Chapter Text
One of the first things Zoro did once he settled into his new apartment was find the closest and most convenient place to buy food. He was determined to gain as much muscle as possible before the next swordsmanship tournament, and that meant consuming even more calories and more protein.
He was not the best cook, he wasn’t ashamed to admit, as he preferred to spend his time at the gym rather than in the kitchen. But, he did have his trusty rice cooker, a good quality wok, some go-to sauces, and a willingness to eat pretty much anything that wasn’t overly sweet.
And so, finding somewhere to get fresh produce and meat was a must. Take-out was great when he was in a hurry, but cooking most meals himself gave him better control over his diet and meant that he could allow himself to indulge in non-essentials, like fresh bread or mochi, every so often as a treat.
Luckily there was a small, seemingly family-owned grocery store just around the corner from his apartment building. He was worried at first it would be too small to have some of the Japanese ingredients he liked to use, and that would mean having to go farther and risk getting los— risk wasting time every trip for groceries.
The place was called Baratie and had a bit of a French or European vibe, but surprisingly had a good variety of international ingredients, especially Asian ones, meaning Zoro was able to find pretty much everything he used on the regular.
The first few times he went, Zoro didn’t pay much attention to the staff or the place itself, mostly focused on finding what he needed. The place either had way more aisles that it seemed to be able to fit in this size of place, or they changed the layout every single week, or the aisles were moving on him, dammit!
Eventually he managed to sort-of get his bearings about the place, and trips to stock up were less of a stressful maze/scavenger hunt and more of a leisurely shopping trip.
And that’s when he finally started to notice some of the regular staff members, and their... quirks.
The old man at the fish counter had the most ridiculous blond moustache Zoro had ever seen, and a grumpy countenance to go with it. It was long and braided, like he was some kind of viking who retired and decided to become a “poissonier”, as the sign above the section declared. Zeff, as his nametag said, also seemed to be the guy in charge; he was always yelling at the others when they weren’t at their stations or if some of the younger workers were goofing around.
Zoro would prefer to avoid direct confrontation with the imposing man, but he really enjoyed eating fish and needed the protein, so he ended up exchanging grunting words with Zeff pretty much every trip to the Baratie. Luckily, the guy also didn’t seem keen on small talk, so Zoro was able to get what he was looking for and move on pretty quickly every time.
Dumb and Dumber were his nicknames for the two guys working the meat and deli counter, and the less time he spent around them, the better. Zoro usually just grabbed whatever pre-packaged stuff on sale, and it meant he didn’t have to wait in line for deli service.
There were a few cashiers and shelve stockers he was starting to recognize, but luckily they were much tamer than the fools at the back. Usually just a polite greeting was all it took to get through those interactions.
And finally, there was him.
The first time Zoro went to the bakery section, it was after a really good workout day and he’d decided to treat himself with something fresh baked and delicious. Cakes were usually too sweet for his tastes, so he tended to gravitate towards the bread and pastries. He let his nose guide him to the oh-so-tempting smell of fresh dough wafting from the bakery in the back corner of the store.
There were baskets of baguettes, loaves, buns, croissants; anything he could ever have wanted. There was also a glass partition with a view directly into the baker’s prep area, and that’s exactly where Zoro saw the blond for the first time: apron over a well-fitted suit, fancy tie at the neck, one blue eye topped with a swirled eyebrow (the other hidden beneath his blond fringe), unlit cigarette between his lips, and dexterous hands covered in flour skillfully kneading dough.
Zoro will admit he may have zoned out a few seconds, basket hanging limply at his side, mouth a little open, as he watched those hands work the dough. They pulled, flipped, and pounded with strength and grace; it was absolutely mesmerizing. Zoro was in a trance, and a little voice at the back of his mind whispered of how much he wished he could experience what it was like to be the dough between those elegant fingers...
“Oi, you need something? Or you just gonna stand there and stare?” growled a husky voice, shaking Zoro from his stupor.
He looked up to see the baker’s eyebrow looking even more ridiculous as the man glared at Zoro, all while his arms never stopped their work.
“Sorry,” he said, embarrassed at having been caught staring and hoping his tanned complexion hid any blushing. Because damn, weird eyebrow aside, this guy was fucking handsome! “You’re just, uh, really good at that,” he added inelegantly.
“Of course I am,” the blond huffed. “Otherwise I wouldn’t be the Head Baker here, now would I?”
Zoro was thinking of something to reply when the thunk of uneven foosteps came up behind him, accompanied by a waft of fish smell.
“Eggplant! Stop being rude to the customers!” barked the fish man – Zeff – as he passed behind Zoro, and somehow instead of sheepishly backing down, the baker became even more incensed.
“Can it, old geezer!” he yelled, his hands finally stopping their endless kneading. He angrily lifted one to jab a finger in Zoro’s direction. “Not my fault this sentient moss can’t decide what he wants!”
“Hey,” Zoro started, miffed at the comment about his hair colour, only to get interrupted by Zeff.
“Cabbage head is one of my best customers, nobody else in this uncultured city is buying my nice eel meat, don’t you scare him off now,” he growled.
“Hey!”
“Or what, you gonna fire me? Who else is gonna inherit your shitty store once you get old and decrepit then? Piss off old man!”
“Ungrateful brat! See if I order your fancy bread flour this week!”
With his piece said, Zeff gave a final huff and started stomping back to the fish station.
“Fuck you! You’re just pissed off you can’t bake for shit compared to me!” the baker yelled after him, receiving nothing but a middle finger in return.
When he turned back to Zoro, he visibly started, as if he’d forgotten about the source of their shouting in the first place. The blond’s cheeks remained flushed from anger, and Zoro snickered.
“You and your dad seem to get along well,” he said with a smirk.
“Shut it and pick your bread already!” he huffed.
“I dunno... whatever’s the freshest, I guess,” Zoro replied, just wanting some doughy goodness and not really caring what kind it would be.
Some kind of crusty loaf was thrust over the ledge of bread baskets to his right a moment later, and Zoro took it with a chuckle. It was still warm and smelled absolutely divine.
“Thanks, Curly,” he said, repaying the earlier comments about his hair, and by the furious look on the baker’s face, he knew exactly what Zoro was referencing.
He eventually left with his purchases, eager to get home and try the bread. He even skipped the butter, sitting down and just tearing chunks out with his teeth.
Fuck, it was good.
Just as delicious as the hands that made it, Zoro thought, and immediately knew he was in trouble, because now he was going to want more bread, and even more of the baker who made it.