never really looked like a girl – thankfully – but the vinyl suit cinches his waist, makes it look tiny, and if there’s anything that can make anyone look feminine, it’s a playboy bunny suit.
Zoro gathers his discarded clothes in a heap and pads back into the lockers area.
He puts on his heels and clomps up and down next to his locker until he gets a feel for them, ignoring the looks his noisy footsteps attract. Heels are a pain to walk in, but at least they’re not hard to get a hang of.
He ignores the full-length mirror where a few girls are fixing up their hair and makeup, and follows the rest of them out.
It’s easy work. He’s always had a pretty decent memory, and remembering alcohol is one of his specialties. As is judging people based on what they drink.
He stomps between the tables and across the dance floor with a tray by his side, elbowing his way through the crowd. Zoro spent all of his childhood and adolescence in the dojo and at sports events – the sexism was obvious there, but Zoro rarely had to deal with assholes tossing stupid comments his way and asking if the costume stays on. Halfway through the shift, he slams his tray on the bartop – startling everyone sitting there – and cracks his knuckles.
“You getting on alright, newbie?” The bartender asks him, sparing him a quick glance from mixing drinks.
“You should’ve opened a position for a bouncer,” Zoro says. The floor behind the bar is slightly elevated and she is flitting from one end to the other in sneakers, taking orders and serving drinks with a smile and a wink. Zoro stares at her feet in envy.
She laughs at his comment. “Some of the guys are…not great, but no one causes trouble,” she reassures him. She’s got it wrong then.
“I might,” he says, making a motion to wipe a hand down his face. He stops in the last moment, remembering the stupid makeup. “Joke,” he adds belatedly at her raised eyebrows. He hopes it was the right thing to say and that he won’t get fired after his first day.
“Two Budweisers, one rum-coke, cosmopolitan and four mojitos,” he rattles off.
She starts assembling the order and when she struggles opening a new bottle of vodka, Zoro takes it wordlessly out of her hands and pops it open.
“Thanks,” she tells him. “Guess those arms aren’t just for show.”
“Nope,” Zoro agrees, secretly preening. Most of his life, exercise was just the means of building stamina and staying in shape. Only after coming out did he start working out with a goal of looking like all those guys in the gym that he was jealous of. It’s been just a few months, but Zoro finally feels like his skin fits him.
He waits in silence for her to finish all of the drinks and then takes a deep breath, venturing out onto the floor again.
The one good thing about being on a waiting list for a top surgery is that he has a place to put all of his tips, because the bunny suit – shockingly – doesn’t come with pockets. He’s seen girls do it too, and when one guy tells him he’s acting inappropriate for it, Zoro responds, “No one asked you,” and leaves for another table.
The time passes quickly, faster than Zoro expected it would, and soon they’re cleaning ashtrays and wiping down the tables and the floor, and leaving for the changing room. It’s a small establishment, relatively, and the girls all seem on good terms with each other.
Zoro understands all their talk about hair and nails and period cramps, but he doesn’t particularly care enough to pitch in. He’s too far removed, emotionally, to engage in their conversation.
Honestly, he doesn’t give a fuck about a chipped nail when they’re brand new from this Thursday or how expensive keratin hair-straightening is.
When he collects his stuff to go change, the girl on his left tells him, “Ah! You don’t have to go, there’s enough room for us to change comfortably.”
“Oh,” Zoro says. “No, thanks, I’m just– I’m just gonna go there.” He gets out clumsily and escapes into one of the shower stalls.
He peels off the bunny suit with a sigh of relief, and changes back into his clothes. He’s never been happier to get dressed.
When he gets out, everyone is already dressed too. He leaves the heels in the bottom of his locker and puts on his socks, shoving his feet into his boots with satisfaction. Wallet, keys, and phone go into his jacket pockets and he’s ready to leave.
“Did you forget your makeup wipes?” The girl from earlier asks him.
“Oh, shit,” Zoro says, his voice cracking. He coughs to cover it up.
Guess he’s getting on the bus in full glam again.
“Here, you can have one of mine.”
Zoro blinks and takes the offered wipe from her hand. He gives her a nod in thanks and goes to the big mirror to scrub his face clean. His skin stays red from the friction, but he immediately looks and feels more like himself when the makeup’s gone.
✻✻✻
“There you are!” Mari – at least that’s what her locker says – sidles up to him on Tuesday. “Are you serving any tables right now?”
Zoro lifts up his glass of water from behind the bartop in response and Mari grins at him wickedly. Zoro doesn’t like it.
“Perfect,” she says. “Could you go take the order from table 14?”
“Oh, yeah, it’s Tuesday,” Carla chimes in from the other side of the bar.
Zoro’s not sure what day it is has to do with anything, but he nods, chugging down the rest of his water, and sets out to the dancefloor.
Gently, Mari puts a hand on his shoulder and points him towards the wall straight ahead.
Zoro walks until he reaches the guy sitting alone in a booth, staring at Zoro like there’s sun shining out of his tits.
He’s handsome, Zoro supposes. He’s got light blond hair that falls in a curtain over his right eye, a neat goatee, and his one visible eyebrow curls in a spiral towards the middle of his forehead. He’s wearing a white or cream dress shirt and a dark blazer and his shoulders are enviously broad.
“Hi,” Zoro starts and then coughs when his voice comes out lower than he intended. “What can I get for you tonight?” He tries again, somewhat successfully girly. He thinks.
The guy just looks at him for a moment and then startles Zoro with his outburst.
“Oh, darling, are you working sick? Please, do take a seat, I’ll go order a cup of nice ginger tea for you!”
“No,” Zoro tells him when he gathers his wits. He adds, “Thanks.”
“Are you sure? I’m certain no one would mind if you took a moment to sit with me,” the guy tells him, barely budging an inch on the bench.
Zoro thinks he knows what’s happening here. This is probably some kind of initiation bullshit – like in a sorority in movies. Or the girls are pulling a prank on him. Because this guy is a clown.
“...I’m sure,” he says slowly, not sure how rude he can be.
He jams the tray against his stomach to put some extra space between them and watches the way the guy eyes his arms.
“What’ll it be, lover boy?” Zoro asks.
If the guy can detect the mockery in Zoro’s tone, he doesn’t show it. He beams widely and it’s a shame he’s such a weirdo because his smile is really nice.
“Just a glass of Merlot for me, lovely.”
Eugh. Zoro doesn’t know whether to focus on the red wine – and it has to be the sweet sort – or the pet names. Instead he just says, “Alright.” He can’t leave fast enough.
He feels the guy’s eyes following him and scowls.
“A glass of Merlot,” he says at the bar and Carla smiles at him, plonking an already poured glass on his tray.
“So what do you think about Sanji?”
“Sanji?” Zoro asks.
“Table 14,” Carla says. “He and his dad own a restaurant at the harbor, he’s a regular.”
Zoro feared as much.
At his expression, Carla laughs heartily.
“He’s a lot, but he’s a really nice guy, the girls love him. Real respectful and kind.”
“That so,” Zoro mutters. It didn’t feel very respectful when he ogled at Zoro.
Zoro brings him his wine and leaves like there’s hellfire at his heels. He catches Sanji watching him a few times – every time he looks in his direction – and breathes a sigh of relief when the guy leaves. He gives Zoro a really big tip, but not even that is enough to put him on Zoro’s good side.
✻✻✻
From the recountings from the girls, Sanji is a spineless, drooling, wet rag of a man in a woman’s presence. They used words like sweet and flirty and charming , but Zoro thinks his description fits better.
He stares at Zoro like he’s never seen a pair of tits and an ass before, and he’s so boringly sleazy.
Zoro doesn’t want to be called sweetheart. He wants to beat the guy at arm wrestling and see the light leave his eyes.
Zoro kept quiet the first time. But the second time, when he brings Sanji his drink – Merlot, again – after more of his sleazy cooing, and the guy has the cheek to blatantly stare at his chest, Zoro snaps.
He knows he acts rude, but he’s not having a good day. He hates how the bunny suit feels, he hates how his body feels, and Sanji admits to having checked him out more than once without shame.
Zoro feels exposed and violated and he doesn’t care about the guilty looks Mari keeps – or at least tries to – sneakily throw his way in the changing room.
He’s not sure what he’s more angry about – his own body not being what he wants it to be, or Sanji looking so good and so masculine and then acting like that .
He’s fit to burst and only starts feeling better when he maxes out one of his personal records in the gym two days later.
And then Sanji’s night – how he started referring to Tuesday and Friday shifts – comes again.
Sanji’s in his spot again, and looks like he wants to gulp in fear when their eyes meet through the crowd. Good.
“What can I serve you tonight?” Zoro asks as soon as he’s close enough to be heard, even though serving this guy is the last thing he wants to do right now.
Surprisingly and strangely seriously, Sanji says, “I’m sorry.”
Not what Zoro expected, but he’s not that easy. “We don’t serve that here,” he responds flatly.
“I didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable,” Sanji says, his eyes falling to the tabletop briefly before he faces Zoro again. “I went overboard and my behavior was unacceptable. I apologize. Is there anything in particular that bothers you?”
Unfortunately, he seems sincere. His voice is nice, and it sounds sad and regretful.
Zoro works his jaw, cursing that he’s not as cruel as he’d want to be in these situations. He’s cruel enough to say, “Well, I guess you can’t help being a pervert.”
Sanji freezes. He stares at Zoro like a frozen computer screen, several different emotions flashing through one eye Zoro can see. And then, finally, he screeches, “A pervert?! Who– I’m– Me – Who are you calling a pervert, you algae-brained– ”
And then he cuts himself off, but it’s too late. Zoro latches onto the last part, indignant and gleefully surprised. “No, no, finish that sentence,” he demands.
Sanji sucks in his lips and shakes his head no, pained and surprised with himself.
Zoro scoffs and happily throws his tray on the table with a clang that makes Sanji jump in his seat.
“Listen up,” Zoro leans down and tells him harshly because Sanji better not fuck this up. “Drop the sweet-talking, I’m not a kid or a doll, and work on your ogling, you’re so fucking obvious it hurts. If you wanna strip someone down, take your wallet to a different kind of establishment. And I’m not your darling, lovely, or sweetheart, you get that?”
“Ouch,” Sanji croaks.
“If the truth burns, I’m sure you’ve got some Neosporin or whatever the fuck in your kitchen.”
“You know I work in a kitchen?” Sanji asks, eye widening in surprise.
Zoro scowls and mentally curses the girls and their gossiping. “Don’t get a big head. You’re the Regular here. It’s kinda sad actually.”
“I bring you money?” Sanji responds incredulously, but he doesn’t seem insulted. His expression is lit up with wonder.
Zoro shrugs and fights down a smirk. “That’s why I only almost took your head off the last time.”
Sanji lets out a laugh. “As if you could’ve done it anyway.”
“Because I’m a girl ?” Zoro spits.
“Because I’ve got excellent reflexes,” Sanji tells him, ignoring the implication and a new cause for conflict Zoro brought up and Zoro grins at him. Oh, he’s got no fucking clue.
“We’ll see about that,” he tells him and goes to get his glass of wine.
Just as he’s about to take that first sip, Zoro chucks in a few cubes of ice and smiles at the offended look Sanji gives him in return.
✻✻✻
Sanji is in a bad mood. Bad enough to order whiskey and actually drink it. Zoro’s more of a vodka type when he wants to get drunk, but he gets Sanji the only brand of whiskey that can put him on his ass in half the time other brands do.
It might’ve been a mistake because Zoro forgets that other people can’t drink like he can. Soon, Sanji is drooping in his seat, staring vacantly into the middle distance.
He does not look good.
“Gimme one glass of water,” he asks at the bar, looking at Sanji across the room.
Carla leans into his line of sight and says, “He’s not drinking wine?”
Zoro shakes his head. “I’m gonna go sober him up,” he says, reaching for the glass and ignoring the weird, knowing look Carla gives him.
When he slides into the booth, Sanji blinks owlishly at the glass and says, “That’s a lot of vodka.”
“Sure is. You should drink it,” Zoro tells him lightly and steals his whiskey. It burns pleasantly going down.
Sanji drinks and doesn’t even realize it’s water until he’s halfway done with it. “This is water,” he tells Zoro disappointedly. “You tricked me.”
Zoro sprawls across the seat with a grin, easily agreeing. “I’m cutting you off.”
“You’re–you’re not supposed to mess with people’s food and drinks,” Sanji tells him, his eyes flickering from Zoro’s face, to his arms, to the empty glass Zoro rolls in his hand. And then he turns pale even in the darkness of the room and heaves.
“Come on, lover cook,” Zoro tells him. “Before you hurl all over the table.” He doesn’t want to clean puke tonight.
“Oh no,” Sanji whispers and trails after him like a duckling as Zoro leads them to the restroom. He grabs a bottle of water from beneath the bartop while Carla is serving on the other end and pushes Sanji through the door.
They step into the side street. Damnit. Again.
He turns to Sanji – who is golden blond and fair–skinned under the streetlamp, his long, angular face cut with shadows that bring out the strong, crooked line of his nose and the sharp edge of his jawline. His eye is bright and blue like the sea.
“You gonna hurl?”
Wordlessly, Sanji turns and vomits into the dumpster. Groaning, he apologizes. “I’m sorry.”
Zoro reaches around him and pushes the water bottle in his face. “Here, drink,” he tells him.
Sanji takes time to wash the hand he used to wipe his mouth and then gurgles a mouthful of water, his back still turned. “Sorry,” he apologizes again after spitting.
Zoro groans, exasperated, and clears his throat when the sound comes out too deep. It took so much effort to make his voice do and sound the way Zoro wants it to, but now it’s easier to slip into it than keep up his old tone.
“Quit apologizing,” he tells Sanji, because people who apologize for existing and being human annoy him.
“This is not very gentlemanly of me,” Sanji tells him, trying to sound light and joking, and stumbles to sit down at one of the steps in front of the door.
Zoro rolls his eyes. “Well, you can’t really handle your alcohol, that’s true,” he admits.
“Sorry for not being an alcoholic,” Sanji says sharply and Zoro perks up until he apologizes again.
“I just thought you have a spine after all,” Zoro says with a snort. He allows himself a closer look. Sanji is a bit of a pushover and overly polite, but he doesn’t seem wimpy. He’s competitive and Zoro likes that. “Well. There’s a vertebrae somewhere in you at least. Better than nothing, I guess.”
Sanji laughs and pulls out a pack of cigarettes. He smokes in the club too, but not much. Every time he leaves, Zoro finds two cigarettes carefully stubbed out in the ashtray, and his glass on the coaster.
“Do you mind?” Sanji asks him.
“Go on.” Zoro doesn’t really care, and there’s no wind to carry the smoke in his face anyway. He figures he can stick around for Sanji to smoke, and moves to sit down next to him.
Immediately, Sanji takes off his blazer and sets it down on the step. Zoro doesn’t care about gentlemanly acts and pampering, but this is. Nice. Thoughtful. Definitely better than having his bare ass touching the concrete steps.
He sits down.
Sanji plays with his lighter for a moment, flicking it on and off, turning it around in his hand. He’s got big hands and long, knobby fingers. His index and thumb are crisscrossed with tiny silvery scars. Probably from a knife.
“This is presenting me in a bad light,” Sanji says, even though Zoro never had a higher opinion of him than he does now.
He gives Sanji a slight smile. “A lot of people go to drown their woes in clubs.”
Sanji blinks at the wall in front of them. “Is this the part where you ask me about it and I spill my guts to you?”
“I’m not a bartender,” Zoro responds. He’s not good at consoling people – but if Sanji really needs it... “Why? You wanna talk about it?”
Sanji laughs like he’s horrified. “God, no.”
Zoro hums, relieved. His feet hurt and feel hot so he kicks off his heels, flexing his toes. “These fucking things,” he grumbles and stretches out his legs, leaning back on his elbows.
Sanji brings a cigarette to his mouth. “You’re something of a tomboy, huh?” He lights up and then exhales in a rush, a look of panic on his face. “That was rude of me.”
Zoro’s been called a tomboy a lot. He spreads his legs the way Luffy and Usopp do whenever Zoro comes over to their place. And because he likes making people uncomfortable with this, he asks, “You calling me a guy?”
But Sanji doesn’t look uncomfortable. He scans Zoro from his feet and up to his head, his eyes dark, lingering on muscles that Zoro worked hard to build. His expression is open and appreciative. Sanji looks like he likes what he sees.
Straight guys don’t look at Zoro like that.
“Well, you’re a little like a guy,” he tells Zoro softly.
Zoro scoffs. “Yeah, like a guy. ” Because it’s tolerated as long as Zoro is still a girl.
Sanji adds, “It’s not a bad thing.”
Zoro looks at him. Sanji seems like a guy who likes pretty girls in dresses. Soft and sweet and waiting to be spoiled rotten. But his eyes swallow Zoro like a black hole. He looks at Zoro like a matador facing a bull and being excited about it, like he loves the thrill and the danger.
Zoro’s throat dries up and his heartbeat starts up a new, frantic rhythm in his chest. “Drink your water,” he tells Sanji for the lack of anything smarter to say.
Sanji drinks and they laugh at the dull thud the empty bottle makes upon contact with their heads.
Then Zoro gets up, feeling like he has to scrape himself off the stairs like an old gum just to move away, and Sanji jumps, switching back to his lame, polite self, bringing him back his heels and crouching in front of him.
“Quit it while you’re ahead,” Zoro tells him and braces against him while putting on his heels. Sanji’s shoulder is solid and meaty under his palm. It feels nice, fits against Zoro’s hand like an accompanying gear in a machine.
He squeezes and forces the words out of his mouth, “Dunno what you’re in a slump over, but it’s gonna be fine.” It feels weird, so he claps his shoulder like Koushiro used to clap his and adds, “So, chin up.”
But, ugh, that feels even weirder so he awkwardly says, “I gotta go back to work now. Before they dock my pay,” and escapes back inside.
✻✻✻
Zoro’s understanding of what’s happening to him arrives like a speeding ticket – entirely his fault, and entirely unappreciated.
He runs to ignore it, he starts lifting heavier, training longer. He finishes class assignments that he deemed boring and procrastinated on working on.
Perona finds him studying in his room and brings out her spraying bottle of – allegedly – holy water. She sprays him and demands, “Who are you and what did you do to my little brother?”
“Fuck off,” Zoro tells her, sputtering and wiping his face.
“I don’t like this,” she says, pointing at him. “Why are you doing that?”
“I’m a responsible student,” Zoro informs her, but he slams his physics textbook and tosses it onto his desk.
Perona makes a face and says, “I’m telling dad, I think you should start therapy again.”
Zoro rolls his eyes and unfolds himself from the cross-legged position on his chair. “Don’t,” he tells her. And then, “We have this regular at work.”
“Ugh, some old perv?”
“Well,” Zoro says. “He is a perv.” He doesn’t think that Sanji is much – or at all – older than him. “I hate him.”
“And?”
“And he’s tolerable when his wet-towel backbone dries up into something solid occasionally,” he admits. It feels a little like pulling teeth.
“You just said you hate him,” Perona points out and Zoro throws his hands up in defeat.
“Well, turns out I just want him to fuck me,” he says miserably.
“Ew!” Perona exclaims. “I don’t need to know that!”
“You asked,” Zoro reminds her.
“Good luck, I guess,” she tells him, mimes gagging, and leaves.
Zoro doesn’t bother telling her there’s no need for luck. Even if Sanji does like him, rude and muscular and a jerk, he still thinks Zoro is a girl. And Zoro might look like one in a bunny suit, but he’s not.
✻✻✻
Zoro works a Friday night in a bad mood, stewing in the consequences of his actions, and being generally unpleasant. Even the girls seem to understand he’s not here to play tonight.
Men, though, following their well-known track record of ignorance and oblivion, do not.
Zoro serves two guys at a standing table near the dance floor. They’re both in compression shirts that strangle their necks and one of them is bald, while the other has his hair slicked back. In comradery towards his hairless friend, Zoro guesses.
He sets their bottles of shitty imported beer on the table and goes to leave when the Baldy leans over to him and tells him, “You’re pretty, you should smile more.”
Unphased, Zoro responds, “Don’t feel like it.”
The guy’s smarmy grin freezes on his face and he exchanges an uncomfortable look with his friend. “Oh, come on,” he says with an awkward chuckle. “My buddy here loves beautiful girls that smile, don’t you wanna leave a good impression?”
“Not really,” Zoro says with a shrug and tucks his tray under his arm.
“Now, you don’t have to be fucking rude,” Baldy tells him loudly, attracting looks from the surrounding tables.
Zoro arches an eyebrow at them. “If I wanted to be rude, I’d tell you your buddy looks like a sewer rat with all that hair gel.”
He can’t tell which one looks more offended. Suddenly, they laugh.
“That’s harsh, babe,” Baldy tells him. “I know you don't mean that, you’re just acting tough, come hang with us,” he adds and reaches out.
Zoro, furious with the knowledge he’d rather hear Sanji call him lovely ten times in a row than hear this guy call him babe even once more, jerks away from the hand that tried to close around his elbow.
“Don’t touch me,” he warns him, his insides growing hot, anticipation for conflict like ants under his skin. “And I don’t want to stand here and watch you two drink crap beer.”
Their smiles drop.
“Don’t be difficult,” Baldy says, his tone rising. “See, girls like you give guys a bad reputation. Can’t fucking tell you shit, can’t touch you, the fuck are we supposed to do when we go out like this?”
The people are looking at them, even from the dance floor. Zoro can feel their eyes on him.
“You can go jerk each other off in the restroom if a fuck’s what you’re here for,” Zoro informs them and jerks his thumb over his shoulder.
They flush in embarrassment and anger.
“You fucking calling us fags?” Baldy asks, pointing a finger at Zoro. “You a dyke or something?”
Zoro blows air through his nose. “Assholes just aren’t my type,” he says and puts his tray on the table. This is turning into a real spectacle, with people giving the three of them a wide berth, but Zoro doesn’t need everyone and their mother to know who and what he is.
“Assholes?” Baldy asks, indignant.
In the crowd on the side, Zoro catches a quick movement – Sanji pushing through the mass of people who are now just standing and gawking. Right, it is just about the time when he usually arrives.
“A man can’t have any fun anymore! Fucking bitch!” Baldy yells and shoves up in Zoro’s face, his stinky cologne and the fucking Axe body spray making him grimace.
“Dude,” Zoro tells him, crossing his arms and wishing so badly to just drop his voice as low as it will go to make the jackass jump. “Back the fuck up from my face.”
Baldy sneers and starts waving his arms. “You want me to back the fuck up?! Stuck up slut, acting like you wouldn’t enjoy it–” When his hand makes a grab for Zoro’s ass, Zoro’s thin patience snaps.
His hand closes around the neck of the beer bottle on the table and he swings it right at the fucker’s temple.
The beer doesn’t even spill out, and Zoro gives a disappointed look at the bottle while the guy drops to the floor, out cold. Zoro hoped the bottle would break, that’s always so cool to see.
“What the fuck–” the other guy speaks for the first time, rushing at Zoro, and Zoro swings the bottle again, from bellow and it cracks the guy right in the jaw. He falls down in a shower of bad beer and splintered glass.
Unfortunately, Zoro doesn’t get to enjoy his moviesque move – the fucking heels twist from under him and he curses, loudly, letting the remains of the bottle fall from his hand as he lurches backward. He prepares for the impact – and loses his breath for an entirely different reason.
He stays suspended, leaning back, and in the next moment Sanji’s face appears in his line of vision. Bent down like this, his hair hangs away from his face.
Zoro squints at his face and asks, “Are your eyebrows curled in the same direction?”
And then Sanji drops him.
Luckily, he wasn’t that far from the ground, so when he lands, there’s only the quiet oof that leaves his mouth. “You dropped me,” he says and when his shock turns into amusement – because oh, this is so lame, this is so embarrassing for Sanji – he firmly closes his mouth.
Still, the urge is stronger than he is and he bursts into laughter at Sanji’s mortified expression.
“Oh, my god,” Sanji says, quickly pulling him up. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to do that. Are you hurt?”
Zoro wipes his eyes – makeup be damned – and gets out, “Ugh, just my ego.” He clears his throat and gives a mean look at his heels before kicking them off. “It’s all because of these stupid things.”
While he’s noticing that Sanji’s a little taller now that he’s barefoot, Sanji’s busy kicking the Baldy’s friend, who groans at the contact of Sanji’s polished shoe with his gut. It’s a practiced move, full of precision and carefully managed strength. If Zoro hadn’t been interested in this helpless crush before, he is now.
The applause around them startles him and he nods awkwardly at the general crowd. He feels a little bit like a fraud.
To everyone, Zoro is a badass girl who took down two pushy assholes. But he’s not.
Suddenly, Sanji comes a bit closer to be heard over the music and asks, “Do you want to go on a date with me?”
Zoro doesn’t think he heard him right. Does he want them to spar together?
“Hah?”
Nervously, Sanji combs his fingers through his hair, eyes flickering to the side and the ground before settling on Zoro again. “Do you want to go on a date with me?”
Fuck. Shit. God-fucking-damnit. Zoro did hear him right.
“I heard you,” he says, staring. He wants to say something, explain, make excuses, but all of his words get stuck somewhere out of reach. He feels like there’s a spotlight on him, even though no one is really paying attention to them anymore.
He needs privacy and a few more seconds to figure out what to do.
He takes Sanji’s wrist in his hand and starts walking them toward the changing room.
Sanji, the idiot, stutters, “Um–uh, I didn’t mean right now!”
They burst through the door and Zoro turns to face him, hands out to keep space between them and to placate Sanji if needed. And then – because he’s always been more of an actions kinda guy – he says, “You don’t wanna go on a date with me.”
Zoro’s never been in school productions but he imagines letting Sanji hear what he actually sounds like is what it feels like to have stage fright.
He knows that he and Sanji have been getting along well-ish, all things considered. And he likes Sanji, but. He didn’t think Sanji would actually like him . To this extent.
Not that it matters, Sanji likes the girl who works at Carrot and wears a bunny suit. Not an engineering student who has to pay rent to his sister.
Sanji’s response is an eloquent, “What the fuck?”
Zoro grimaces, feeling like an absolute jerk. “Look, I didn’t mean to, erm, lead you on. But I’m a guy.”
It’s almost funny watching Sanji try to comprehend that. His expression is blank and then his eyes slowly start traveling downwards from Zoro’s face. When they reach his crotch, Zoro picks a sneaker at random and hurls it at Sanji, saying, “I’m trans!”
“You–huh?”
Zoro feels his face heat up and he’s so over this. “Do I have to repeat myself?”
“I’m– No. You’re a guy?” Sanji asks, shaking himself out of his stupor.
“Yeah,” Zoro says and can’t help the defensiveness that rises up in him, crossing his arms while Sanji watches him. He doesn’t look disgusted.
“I didn’t think you’d be…this into me,” Zoro admits. It’s still not something he’s sure he believes, and it feels egotistic to say. His hands sweat and he rubs the back of his neck just to have something to do.
“Uh, yeah.” Sanji says, faintly. And then, louder, firmer, “I am, though.”
Zoro stares.
“Can we go on a date?” Sanji asks. “Ah, or do you just like girls?” He adds, sounding disappointed.
Zoro makes a face at that, because it’s the easy question to answer. “I’m gay, so no.”
He likes the way Sanji banters with him, likes how he smiles, and how fucking lame he is and how great Zoro could learn he is if they gave this a shot. But he needs to make sure. “You still want to go on a date with me? I’m not gonna look like this anywhere but here, you know. And I’m not having a date here.”
“Yeah, no, I get that,” Sanji says, bobbing his head in a nod. “Date?”
“You’re fucking annoying,” Zoro tells him, allowing some hope and amusement to color his words, his face burning.
“I like to call it persistent,” Sanji responds. “So–”
“Jesus Christ, okay,” Zoro tells him, his heartbeat quick and excited, biting down on his lip to hide a grin. “Don’t say the word date again.”
“Okay,” Sanji agrees, looking just as excited. His face glows. “When do you get off work?”
“2 am.” Zoro tells him because he still likes to mess with him. He doesn’t expect Sanji to agree.
Does he really want to go on a date with Zoro that badly?
Does he really like Zoro that much?
“I’m fucking with you,” Zoro admits. “I get off in two hours. Why the fuck would you wait until 2 am?”
Sanji shrugs, smiling softly.
It hits Zoro right in the chest. “Don’t– don’t do that,” he tells him, looking away and putting a hand over his mouth.
“What?” Sanji asks teasingly.
“You know what, asshole,” Zoro responds. When he chances a glance, Sanji smiles even wider.
“I’m gonna drink my wine,” he tells Zoro. “And then I’m gonna take you out for a really late dinner. Does that sound good to you?”
Zoro can’t believe this is his life. He covers his face and laughs, stupidly giddy. “Yeah, okay,” he agrees. “That sounds good.”
Before they can say much more, there’s a sharp knock on the door and one of the girls – Zoro can never get her name right, okay? – sticks her hand in to give him his heels back. He’s still on the clock.
They go back out with a few looks exchanged, and while Sanji drinks his stupid Merlot, Zoro breezes through the tables and the crowd. His feet hurt and he feels like he’s shaking from everything that has happened tonight – because anxiety doesn’t care that he likes to act rough and tough – but there’s energy that keeps him on his toes. A wind that blows in his sails and keeps him moving, keeps him busy and excited, thinking about the way Sanji smiled at him.
He cleans with gusto, and changes faster than he ever did before. His boots are barely on when he stomps to the mirror to scrub off the makeup.
“Someone’s in a rush,” Mari comments and the other girls giggle.
Zoro’s face feels warm, but the words are easy to say. “Yeah, I’ve got a date with Sanji to get to.”
The door closes behind him to the sound of loud whooping and whistling. He wonders if this was their agenda from the start. Girls are fucking sneaky.
The night is a little chilly, but it soothes Zoro’s flaming skin, and settles him.
Sanji is smoking near the front door, smiling to himself, and Zoro sucks on his lips to stop himself from mirroring his smile. “Let me in on the joke?” He asks when he’s close enough. “Or am I gonna regret agreeing to this? Be honest, what’s your diagnosis?”
Sanji takes him in with a bright smile and offers him a hand. “I don’t think we introduced ourselves properly. I’m Sanji.”
Zoro takes it and likes how their hands fit together. “Zoro,” he says. “And no, I’m never gonna wear the bunny suit in the bedroom.”
Sanji laughs and they set off into the night.