Work Text:
“ Witch.” He hissed, purposefully contradicting his inner thoughts. “Aren’t you supposed to be at work right now?”
“I was in the area.” Nami replied airily, flipping her hair over her shoulder. The suit she wore was fitted, a striped blazer curving nicely over her figure. “Figured I’d stop by and cash in on the free drink you owe me.” She leaned forward on the counter, running a long finger over his clothed arm, down to his elbow-- where his sleeves had been rolled up-- and to his wrist, ghosting over bare skin. She rested the pad of her index finger on his pulse, letting it linger for a beat before smiling softly.
“You mean the one you’ve been cashing in for weeks now?” Zoro muttered, rolling his eyes and shaking her off, ignoring the heat he could feel flooding his cheeks. Checking his pulse was a habit she seemed to have picked up while he’d been hospitalized, worried he might die while in his comatose state. Zoro hated to worry anyone, and felt guilty for making a strong woman like Nami cry, so he let her do as she pleased whenever she came around, though truth be told, she would’ve done whatever the hell she wanted with or without his consent regardless.
Turning around, he reached for a fresh glass, gliding over to the sprite canister and filling the cup half way before reaching into the mini fridge. As he leaned down, his ears pricked, tuning back in to what Stealth Black was saying, staring at the figure on the stage with an overbearing intensity. The man was wearing a simple, but high quality suit, crisp black melding into the background. His hair was long, a shining blond that slicked back, into a ponytail.
I think we’re soulmates,
Though people don’t like us together, but like we care.
Yeah but god strike me dead
Cause she knows that I’d walk over hot coals for her, with both of my feet bare!
“He’s an angry one, isn’t he?” Nami mused, chocolate gaze flicking towards the stage before sliding back towards him.
Zoro gave a careless shrug. It wasn’t really his problem, or concern after all. The poetry upstairs was for people who wanted to blow steam with their words. Downstairs, well, that for the ones who didn’t know anything aside from action.
“I think he’s sad.” the bartender murmured, not really for the woman to hear, though by the incredulous glare she shot him, it was clear that she did.
“Sad?!” she exclaimed, drawing the stares of nearby patrons. “More like borderline sociopathic.” the woman shot back, sneering at anyone who looked at them funny, lips lined in red and looking a lot like blood. Undoubtedly she’d make everyone in the room her prey and apparently they could sense it, turning away with low mutters of disapproval. “I pity the poor girl who falls in love with him.”
Then you aren’t listening. Zoro wanted to tell her, but didn’t bother. He knew Nami wouldn't understand. The woman was familiar with silver tongues, she owned one herself. Doused her tongue in the pretty metal until she only knew how to spew dainty words and faux affection. She was a siren who snatched her prey with flowers and scented perfumes that obscured the sight of those it was aimed at.
But soon as I asked to hit, it's like she grabs a switch
And turns me over her knee because my ass is whipped
There was a pause, and then a voice crack.
Yeah, and I got her back, but I'm spineless
So when she stabs me in mine it's like I just can't feel the knife
As she pokes, jabs it and slices
So much loathing. So much pain and hatred on that silver tongue of Stealth Black.
But Nami didn’t understand the allure of being brash. She didn’t understand how words of violence and depravity would speak and sooth a soul just as much as gentle balm. She didn’t know that walking on hot coals wasn’t nearly as painful as people made it out to seem. That this man’s loyalty to whatever tied him down was fickle, but deserved. That in this tormented relationship, both parties were abusers, but only one was the victim and the victim himself was up on that stage now.
It was speculation anyways, and not really Zoro’s place to say. He didn’t care enough to delve into that particularly deep rabbit hole, and especially not for a man he hardly knew. Not even if that same man was someone he gave free drinks to night after night. A man who made him want to lean forward and pull off that mask. To see what kind of person rested beneath it.
Zoro shook the thoughts off with a scowl. He'd found himself wondering about the color of the poet's eyes more times than he'd ever be willing to admit to himself.
Those kinds of feeling were irrelevant.
Besides, there was something else that he had to take care of.
“So, you gonna tell me why you’re really here?”