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Zoro was an idiot.
He knew that about himself without the daily reminders coming from various crew members, mostly from the blond curlicued browed asshole.
He knew exactly when he would cross a line drawn in the imaginary sand between him and the other, yet he would still venture forward, crossing that border if he had a concrete conviction.
Without having any regrets.
And never, ever apologising for anything.
For two years he had more than enough time to think about that. To turn the words over in his head, to weigh in the expressions, the blank stare, the rigid frame, the thin pressed lips, everything. The memory burned itself into his mind, onto his retina, seeing that constantly, day and night, over and over, painting the vivid picture of blond hair, blue eyes, cigarette falling.
But that question...
Zoro was an idiot.
Those two years on Kuraigana island were bliss and hell equally. Part of him wanted to forget the whole thing, assuring himself that it was for the greater good for himself, and that it was an exit for the other. Even a shitty and obviously mind-altering, but still an exit, if that was what the other craved.
Not that he wanted that, fuck no. But it was humiliating, seeing that the boy he fancied fell to each and every girl they met, ranking him further and further behind... Not telling him anything.
Lies, lies, lies.
Zoro was a liar to himself.
It was simply easier than facing the truth that he fucked up, real bad.
There was no booze for him during his time with Mihawk, which meant that his only escape was extorting his body until it was heavy as a rock and his mind empty as a blank canvas.
Dreamless nights and fatiguing days chased each other over and over again, but the image stayed.
Zoro wasn't the one to ponder over said things, to analyze past episodes, to repeat them over and over in his mind. Yet here he was, looking at a piece of paper, searching the face that was not the one he wanted to see, remembering, determination settling inside his mind.
~~~~~
It wasn't a prearranged meeting, Zoro simply stumbled into the galley late at night, knowing well that he would find the cook at the counter, preparing ingredients for the next day. When the blond looked up, a small smile touched his lips, face lighting up then falling just as quickly when he took in Zoro's approach.
It made Zoro's stomach flip.
Zoro was bracing himself against the threshold, feeling a bit fuzzy from the quality shit he had just rolled down his throat. It was a parting gift from the Franky Family, secretly smuggled up to the Sunny before debarkation. They warned Zoro about the grade, but he was confident of himself; no booze would gave him any trouble.
It didn't take much time when he realized that he had either clearly overrated his own capability with the experience of Luffy's pain just a few days before or that family had absolutely no business in brewing industry. Or they are secretly sitting on a empire, point of view.
His head was spinning, mind mushy and just barely registered that the cook said something, which he hadn't heard correctly, but sounded like "what" and "Moss", but Zoro was only having one thought at the forefront of his brain.
Plenty of years passed - with only nineteen years of his own - since Zoro got drunk.
Real drunk.
If he wanted to be honest with himself, he would gladly never have the same experience again, relieving Kuina's last day, standing there alone, waiting for her excitedly than suddenly wanting to blame anyone, anything for her fate, realising there was no one and nothing.
"It was an accident," they said, "she fell down the stairs..."
She was never clumsy, then how? She was graceful and strong and brave and she incarnated everything Zoro wanted to be, she was his rival, his friend and he was left alone with no one to blame or to hold responsible.
Zoro cried into the night with bottles around him and succumbed to the old fearful feeling of not being good enough, not beign able to keep someone important safe.
He had no wish to reach that state and relieve those times ever again in his life.
And his subconscious knew that, so it showed him something new, something fresh, pulling the pieces forward, Zoro had showed to the back; the Cook.
Zoro grunted and closed the door behind him, swagging closer to the counter, slumping down at the side of the bar across Sanji.
"You," he slurred, fighting with his swords for room, failing miserably. They got stuck in the metal, he didn't have enough space and he started to get angry at his weapons, at himself, at the blond, at himself again and it was ridiculous. He felt pathetic.
At the end he finally arranged them barely neatly and steadied his focus on the smooth surface of the counter, fixing his gaze on one of it's vein.
He heard Sanji sigh.
"If you want to argue, I'd opt for a bucket of water over your head first, cause you look like shit, Marimo."
The blond was speaking too fast and Zoro wished he would just slow the fuck down or at least articulate.
"Yeah? And why's that you think?" He hoped the words came out right.
"It could either be the much consumed alcohol or the lack of it?" There was a light tease at the blond's voice but Zoro was not in the mood, he came with a reason.
He felt the cook's hand on his shoulder, but he shrugged it of. He wanted nothing more than to curl up against the blond's chest, but he needed an answer.
"What's wrong?"
Zoro's head was buzzing with the varieties of his own answers, but those were all cloudy and he was grasping futilely at them.
"You," as soon as the word left Zoro's lips he heard a short breath, but he might have just imagined it. If he started to believe, he would just make a fool out of himself. And he was no fool.
Still he hoped.
What a fool...
"I've heard the first time, but that doesn't answers my question. What's with me?"
"Everything!" Zoro dropped his head to the surface, forehead knocking on the wood hard, struggling to keep his tone normal, not to burst out, either kissing or killing the man.
He wanted to sleep, be cuddled or cuddle, who cares, just let him be, but those fucking voices were bothering him, poking inside, whispering in his ears.
He raised his head and looked at the blond, searching his visible eye.
"Why do you make this so hard?"
Zoro watched as an unlit cigarette fell from those lips, suprise and fear in the blue eye, quickly collecting himself.
"What do you mean?" Zoro watched how the cook's mouth formed the words, wishing he would get an easy answer. One that would end in a pleasent night, with arms around his body and soft hair tickling his nose.
Maybe Zoro really was a fool.
He wanted to get out, to talk later or never, but there was no later, he was doing this now, he had started so he would see it to the end.
"I mean that what is this? We made out, we slept together and you are still shoving me back whenever you get the chance over a pair of tits. It's like I'm good for a distraction or a replacement, but nothing more. I told you fair and square, how I feel and you are still in your fucking seashell, using me how you want. Fretting over the crew finding out, what would the witch say if they know. I won't beg, I've got my honour, Cook," yet Zoro hoped the cook would just straight up deny. The consumed alcohol started to evaporate from his system, but the aftermath lingering distaste stayed, hence the thoughts.
"Zoro, I...," Zoro had no patience and the harsh words kept flowing out, surrounding them, letting them drown.
"Why can't you just admit something? That you are just using me, maybe even fancied, but nothing more? What would be your line, huh? A blowjob? A handjob?" Zoro hissed at his own words, something tugging low at his abdomen, throat running dry.
"That I'd let you fuck me, cause I'm sure as hell, you won't let me do that to you? When will you finally step up to me and tell me that you are just toying with me, huh? Why can't you just admit it?"
Zoro wanted to fight.
He was good at fighting, but with words? Not so much.
He never wanted anyone to see inside him, to know his mind; no exposion meant less harming surface for others. But then came that idiot pervert and turned his world upside down and when he finally wanted to use his words, they still failed him.
But it wasn't just about words. As hard as it was for Zoro to admit or even consider the possibility, it was about his own feelings, his own insecurity in an unknown territory, his own vulnerability. He hoped someone would run a sword through it.
His own heart.
"I don..." Zoro never backed down, it was alien to his nature. Keep going, push forward, whatever, whenever. Even when he wanted something else, he went on. And now his mind was at war.
"I really thought you wanted me, when we slept together, but it was all just a lie, right? A fucking hilarious joke, right? Just say that you only like woman and that I'm nothing, I dare you to say it," although he silently prayed for the opposite, the sounds coming from him still pressing further, pushing his own buttons, seeing red at the lack of response.
The blond never waited in his retorts, always immediate, legs and mouth both fast and cunning, wits sharp, not that Zoro would ever admit that to his face.
Now he was just standing before Zoro, like a lost child, watching him with a mildly composed demeanour, fingers tapping rapidly at his thigh, jaw tensing, eye squinting.
Zoro was waiting.
He wanted to fight, he wanted to clash, to take out his frustration and he had nothing but his words.
"You were j..."
"SHUT IT!!"
Zoro watched as the emotions raced on the blond's face, settling on the last one.
Anger.
"What, you don't like it when reality hits you in the face? When your lies came crashing down?" Zoro felt validated. There was no denying, just ordering, and something inside him churred. Something heavy fell.
"YOU dare to question me after everything? After FUCKING Thriller Bark AND Kuma? Are you out of your fucking mind?!" The cook's voice was low and rapsy, but he enunciated each and every word. Zoro had never heard him talk like this, with such disbelief and detained venom.
They had their routine of exchanging pleasantries, but this was not it. Entirely different, new on all levels and wrong.
"That's no..., " that particular part might have slipped from Zoro's mind.
"You dare to stroll in here, shitfaced like you are just right now and accuse me?! That's just fucked up man! One day, you gonna drink yourself to death and I really hope, I won't be there to watch it," the cook spat at Zoro.
"You may not know everything about me and despite I told you that I might need time, you throw this shit in my face? Calling me a liar?! It seems like you know nothing. And you know what? FUCK YOU!! I don't care if you're drunk, you were the one that told me that you don't want me to change. That you accept me, as I am. Don't change, I'll wait, blahblahblah... Bullshit!! You use big words as honour, yet you have no problem trampling over someone else's without a spared glance. What about mine, huh? Questioning everything who am I and why, not knowing why men ar...," the only thing Zoro could do was sit there and listen, the aura radiating from the cook pinned him to the bar. He watched with interest as the blond nearly bit off his tongue the last moment before he said the latest words. Like it was some secret, something important yet painful, if the trembling in his voice at those particular few words was any indication. Still he seemed relentless, just like how Zoro felt.
He went on.
"You charge in here, demanding why am I still like me and not as you? You're a hypocrite Zoro. You want me to be like you, a brute with no tact and no remorse? Because I know you fucker, tomorrow when you'll wake with a fucking headache I hope, you won't seek me out to talk because you'll still think that you are right. You want me... NO, you require me to be like you, as you? Well, news flash that's not gonna happen cause I'm different. And if you don't want that, you know where the fucking door is."
The blond was heaving as if he had just sprinted down a few marathons. Hands grasping at the smooth surface of the counter, knuckles white, eyes raging fire, boring into Zoro's. Jaws clenched, lips pressed thin, cheeks tinted red.
The utter let down Zoro felt, fused with alchol's fume still coursing through his veins, throbbing behind his eyes, in his temples, in his chest, opened his mouth to hurt.
"And? You were the one who first came to me...," Zoro was lashing out
And he knew where to punch.
Zoro waited as the other breathed through his nose and quietly uttered a few words, eyes not leaving the swordsman.
"Get the fuck out."
The tone held a blazing warning and Zoro shook his head, if he had just woken up from a trance, eyes widening for a moment as it finally settled in him, what had just happened.
Still he tried.
"Cook, I don..."
"Don't care what you do or don't, but please, get the out. Now, preferably."
It was emotionless, empty, colour drained from his voice, from his eyes.
Zoro opened his mouth to say something, only to close it the next second.
No use.
There was no word in the universe what he could say to lighten the former argument, to dull the pain, the ease the tension, to do anything.
Not for the blonde and not for him.
Zoro pushed himself up and went out the door without a backward glance, swords clanking is his wake.
He went down to the weapon's storage, where he knew no one would look for him and slept. He wanted to meditate, to clear his mind, but the light rocking of the ship, the water sloshing against the hull although stirred up his stomach, lulled him to sleep and Zoro welcomed it.
The next day Sanji was back to his usual self, as always, fawning over a literal mermaid - Zoro had never, ever seen a mermaid in his life before -, who fell from sky to the deck of their home.
They saved that pesky Arlong octopus, arrived at Sabaody and didn't speak much.
Their usual fights and name-callings were a part of their routine, their rivalry, their game. When something was real amiss between them, they closed up and delt with it themselves, each in their own way, in their own head. They never dared to fuck up the crew's dynamic, not burdening them with their own hardheadidness, never letting them know.
It was their own thing, their own secret, their own problem.
The only real words addressed to him were a few teasing ones with Usopp, when he wandered off into the island they docked onto. The last advice being a "Don't trust your instinct!" shouted after him. Zoro looked up to the tree, remembering the huge number 1 painted on it and went on his way.
The day was part uneventful, although some idiot wanted directions from him, part blurry and chaotic, relaxing when they finally found the old man they were looking for and then all hell broke loose.
It wasn't in Zoro's nature to give up, but it just hurt. Everything inside, every part of his body, ever fibre, every movement was agonizing, despite wringing his body with training, it still hurt and he was weak.
He couldn't protect them and he suggested running, with Sanji in mind, getting him and everyone else to safety.
They split up.
"You'll be alright?"
"Shut up!" Despite yesterday, he heard the soft worry, the concern coating the voice, masking his fear with anger, slipping into their usual habit of banter, only eyes communicating silently.
Pain, echoing through his body, spots of darkness claiming his vision, weakness in his arms, not lifting the swords. Breaths coming out hurriedly, air not filling his lunges, legs not supporting his weight, mind dizzy, tongue heavy.
He heard the screams, heard his name from different voices, dull, like he was behind a wall, closed in, shrinking, slipping into oblivion.
He couldn't protect anyone, he was weak. Soo, soo weak...
~~~~~
Honour meant the world to Zoro, it was his essence, putting himself on a higher ground because he followed his own morales, without lurch.
But he was weak.
So he put aside his honour and sank down on his knees to ask.
No.
He begged for help. For training body, his mind, to adduce his hidden skills, to help him become stronger. To protect, to never fail again.
Zoro always thought that forsaking his spirit would came hard - if he ever came upon that decision -, with self hate and disgust. Always thinking it would be a big price to pay.
It was none at all.
It came easily, like drawing a sword, like taking a nap, with dear faces swimming before his eyes. It wasn't abandonment, but development.
And Zoro gave his everything for the cause.
The first thing he did - after he was able to stand properly on his own legs and found his way into Mihawk's quarter without getting lost too much - was to snatch the bounties he hoped he would find there.
Zoro was sure Mihawk knew, but the man never mentioned it and Zoro was grateful for that. His ego might have bruised, if it came out as childish to the older man, since he was always so collected and cold.
The posters brought him a sense of company, a bit of home.
It was a long time since Zoro called any place home, but the ships, both the Merry and the Sunny, were his home. With nakamas on board, laughter filling the place, soft and lively music hanging in the air and enticiting smells coming from the galley.
Zoro longed to be back; feeling everything again, having headaches from screams, fighting together as a team, having another chance.
He was positive they would be together again in time.
So Zoro fought and trained harder than ever in his life. The stint on booze firstly was hard, but necessary. He had more energy, more will and an utmost clear mind. Although that might as well had been a curse, Zoro faced his thoughts lastly.
Sanji.
The name felt outlandish on his tongue, yet it was nice to call the cook on his given name alone in his room. He had never addressed the man properly and out of habit, never even tried. Even in their most intimate sessions he only managed a softly moaned Cook or a rasply grunted Curly, both to which he got a thrilling reply.
The man was closeted beyond belief with something bothersome at his back and Zoro would have kicked himself in the head if he had the flexibilty of said man for his words.
The non-denying still stung at his chest, but he had no cause to hurt the man.
If he still wanted to lie to himself, he would have said that it was just on impulse, anger taking a toll on him, lashing out, but he was fed up with his teasing inner voices.
He wanted to hurt the man, just because he had hurt him, a shitty payback. It was petty and childish and disgraceful and for the first time since Kuina's death, Zoro felt ashamed and furious at himself.
He wanted to make amends, he wanted to talk and if he was willing, maybe start anew. Only if he wanted, no preassure.
Zoro won't say he would make things right, because what was done, was done, but he could and would learn from that.
He never lied to the blond; he would have waited for him ages if that what it took. But as whimsical and unbelievable it was for Zoro too, his own emotions were fragile, especially the ones regarding the cook.
Never minding how tough was it was for Zoro to even admit and come to terms with his own feelings, emotions and sentiments, firstly, he would have to admit them to the cook. The man would either believe Zoro or would kick him into next week, it was up to him.
If the blonde never wanted anything with Zoro again, that would be fine, he would accept that, but they needed to talk. If they stayed that way, the way they left it, the way Zoro fucked up
No.
With a clear head and no booze in sight, Zoro would respect the blond and himselft with nothing but honesty.
He would make the blond listen, even if that would be the last thing Zoro did.
Even though the bounty poster really only resembled the late-Duval look, Zoro kept staring at the piece, imaging the cook's face properly; smiling, fringe covering half the face, eye crinkling, cigarette dangling from the lips.
Zoro was an idiot.
But a willing idiot.
Two years went slow.
The longing, the waiting, the pining, the missing faces all dragged time itself slower than ever.
Two years went fast.
With mountains of humandrills, endless hours of learning haki, halving the number of his eyes, training, training, training endlessly speeding up the days.
When he learnt about the shadow befalling Luffy, he swore; never again.
He would never be weak again.
When time finally came to leave, Zoro was restless, anticipation tugging at his muscles, excitement buzzing through his skin with want, want, want.
Returning to Sabaody brought back unpleasant memories, but Zoro went on with head held high, confidence in his steps, aura radiating power.
He stayed on the shore, not daring to venture forth until the others got there, due to his might-be-true directionless tendencies. Appearantly he was the first.
He got bored and wanted to go fishing. He found a man, who told him to get in the boat and was exactly what Zoro did.
That was not his fault, that the boat changed into a pirate ship and he had to cut it in half.
Maybe, he should have taken another look...
But when the self-caused waterfall settled and he emerged from the debris, he found himself face-to-face with the Cook...
The man was...different.
The first thing Zoro noticed was the left eye. He had never seen the man's left, not even when they were making out.
And this small detail warmed Zoro's inside; headbutting was in their nature, and due to Zoro's disability, they still had a way to look into each other's eye.
Zoro for a moment imagined the opposite and snorted; a closing scar and a fringe straing at each other, mouth snarling, not seeing a thing.
He seemed more relaxed, like a weight was lifted from his shoulders, he was loosened and it fit him. Zoro liked that look on him and it gave him a bit of joy. The man seemed, behind the grumpy appearance, happy.
He still sported his prissy, gentlemanly suit pieces, but those too hang different on his frame. The man was bigger too, broader shoulders, tapered waist, long, deadly legs... Zoro couldn't help himself, but stopped his thoughts.
He still loved the man, blazing hot.
Zoro planned how he would ask the blond to speak, how and what he would say, nearly everything, but just like with all their plans on the crew, all his thoughts and ideas went with the wind and when they were arms length, Zoro uttered out.
"Cook... I'm sorry."