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Sanji had been staring at his tracking info for an hour.
His package was supposed to arrive before 10am. He’d paid extra for it to arrive before 10am.
It was 4pm.
After several disgruntled calls to the shipping company, who told him only “It’s on the truck now sir, we can’t do anything for you once it’s on the truck,” Sanji had cracked open a bottle of wine and resigned himself to watching a moving icon on his phone as his package was driven all over town, seemingly in circles.
At some point, it had become a sort of game. Every time the driver got within a mile of his house and then veered off in the other direction, Sanji poured himself another glass and laughed.
At 7pm, Sanji had just about given up on ever receiving his new knife, resigning himself to calling the seller and telling them it had been lost, when he heard a loud knock on the door.
He opened it to find a soaking wet, green-haired postman, holding a large cardboard box that seemed moments away from disintegrating.
“Got a package for a Sanji Black,” the man grunted, squinting to read off the ruined label.
Sanji gaped at the man, who looked like he’d been dragged through a hurricane, despite the clear skies and sunny autumn day.
“Are you...okay?” he asked, reaching for his package.
“Fell in the river,” the postman muttered, wincing as one side of the box broke off in his hand as Sanji took it.
Sanji sputtered. “The river? Did you get in an accident across town?”
The postman flushed red. “Was looking for the building and tripped.”
Sanji blinked, confused. He didn’t live anywhere near the river. Why would the guy have been carrying his package around when making deliveries on the other side of the city?
Wait…
“How many stops did you have to make before me?” he asked slowly.
Sanji didn’t think it was possible for the man in front of him to get any redder, but somehow he flushed even deeper.
“This was my only stop today. Streets kept moving.”
“For nine hours?” Sanji gaped at the postman, who adjusted his cap with a grimace.
“‘s not my usual route.”
Sanji sighed, examining the wet box in his hands. With the exception of the torn side that was still being gripped by the postman, it was mostly intact, and Sanji could see that the contents were surprisingly dry on the inside.
“‘M sorry about that.”
Sanji looked up to see the postman looking sheepish, a hand scratching the back of his neck.
“I kept it as dry as I could,” he mumbled, not meeting Sanji’s eyes. A breeze swept by and the postman shivered in the cool air.
A rush of sympathy went through the cook then.
“It’s fine, nothing’s damaged,” Sanji said quickly, guilt rising in his throat.
“Oh good,” the postman replied, shoulders relaxing. “I just need you to sign for it, since you reported it missing earlier.”
Sanji flushed as he took the offered clipboard and pen, feeling like a complete ass. He’d been sitting around on his day off, chuckling at the antics of a faceless driver, but the guy had clearly been through one hell of a day.
Before he could stop himself, words were bursting out of his mouth-
“Do you want to come inside?”
The postman looked up, staring at Sanji like he’d grown a second head.
The cook started backtracking, “I mean, are you cold? Your shift has to be up now, right? If this was your only delivery? It’s not exactly warm out and I know your cars don’t have doors, so if you want, you could use my shower or something? Or I could just get you a towel and some coffee?”
The postman was still staring at him, mouth slightly agape.
Sanji grimaced. Fuck, he must sound like a creep.
“Sorry, forget I said anything. You want to go home, of course,” he stammered, pushing the clipboard back into the postman’s hands. “Thanks for the package, haveagoodday,” he continued lamely, words running together as he turned to pull his door shut.
The motion seemed to jolt the postman into action, and he practically jumped forward, catching the door with his arm.
“Wait, Sanji-“
The cook froze, looking up into gray eyes. “How do you know my name?”
The postman blinked at him. “It was on the package. That I’ve been staring at all day.”
Shit. “Oh right,” Sanji said, feeling sick suddenly.
They stared at eachother for a moment. The postman’s head tilted slightly, as if he was waiting for something, but Sanji had no idea what.
“My name’s Zoro,” he said finally, and Sanji felt like hitting himself in the head.
“Right. Right okay,” Sanji said, words falling out of his mouth uselessly.
The postman- Zoro, smiled at him then, a broad warm smile that made Sanji forget for a moment that the man was soaking wet and apparently didn’t know his left from his right.
“Do you want to come in for some coffee, Zoro?” he said, a small smile growing on his face. “My new fillet knife just arrived, so if you wanted something to eat, I could break it in by making us dinner.”
Zoro’s smile grew, a bright thing that made Sanji suddenly notice the three gold earrings that hung under his wet hat, shining in the sun against his shock of green hair.
“Sure, blondie. It’s the least you could do after I spent all day trying to find your house. You ever think about putting the street numbers somewhere they can actually be seen from the road?”
Sanji’s jaw dropped as Zoro chuckled at him, even as he moved to let the other man inside.
“Don’t give me that shit, you directionless idiot! The number is right there on the door!”
Zoro’s laughter grew louder as the door shut behind them, the evening bright and shining ahead of them.
pov: mailman arrives at your door several hours late and completely soaked. cue music