Chapter Text
This is bullshit. He doesn't need to be here. A complete waste of time is what this is, time he could spend getting stronger.
Support group sessions.
Zoro snorts.
There you go and save a guy and what do you get for your trouble? 'Stimulating discussions to express one's worries and soul'.
He should have just let that guy jump.
But as he's here and it isn't looking like he's about get out any time soon, he strolls into the room and to its center and dumps himself down onto the nearest vacant chair. Of fucking course the chairs are arranged in a circle. There are posters plastered on the walls with catchy hard-liners like 'Where there is love, there is hope' and 'Don't jump– Triumph!'
He is in the middle of studying the nearest one of them ('Do not despair– Give yourself into care,' complete with miniature drawings of stick figures, flowers and rainbows), when a tall blonde saunters in like he owns the place. He meets Zoro's gaze levelly, smirking at him before flipping him off. What a fucking prick.
There are ample empty chairs, but no, Mr. Asshole falls into the chair next to Zoro's, sliding down until he's halfway down to the floor, probably thinking it looks good.
Zoro turns away demonstratively and closes his eyes, hoping that a nap will shorten the evening.
--
Sanji's feeling bored, and they haven't even been going for half an hour. The course manager's a pretty, petite brunette with glasses, but she's proved resistant to his advances so far, and so he lets his gaze wander about the room, eyes landing on the green-haired alien seated next to him. He does a double take. Was this guy for real?
Now that he's paying attention to it, he can make out the soft snores and the guy is fucking sleeping.
Sanji kicks the leg of the other's chair, mildly surprised when sharp, pale eyes focus on him in three seconds flat.
Interesting.
He gives the green moss bastard an innocent grin coupled with a lazy hand gesture.
--
"And now, before we go into specifics," that supervisor, Mrs. Tashigi or something, says, "Every one of you will introduce themselves and state the reason for their presence tonight and for the next three months."
Zoro glares at that stupid blonde, irritation rising another ten levels at the cocky grin and dismissive little wave he's given in return.
"What the fuck's your problem?" He hisses, keeping his voice low-key.
The smirk widens. "No way you're getting to sleep while I'm stuck listening. Besides, it's rude to ignore a lady."
Zoro stares at the other disbelievingly. "You some kind of moron?" He watches, satisfied, how blondie's grin falls. Blondie opens his mouth, but then it's his turn to make his introductions.
"Zoro," he grunts. "Saved a guy from jumping off the roof of my apartment complex."
Before that woman can instigate the ritual unison greeting, blondie speaks up, "What the hell were you doing up on the roof? And how on earth has that ended up with you getting stuck with help sessions?"
Zoro shoots him a dark glare. "I was going to my apartment, obviously. And that's what I want to know. They got it wrong, thinking I was going to jump too or something," he grumbles reluctantly.
Now it's blondie's turn to stare at him disbelievingly, quirking one ridiculously curly eyebrow. "Are you for real?" Zoro's face must speak for him because the next moment, the other bursts out laughing, almost falling off his chair.
Zoro decides that he hates the guy.
--
Sanji wipes tears of laughter from his eyes as he watches 'Zoro' (what the fuck kind of name was that?) being chastised by their dear Mrs. Tashigi for his answer. When the lovely Mrs. Tashigi turns towards him expectantly, he coos, "The name's Sanji. I'm here through a recommendation from a lovely lady due to a small misunderstanding."
With his most charming smile he adds, "And I'm eternally grateful for it, since it's allowed me to meet a flower such as yourself!" He pays attention to keep eye contact with the lady as he leans forward seductively and–
"So you're a stalker."
Sanji feels his eyebrow tick. He turns around, donning a sneer. "You're wrong. That's something you must hear often."
"What's it, then?"
"A misunderstanding, moss for brains. You know what that is?"
"You mean like your brow, curly?"
Yep, Sanji fucking hates this asshole.
--
Zoro watches, fascinated, as blondie's face grows purple, a vein on his forehead popping out. He's in the middle of wondering if someone can burst from anger when the man surges forward and lunges for him.
He'll have to try harder than that to land a hit on Zoro, though. Zoro just blocks the kick with his upper arm, surprised when he actually has to strain his muscles to keep the defense up. Girly looks aside, that guy wasn't weak.
He feels his lips morph into a predatory grin and he's about to give the other a taste of his own strength when an outraged little cry bursts their little bubble of violence.
He looks around and notices that everyone's watching them with shocked expressions, especially that annoying woman, the one that has given the yell. Oh, maybe it's not the best of ideas to start a fight in a place that's meant to judge your mental state.
He turns to face blondie, grimacing when he sees the disgusting expression plastered onto the other man's face, spewing some shit about being sorry and inappropriate behavior in front of a 'delicate flower'.
"Pathetic," he murmurs, but keeps his voice down enough so only blondie can hear him. And blondie does hear going by the funny little contortion his face does.
Zoro leans back, content for the moment. Maybe this won't be as boring as he'd thought, after all.
--
It's not until session two that Zoro learns that blondie isn't a professional fighter but a cook.
"You're a cook? My condolences to the people who have to eat it," he says, ignoring any annoyed looks the other attendants send his way. If they don't like what he says, they can cover their ears for all he cares.
Curly snorts from where he's seated next to Zoro again. "Yeah, you'd shit yourself out of glee if you ever got to eat my food, shithead. And I'm not a cook I'm a chef. I don't warm up and stir in pre-cooked stuff."
Zoro shrugs. "Not likely, question. And: Narcissistic much?"
Blondie casually draws one shoulder up and lets it fall again. "I wouldn't be if I looked like you either."
Before Zoro can tell him exactly how he wants to change the other's looks that noisy woman cuts in again.
During the break, Zoro strolls over to where blondie's standing out on the balcony, leaning back against the brick wall, a cigarette between his lips. He joins the other, enjoying the dirty look sent his way.
--
Sanji draws the smoke into his lungs like a man drowning before slowly releasing it again in a huff. He tries to ignore the presence looming at his left side but eventually gives up and plucks the cigarette from his mouth to say, facing forward, "What do you want, marimo?"
"Annoy you," comes the immediate reply and Sanji's eye twitches. Points for honesty, he supposes. "You're being pretty successful," he admits, and the twitching intensifies when the damn green bastard fucking smirks and says, "I know."
He crushes the cigarette underneath the sole of his foot and, after a short moment of hesitation, reaches for another one. The silence stretches uncomfortably and he's contemplating just giving up on his delicious smoke break and going back inside when greenie speaks up,
"So, pretty damn boring here, huh?"
He finally looks at the moss head and stares until the other man recoils a little. He's strangely satisfied at that. "You making conversation, marimo?"
"What if I am?"
Sanji exhales, leaning his head back against the wall, eyes on the cloudy sky. "Go do it somewhere else."
"Nah, nobody else to talk to that isn't either sleep inducing just by looking at them or got a few too many screws loose. As much as it pains me, you'll have to do."
Sanji suppresses a grin. No grinning at stupid marimo bastards.
"Good luck, then," he wishes but then ruins it by asking, "Did they really mistake you as being suicidal?"
Zoro's (if he remembers the name correctly) face screws up, pained. "Yeah. Caught me hanging halfway off the roof trying to drag the other guy back up."
He does laugh this time. "Probably thought you were committing double-suicide or something," he chuckles and the other man fucking blushes and Sanji almost chokes on his cigarette. He's about to add that he didn't mean as a couple when he cottons onto the fact exactly why the other is blushing.
Who would have thought?
He studies the other man sideways, letting his eyes rake up and down the other's body appreciatively. He's handsome; Sanji'll give him that. Straight facial features, big muscles, overbearing posture, a body that practically screams manliness.
He's the exact opposite of Sanji's type. Sanji likes his men tame, likes to be in charge– in and outside of the bedroom. Zoro, on the other hand, looks like the type to charge in without thinking, without the least bit of reservation and leaving no stone unturned.
He reaches for his next cigarette with slightly trembling fingers.
--
Zoro's noticed that the blonde's checking him out and he's left standing there awkwardly. His sexual orientation isn't exactly a secret but he doesn't flaunt it either, and to be checked out so openly makes him uncomfortable. Which means he's pissed off double as much when the other man suddenly wrinkles his nose.
"Got a problem, shit cook?" He provokes.
"Just wondering what you're compensating for with all that muscle," comes the smooth, unimpressed reply.
"I could ask you the same thing. What's with that get-up?" Really, Zoro isn't the one wearing a three-piece suit plus matching tie to a support meeting they are being forced to attend, not to mention that ridiculous hair.
Blondie sighs dramatically. "It's called style. It's spelled S-T-Y-L-E. Add it to your vocabulary, you're in need of it, badly."
"Curled or natural, dart brow?"
"It must feel good to be inside your head. So much peace and quiet."
They are called inside for round two of the evening and Zoro reminds himself that strangling a person won't get those stupid psychology gurus off his back. It helps that blondie looks as pissed off as he feels.
--
It's the sixth time he's been forced to attend this stupid help group. Six evenings of being bored to death by expressing-your-inner-tormentor shit and non-stop hurling insults at each other with the marimo, much to the displeasure of lovely Tashigi-chan and the other course attenders. The men Sanji could care less about but the ladies he'd prefer not to upset, but the moss head somehow manages to push all the wrong buttons within him.
And he'd be lying if he said he wasn't secretly enjoying their fights. Kinda. A little bit. It's fun to push against Zoro, knowing he'll push back equally hard. He still hates the guy's guts, though.
Released for the evening, Sanji and the marimo make their way to the bus station, a habit they've fallen into after discovering that their way home leads to the same bus station, and both not exactly being opposed to keeping the arguing up for a bit longer.
"You going home to eat dinner?"
"Hn."
"You thought long and hard about that one, didn't you."
What was wrong with that damn moss ball that he couldn't even muster up a proper sentence when asked a clear question and what was wrong with him that he'd begun to be able to differentiate between the various grunts and hums.
Zoro grunts, annoyed. "What d'you want, shit cook?
Sanji ought not to, just for that, but he's already brought it with him. Thus, he thrusts the small package into the bastard's hands before he can change his mind and quickly lights himself a cigarette. "Food," he says simply when Zoro just looks at him, featherbrained. "Leftovers. I work at a restaurant, remember?"
The other man nods slowly and says, "Not sure I wanna eat something you cooked, though. I don't wanna get food poisoning; I've got work tomorrow."
Sanji taps the cigarette in his hands, watching the ash fall onto the concrete, and takes a deep breath. "Just eat it, dumbass. It's good."
When the marmio's only response to that is to eye the wrapped box in his hands suspiciously as if it might suddenly explode, Sanji's patience snaps and he kicks the ungrateful bastard in the head. It only ends up pissing him off even more, though, since his kick gets blocked easily, moss head not even wincing at the contact.
Zoro shakes his leg off and flashes him a sharp smile. "Thanks," he says and with that, he gets on the bus that has pulled to a stop beside them, leaving behind a completely speechless Sanji.
--
Over the last week, he's learned that Zoro is twenty-two, works at a garage, and spends all his free time practicing martial arts. For which he apparently uses three swords, two in his hands and one between his damn teeth. Who even does something like that? When Sanji's demanded he show evidence, that damn plant's told him with a shit-eating grin that he has yet to have the same with Sanji's cooking.
Now he has, and Sanji wants to see Zoro fight, damnit. He doesn't understand himself why he wants it this much, he just does. It could have something to do with the fact that it has been a long time since he's met someone who could match him in a fight, something he suspects Zoro is capable of.
That's what he blames it on when, on evening seven, he blurts out, "Fight me."
The marimo, dangling the plastic container Sanji's handed him earlier that evening in front of his eyes, empty, merely cocks a brow. "Why should I?"
Sanji snags the container, shrugging smoothly. "'Cause I'm good. I can smash your sorry ass into the ground, and I want to, very badly."
"You can't beat me, curly."
He surges forward in lieu of an answer, pulling his leg up and bringing it down on Zoro, who only just manages to put his arm up. He smirks, his face inches from the marimo's. "Still so sure about that, shitty swordsman?"
He watches as a feral grin spreads across Zoro's face. He brushes Sanji off and turns his back on him to walk back inside where Tashigi-chan has called for them to sit down, announcing that they are starting.
"Back alley, after this."
Sanji smiles.
He follows the marimo inside, taking a few quick steps to catch up to the other and grab him by the back of his shirt, tugging the man to the far side of the room. "Here, have a seat by the window. We wouldn't want the marimo shriveling up, now would we."
--
Zoro lowers his stance, distributing his weight more evenly, regaining his balance. He doesn't take his eyes off the cook, following the man's every movement with his eyes.
The only warning he gets is a slight tensing of shoulders and thighs before blondie darts forward again.
He takes a quick step backwards, effectively evading the attack and at the same time going in for one himself, only to have the blonde dance to the side before flipping upside down. The guy's so damn slippery.
From his position, Zoro expects the cook to move backwards, bring himself into an upright position again. All the more surprised he is when the other begins to rotate his legs. Only an instinctual dodge saves him from getting his head kicked in when he's distracted for a fraction of a second, but damn if the cook's fighting doesn't look like he's fucking dancing. He's all slick lines and fluent movements, liquid muscles promising death at contact.
Zoro's already breathing hard, pushed more than he's been in a long, long time, and even if he isn't fighting with his swords right now, he feels the adrenaline thrumming through his system and he knows that there's a maniac grin on his face.
He doesn't bother with trying to hide it– his opponent's wearing the exact same expression.
They've been going at it for half an hour already, but Zoro's nowhere near finished. His grin widens even more when it becomes clear that the blonde isn't either.
--
Sanji jumps back, landing on one leg, the other one extended above his head. He uses the momentum to spin and launch a counter attack in one fluid motion. Zoro's eyes are burning as he fends Sanji off once again.
The relatively small valley doesn't give him the motility he usually prefers to have in a fight, but he makes do with what little space he has and moves into his next strike, fucking giddy when the marimo catches him on his feint and actually manages to grab him by the leg, bringing him off balance. The only thing that keeps him from crashing to the ground is his flexibility as he goes with the movement instead of fighting it and, once he's in Zoro's personal space, he brings his knee up right into the moss head's ribs.
He leaps backwards. "That makes eight," he purrs smugly.
The marimo grunts and Sanji isn't disappointed. The other man doesn't only keep standing but uses the minute moment of Sanji being distracted and gets him square on the cheek.
At the same time that he gets pinned to the ground, Sanji gets one foot up pressing threateningly into Zoro's solar plexus.
They stay in that position, both breathing heavily and grinning at each other. The marimo's the first to speak. "Quits?"
Sanji presses his foot down a little harder. "Getting tired, shitty swordsman?"
The marimo snorts. "No, asshole, I still need to be some place after this. Believe it or not, I've got a life."
The 'which you are no part of' hangs heavily in the air and it hits Sanji like a gong that that's something he minds. Apparently somewhere between trading insults and kicking the shit out of each other, he's begun to care for the moss ball. Well, shit.
"Cat got your tongue, shit cook?" Zoro's watching him curiously, still that half-smile on his lips.
"Just a moment of quiet to pay my respects to the people who manage to endure you on a daily basis," he quips, a smile of his own curving the corners of his mouth upwards.
"Yeah, not sure who's enduring who there. You've never met Luffy." The marimo shakes his head, the fondness in his voice belying his exasperated expression. He finally gets off Sanji, surprisingly extending a hand to where Sanji's still sitting on cold stone.
He swallows and takes the hand, letting himself be pulled to his feet. "Your boyfriend?" He asks conversationally, definitively not holding his breath when Zoro gives a surprised little laugh.
"Yeah, no. No way. That's just all kinds of wrong." The marimo lets go of his hand to rub at the back of his neck. "Known him since way back; went to school together." He gives Sanji another sharp grin. "He's stronger than I am, you'd like him."
Before Sanji can say something stupid like that he'd like to meet the other, Zoro continues with a snort, "And he'd sure as hell like you. Fucking glutton."
Sanji pulls up a grin. "Everyone does. I'm just that likable."
"Yeah. I don't."
"You're not a person, you're a plant. That doesn't count."
"A man with a dartboard for a brow doesn't have a leg to stand on."
Sanji hates him so badly. He tells Zoro as much.
"The feeling's mutual, curly. But–" the moss leans in closer "–I don't think that's actually true. Or do you feed everyone you hate?"
The words are murmured directly into his ear and Sanji can't quite suppress the shudder that runs through him. He gifts the other with his most scathing look and hisses, "Fuck you."
Zoro raises an eyebrow, expression mocking, "That an offer, shit cook?"
And oh now Sanji's gained ground again. He takes a quick step forward. "If you want it to be," he purrs in his best seductive voice, watching with amusement as the marimo turns pink around the ears. He writes his frantic heartbeat off as a delayed effect of the earlier physical exertion.
"Don't be stupid," the moss head mutters, turning away from him and starting to walk in direction of the bus stop.
Sanji follows, grin still wide. "I'm not. And apropos feeding, look me in the eye and tell me that it wasn't the best goddamn thing you've ever eaten."
--
Zoro looks the other square in the eye and says slowly, word for word, "It. Wasn't."
The cook's face is absolutely worth the lie.
--
"What's that?"
Sanji exhales a cloud of smoke, stuffing his hands into his pockets to keep them from freezing off in the cold mid-November air. He needs his hands. "Food."
"Yeah, I can see that, asshole. I mean, why's there food again?"
He reclines his body a little, enough that he can inspect the sky. Shit, it was probably going to snow soon. Aloud he drawls, "You need to work on your wording. It's bad enough that your hair's distracting people so you gotta be more clear about what you say."
"Why. Is. There. Food."
"Try not to think too hard. Stress is bad for plant growth."
Zoro looks ready for murder. "Why–"
"It's just leftovers, dipshit," Sanji cuts him off. A lie. "Just fucking take them, won't you."
Sanji's decided. He's going to get that shitty excuse for a human being to admit that his food's nothing short of perfection, and if he dies trying. And he has until Christmas to do so, by when they'll be released from these daily introspection sessions.
--
Two weeks later, slowly dying's exactly what he feels he's doing. Every damn day, he's given the marimo something to eat and every damn day, the other's eaten it to the last fucking bite before telling him it tasted 'okay'. Fucking okay. What a fucking joke. Sanji's food didn't taste okay, his food was fucking delicious and the marimo just wouldn't fucking admit it.
First, he'd thought that Zoro's taste buds might just still be covered with all the crap he had to be eating the rest of the day, now he's beginning to doubt that the moss head even has taste buds, his inner cook silently weeping.
Today, he merely mutely pushes the reusable plastic container he's privately labeled as the marimo's into the other's hands and heads into the building, not up for their usual ritual. He ignores the surprised stare he feels on his back, following him all the way inside.
--
Zoro stares at the retreating blonde, slightly baffled. No cocky smirk, no smart-ass quip about greens for human greens?
In the end shrugging it off as one of the cook's moods, he brings his attention back to the small box he's holding and lifts the lid off, curious to what he's been given today. Sakura mochi with a side dish of fruit salad. As expected, it looks like fucking art rather than something he'd put in his mouth. The fruit's cut into shapes, for God's sake.
It's something he doesn't have any illusions of every understanding. Who cares what it looks like as long it tastes good? Because everything the blonde's given him has so far, even the sweet stuff. Not that he's about to tell the cook that it's the best he's ever eaten in his life because the other's ego's big enough as it is and also, if he did, the cook might just stop, and Zoro isn't prepared to risk that.
He finishes every bite before making his way inside.
He hands the empty box back, receiving a tiredly raised brow in return. "Why do you always finish all of it as soon as I give it to you? Ever heard of economizing?"
Zoro frowns. "Why should I?"
The blonde closes his eyes, rubbing at his temples. "You're right."
Zoro's frown deepens. Since when does the other admit he's right at anything? "You okay?" He asks despite himself.
"Splendid," comes the flat reply and before Zoro's fist can connect with the other's jaw, that annoying woman calls for silence.
--
As much as Sanji appreciates the presence of lovely Tashigi-chan, he could weep with relief when they're finally done for the day. Once he's bade her goodbye profusely, he labors himself to his feet– and wants to drop to the floor and groan like a whale.
He ignores that particular urge despite it getting stronger and stronger by the second and instead makes his way outside. He's taking a little break against the wall when he hears an all too familiar voice, the last one he wants to hear right now.
"Oi, what's wrong, shit cook?"
Sanji would kick him in the head if he thought he could take a step forward without hurling or breaking down sobbing. "What does it look like, dumbass?"
"Like you're being a poor, sick little boy."
Sanji hates him so much. "You're the worst person I know."
Zoro, the bastard just shrugs, not half as bothered as he ought to be.
"You plan on enjoying the view some more or are you actually gonna help, shithead?" He snaps, what little patience he has on a normal day already evaporated into thin air. He likes to think it's a side effect of Zoro's presence.
"What do we say when we want something from someone, curly brow?" The marimo bastard got a shit-eating grin on his face, but he moves closer anyway.
"Screw you," Sanji guesses.
"Wrong. Try again." Despite the other's words, a thick arms wraps around his waist.
"You're a shitty, shitty human being." Sanji lets go of the wall and shifts closer so most of his weight is resting on the moss ball.
"I thought I was a plant?"
He permits himself a relieved little sigh, feeling tremendously better now that he's not in danger of faceplanting any second in case his knees give out. "You are. You're somewhat hard to figure out."
He feels the marimo's gaze resting on him heavily. "What about me is?"
Sanji knows he'll probably regret saying this tomorrow, but his mind's kind of fuzzy right now, and it's hard to think with Zoro's warmth seeping through to him at where they're standing pressed together. "Everything," he says, and it comes out a little more breathless than could be taken casually.
There's a pause before Zoro shifts his hold on him a little and when he speaks, his voice has an urgent ring to it. "Cook."
The world fades to black.
--
"You fainted." The shitty bastard looks at him disbelievingly from where they're apparently sitting on the floor, resting against the wall. Sanji blinks. They're still inside the building and going by the light coming in from the window, coating everything in a golden glow, a while has passed.
"Didn't," he argues, subtly shaking his head to get rid of the drowsiness.
The arm Sanji hadn't realized was still curled around his middle lowers. "What are you, a kid?"
Sanji doesn't feel like a kid. He feels like an eighty-year-old man with rheumatism. "If that'd annoy you, then yes," he answers truthfully and feels that the flat look Zoro sends his way is completely undeserved. The marimo's the one person he doesn't want to get that attitude from.
"Yeah, okay, I want to punch you in the face."
He blinks again in quick succession, trying to get his eyes to focus properly. "What's keeping you?"
"You're sick."
"Am not." The shitty moss gives him a look. "It's not that bad," he insists. And it wasn't. He could almost see clearly again.
"Okay, explain that to Mrs. Annoying tomorrow because she's kept bugging me, not leaving until I promised her I would stay with you until you woke up."
He sighs happily. "Ah, my beautiful mellorine!"
The shitty bastard flicks him in the forehead. "You sick in the head as well?"
Sanji glowers at him, resisting the urge to tuck his head between his knees to stop the world from spinning. "What do you understand of women?" He snaps weakly.
"Not much, but definitively more than you do. Remember what got you here in the first place, shit cook?"
"Shut it, moss head." He finally gives up and buries his head into the marimo's shoulder.
--
Zoro observes the man currently abusing his shoulder as a pillar and makes a decision. He grabs the other by his armpits and hoists them both into a standing position before pretty literally dragging the cook in direction of the exit.
"What do you think you're doing, shit head?"
"Getting you home. Unless you've got plans to camp here for the night," he shoots back, ignoring the resulting quiet grumbling.
They've made it halfway to the bus stop when the cook finds his voice again: "Let go of me, I can walk on my own!"
Zoro doesn't. "You can't," he tells the other plainly, only to be met with stubbornness. "I can, you jerk," the annoying blonde snaps and Zoro drops his hold on the blonde. "Suit yourself."
Predictably, the other immediately begins to sink to the ground, but Zoro waits until he's almost all the way down before snagging the cook by the shoulders. "Still want to walk on your own?"
They make it all the way to the bus stop this time, and after the cook's bus has pulled up beside them, he gets on it with the blonde.
"Oi, oi, don't just get on the damn bus with me!"
Zoro rolls his eyes and waves at the bus driver who's looking at them wearily. "And what else am I supposed to do, blondie? Your brain so small that you've already forgotten that you can't fucking stand on your own right now?"
The blonde ignores him for the whole of the bus ride aside from a clipped indication at which station they'd need to get off and Zoro most definitively doesn't spend it wondering what the cook's apartment looks like.
They get off the bus, Zoro supporting the other with an arm around his hips and the cook's arm slung around his shoulders. The blonde mutters something under his breath.
"What was that, shit cook?"
"This is fucking embarrassing," the blonde grinds out, staring miserably at his feet.
"Don't worry about it. You're whole existence is embarrassing," Zoro soothes.
The cook lets out a startled laugh. "You're horrible." Zoro hums noncommittally. "And you've got terrible taste," the blonde continues, still talking to his toes.
He adjusts his hold on the other where he'd begun to slip from his grasp. "And why's that?"
"You don't like my cooking." The blonde sags even more against him. "Everyone likes it." Then, almost inaudibly, "Except you, you shitty, ungrateful marimo bastard."
Maybe it's the quiet voice that does it or maybe it's the insecure look it the other's eyes, but Zoro says, "I like it."
He regrets it a little when the cook's head whips up, grin a mile wide. "Got you," he cackles, and then sort of inflates, leaning heavily into Zoro.
Zoro smooths a hand over the other's sweaty forehead. "See? Now you overdid it."
"The next left," comes the weak reply.
--
Sanji's feeling fucking dizzy. His limbs hurt and merely keeping his head up is beginning to border on impossible. He might be stubborn, but he isn't stupid. He'll have to call in sick tomorrow. He hates calling in sick, hates the way his old man will check in on him, will make him soup and will look at him with that glare that means he is worried for Sanji, like he couldn't take care of himself, like he was fucking five.
A shudder wrecks him and he breaks out into a coughing fit, through which Zoro pats his back helpfully. Another thing Sanji hates: Being coddled. But he supposes that this time he's going to have to swallow his pride or he'll just embarrass himself further.
Thankfully at that moment, his apartment comes into view. " There it is," he croaks, voice that of the chain smoker he is.
He's hauled up the few steps to the door and, after a bit of fumbling with the key, he manages to unlock it. Zoro's unwound himself from Sanji somewhere along the way and is now watching him from a few steps away.
Sanji could slice the awkward satiating the air around them. "Uh," he supplies, " Thanks. For getting me home. I guess." He shifts more of his weight onto his apartment's wall.
The marimo scrubs at the ground with his foot. "No problem," he grumbles, looking as uncomfortable as Sanji feels.
He hesitates. Was he supposed to invite the other in? Did he want to? Would Zoro want to?
The silence stretches with Sanji hovering awkwardly at the door and Zoro doing his very best to look unaffected, and in the end Sanji just chokes out a quick 'Bye' and bolts inside.
--
Zoro lets his eyes wander about the room, bored out of his mind. He's known the blonde wouldn't be here today, not with how sick he'd been feeling yesterday, but the pang of disappointment in him is enough evidence that there'd still been a part of him that'd hoped the other'd show up against all odds.
For once, they get done with what's planned for the day in the prescribed time.
--
"Did you miss me, marimo?" The cook taunts two days later, cigarette and a cocky smirk dangling from his lips.
"Yeah," Zoro admits, watching as the cook's eyes blow comically wide, almost dropping the cigarette. "I was pretty hungry the whole time," he explains, prepared for the kick that comes and dodging it. It leaves an imprint on the concrete wall. He grins. He did miss this.
He holds his hand out, palm up.
The cooks stares at it irritably. "What?"
"Food," Zoro explains slowly, as if talking to a moron, which he was.
The cook turns a nice shade of red. "Don't just stretch out your hand like that! At least form a proper sentence, you Neanderthal!"
Zoro shrugs, unfazed. "Why? You'll give it to me anyway, right?"
"I really, really ought not to."
"But you will, right?"
The cook huffs, annoyed, but predictably reaches into his jacket, conjuring that familiar blue box.
Zoro catches it, pleased.
"Only since you 'like' my food so much."
In lieu of an answer, he starts shoveling the contents of the box into his mouth.
--
Sanji watches as the marimo inhales his food. "You know," he says, tilting his head to the side thoughtfully as the marimo looks up. "You're kind of like a dog." He reaches out to rub Zoro behind the ear, grin stretching a little wider when the moss head doesn't pull away but very subtly leans into it. "There's a good marimo," he praises, scratching his nails lightly over the other's scalp.
He doesn't stop with the scratching until Zoro's done hoovering up the food and turns towards the building. He doesn't follow the movement and thus his hand slips from green hair as Zoro walks away and calls over one shoulder,
"Oh and cook? Sake next time too."
--
Sanji's comfortable enough in his own skin to admit that he might be feeling a tad sad. It's been their last evening together as a help group, which means that starting tomorrow, he won't see lovely Tashigi-chan anymore on a daily basis since she's been steadfastly refusing to give him her number. He'll miss her so much.
And the marimo, maybe he'll miss the marimo as well, just the tiniest little bit.
But who can blame him? Over the course of the last few months, the other man has become a constant in his life like few things have so quickly. Their fights are fun and, if he's honest, quite heavily the reason he's begun to look forward to those annoying nightly sessions, and Zoro likes his food. That's almost, almost enough to make the marimo tolerable.
He steals a covert glance at the man currently standing beside him, blissfully oblivious to Sanji's inner musings.
Who's he kidding. He'll miss Zoro dearly, because contradictory to what his mind keeps telling him, there's this small part of him that won't stop swooning whenever the marimo's gaze settles on him, giving him his undivided attention in that focused way only Zoro's capable of.
This is fucked up.
--
Zoro feels the cook's eyes on him again, but predictably, as soon as he catches the blonde's gaze, the other man quickly dodges. He grunts, irritated. "Oi, cook." He grabs the other by the chin, forcing the blonde to look him square in the eyes. "Don't avoid me."
Suddenly, the cook fucking blushes, eyes dropping, though he doesn't fight Zoro's hold on him. Zoro did not expect that reaction. He stares, watching as pink cheeks turn a deeper shade of red with every passing second.
Only when the cook's eyes widen a little, he realizes that he's subconsciously begun to lean forward.
He straightens again, frowns.
--
Sanji's heart feels like it's about to beat out of his chest. He doesn't need a mirror to know his face is the color of a tomato right now, his palms are sweating and his mouth is a little open, and he's feeling entirely too warm.
"You look like you're about to hurl."
And just like that, all the warm, fuzzy feelings are brutally murdered.
He fishes for a cigarette, hands steady again, shifting his weight to one leg. He lights the tobacco stick, inhales and exhales the smoke right into Zoro's face. "Was thinking of you, is all."
The part that was wounded by Zoro's comment watches the resulting coughing fit with deep satisfaction. "Bastard cook," Zoro wheezes when he can speak again and Sanji hums in vague agreement.
"C'mon, let's go," he suggests, ignoring the tears beading in the corners of the other's eyes, reminding himself that they are only a result of the heavy coughing, and begins to take long strides towards the bus stop.
He doesn't even try to suppress the relief when he sees his bus take off from afar. It's only bought him half an hour, but he'll take it. Then he snorts self-depreciatively. He shouldn't be standing here, feeling all relieved for missing a fucking bus, he should man up and just tell Zoro that he wants to see him again– support group or not.
He turns to Zoro, intent on doing just that when said man walks right into him.
He flails a little, feeling like a rock's walked into him, grabbing for the nearest thing which happens to be Zoro's shoulders. "Oi, marimo, can't watch where you walk?" He snaps when he's not in danger of toppling backwards anymore, desperately ignoring the way their bodies are being pressed together so snugly.
He makes the mistake to lift his eyes to glare into Zoro's while he talks and just like that, his mind goes blissfully blank. It's all he can do to not openly gape and it's only when the other man's gotten on his bus and he's left standing at the bus stop alone that his brain kicks in again and he registers the words whispered right into his ear.
"Bye, cook."
--
Sanji feels tears burn hot behind his eyelids all the way back to his apartment, spending the ride staring into nothingness. By the time he's remembered how to unlock his front door, he's made up his mind and by the time he's sitting at his kitchen table, eating chicken Teryaki, he's formed a plan on how to track Zoro down.
It's not until he gets ready for bed that he finds the small scrap of paper in the front pocket of his trousers.