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“How’s college treatin’ ya, eggplant?” Zeff’s gruff voice crackles over the line. The clang of pots and pans in the background makes it a little harder to hear him, but the familiar din is comforting.
“It’s fine,” Sanji replies, “Lots of shitty uptight pricks, but I expected that.”
Zeff snorts. “Yeah, you’ll see some brats in there who think formal training is the only thing that’ll qualify you to step into a kitchen, but just suck it up for now.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Sanji says.
He can accept Zeff’s words of reassurance for what they are. He’d already warned Sanji back when the other had left for college that the more structured culinary training he’d receive in school would be a far cry from the rough way Zeff ran his own kitchen, but Sanji had insisted on registering anyway if only to learn a few new techniques and get some exposure to different types of cuisines he wouldn’t otherwise have seen in his stepfather’s restaurant.
That said, culinary school really was on a whole different level. It wasn’t the demanding hours or exercises all the students had to complete - Sanji was more than used to having orders barked at him and standing for hours on end in hot kitchens - it was the strange sense of superiority that some of the other students seemed to have that really got on Sanji’s nerves. Even worse was how Sanji had to bite his tongue at any jabs aimed at the family restaurant he came from and lack of formal training. Back at the Baratie it had been more than acceptable to correct anyone’s attitude with a few well-aimed kicks, but here he just had to roll over and take it to avoid getting written up, or worse expelled.
Every day is a test of his patience (and spite since he knew how smug Zeff would act if he came crawling back after a single semester) to refrain from drop kicking all his pretentious classmates and stay focused on his own station. He mentally recites recipes and techniques in his head to keep his cool, even if he’s sure he’s left more than a few finger shaped indents in the handles of his kitchen tools when he has had to restrain himself from throwing them.
‘It’s only a four year program,’ he tells himself, smoothing down the front of his pressed university uniform.
Honestly, the uniform was probably one of the few things this whole shitty program had going for it. Sanji had always liked dressing up, and the university emblems embroidered on all his starched shirts had made him feel even more professional. Part of him wonders if he could keep wearing the snazzier clothing whenever he returned home to the Baratie. He’s sure the other chefs would give him shit for it, but Sanji was more than capable of shutting them up.
“Oi, Sanji!”
Sanji’s snapped out of his musings by a familiar voice and then, milliseconds later, a familiar figure crashing into him. “Ack, Luffy!” He flails as he attempts to keep his balance. “You’re messing up my clothes!”
He sighs internally as he watches his once pressed uniform become hopelessly wrinkled as his friend - even if usually all they do is wait for their respective rides to come pick them up together, Luffy had made it pretty clear that Sanji was his friend - wraps his arms and legs around him like some kind of clingy octopus. Sanji realizes how used to this he’s become when his arms come up automatically to prevent the other from falling and he manages to shift his weight enough to balance the both of them.
“Hm, oh, sorry,” Luffy says, not sounding very sorry at all.
Sanji huffs, wishing he’d at least managed to light a cigarette before the other commandeered the use of his hands. “Waiting for Ace?”
Since the day the two of them had met (and the day that Luffy had apparently decided he and Sanji were going to be ride or die’s), Luffy had always gotten picked up from his classes by his older brother, Ace, in said older brother’s rather tiny beat-up sedan. Luffy had told him that Ace desperately needed a new one, but they couldn’t afford it currently since at the moment all their family’s money had gone to putting Luffy through school.
Luffy had pouted at the time and said that he’d been trying to get a scholarship to help his family out, but the academic requirements to get one for such a prestigious university were unfortunately beyond Luffy’s capabilities. Luffy wasn’t stupid, per se, but he never tested well. Honestly Sanji thought the other would do better going directly into the workforce rather than attending the stuffy college they were at, but apparently Luffy’s grandfather had insisted that he enroll for at least a year before pursuing some other path.
“Nah, not today,” Luffy says, startling Sanji.
“Oh shit, is everything alright?” Sanji asks, concerned.
He didn’t know much about Ace aside from the stories Luffy told him about running around in the woods with his brother, but Ace had always seemed pretty friendly and outgoing from the few times Sanji had spoken with him. He really hoped the other hadn’t caught the late fall flu that had been going around. Sanji had managed to escape unscathed so far, but plenty of his classmates had been missing classes lately due to illness.
“Yeah, he’s fine,” Luffy says, “Just had to go with his boss out of town for an assignment for a couple weeks.”
“Oh,” Sanji’s brow furrows, “Do you need a ride then?”
Luffy beams at him, “Nah, but thanks! I got Zoro to come get me!”
“Who’s-?”
His question is cut off by the loud growl of a motor. Sanji looks up and balks as he sees a very large, very shiny motorcycle come roaring into the pickup lane. It screeches to a stop in front of Sanji, humming loudly as lines of heat radiate up from it. Up close Sanji can see that the motorcycle is clearly very well cared for, every inch of it polished to a shine, and it’s decorated with knife straight bright green line decals all over its gas tank and fender.
The rider of said bike takes his helmet off and-
Huh. Well. He’s not unattractive, even if the dyed green hair, mysterious scar over one of his eyes, and blatant scowl give of a distinctive unwelcoming aura. Sanji can also see that the man has a nice jawline, sharp gaze, and three golden earrings dangling from his left ear. He’s clearly got the whole ‘bad boy’ look down straight out of a teen movie - complete with the leather jacket, v-neck tank top, sturdy black pants, combat boots and leather biker gloves.
Sanji can already hear some excited whispers from the female students nearby as the man rests his helmet on the handlebars and runs a hand through his spiky hair. He turns then, gaze sweeping across the pristine campus he sticks out like a sore thumb against, until they land directly on Sanji.
Sanji involuntarily stiffens under the other’s gaze. He’s not scared of the other man, he’s fully capable of defending himself in case the stranger decides to pick a fight, but he’s definitely not inclined to get involved with any violence that could land him in trouble with the school. He’s worked too damn hard and put up with too damn much to have it thrown away because some wannabe thug wanted to brawl.
Determined, Sanji glares right back, daring the man on the motorcycle to mess with him. He’s sure he doesn’t look the most intimidating in his (once) perfectly pressed university uniform and with his friend wrapped around him, but he gives it his best shot. The man raises an eyebrow at the look, only to snort derisively.
Sanji immediately bristles, mouth opening to ask the other what the hell he finds so funny, but Luffy beats him to the punch.
“Zoroooooo!”
Luffy launches himself off Sanji and darts across the sidewalk to jump at the man on the motorcycle.
“Fuck, Luffy!” The man’s startled exclamation breaks whatever mysterious vibe he might have once held, and the other barely manages to catch the excitable student without toppling over his bike in the process.
“You’re here!” Luffy beams in the wide, genuine way he always does, which has the effect of softening the whole picture.
“Yeah, I told you I would be,” the man, Zoro, says, rolling his eye. “How many times did I say not to tackle me like a goddamn monkey while I’m on my bike?”
He drops Luffy on his ass, but the other bounces back up unfazed. “Uh… Five?”
“Try fifty,” Zoro deadpans.
“Wow, you were keeping track?” Luffy grins. “I didn’t know you could count that high!”
Zoro scowls and drags Luffy into a headlock. “You are the one person that doesn’t get to say that to me!”
“Ow, ow, ow, I’m sorry!” Luffy whines.
It’s then that Luffy and Sanji’s eyes meet once more. Sanji’s pretty sure he has a pretty dumbfounded expression on his face, but Luffy brightens and smacks at Zoro’s arm to get the other’s attention.
“What?” Zoro sighs, releasing Luffy.
“You need to meet Sanji! He’s the amazing chef guy I was telling you about!” Luffy bounds back over to Sanji and shoves the other forward.
“Oi,” Sanji protests, “I can walk, you know.”
“Sanji, this is Zoro!” Luffy says, ignoring him completely, “He works at the garage near the apartment! Oh, and he lives down the hall.”
“So you’re Sanji,” Zoro says, giving him an up and down look that Sanji tries not to shift under. “Luffy won’t shut up about you. I think he wants you to move in to cook for him.”
“He’s said as much once or twice,” Sanji mutters.
Sanji isn’t sure exactly when Luffy got it into his head that Sanji would want to move into his apartment complex where he apparently had made friends with all the other people on his floor, but Luffy had yet to give up on the idea. Even when Sanji had said he was living in a place with his siblings, Luffy had just said they could all move in as well (though ideally a floor up since Luffy hadn’t wanted to split Sanji’s food with too many people).
“You’re good at cooking then?” Zoro asks. Something about the way the other says it is enough to have Sanji scowling.
“I’m the best chef at this shitty school,” Sanji replies, eyes narrowed.
“That so?” Zoro drawls, lips turning up in a way that makes Sanji want to smack the cocky expression right off his goddamn face, “Cook me something next time then, curly brows. Luffy, we gotta get back before that witch starts calling me.”
“Oh, okay!” Luffy slides onto the back of the bike behind Zoro and waves at Sanji before wrapping his arms around Zoro’s waist.
“What the hell did you just-?” Sanji begins, outrage coloring his voice, but the rest of his words are lost as the man loudly revs the engine of the motorcycle. Zoro takes a spare helmet he has buckled onto the handlebars and crams it on Luffy’s head before putting his own back on, and then he’s roaring out of the pickup lane and leaving Sanji coughing in the cloud of smoke he’s left behind him.
For a moment Sanji can only stand there, eyes wide and mouth agape, staring at the spot where the arrogant asshole’s bike used to be. He’s pretty sure he’s going to start catching flies soon, so his jaw slides shut with a click. His brain slowly replays the events that had just unfolded, running through the full conversation, and then-
“That arrogant moss head!” Sanji blurts, anger overtaking his initial bewilderment.
That fucker had the gall to come blazing in here with his stupid leather jacket and stupid motorcycle and stupid handsome face and demand that Sanji cook something for him?! Sanji might have been in culinary school, but he doesn’t just take orders from random guys on the street! The fucking audacity of that man! The goddamn smirk the other had given him was just icing on the shitty cake.
Who the hell did he think he was?!
Well, if it’s food he wants, then Sanji’s gonna make something that knocks his damn socks off, enough so that he’ll apologize for his shitty fucking attitude and beg Sanji to come live on their stupid apartment floor (Sanji steadfastly ignores the fact that he didn’t even want to move into the apartment in the first place, it’s about proving a point, damn it). Sanji whips out his phone and punches in a text to Luffy asking if Zoro has any food restrictions before shoving his phone back in his pocket and pulling out his pack of cigarettes instead.
He spends the rest of his time waiting for his sister chain smoking his way through three cigarettes and grumbling to himself about stupid men and their stupid bikes.
“There,” Sanji says with malicious glee as he pops the lid on the plastic container in front of him. He has to say he’s outdone himself, even by his normal standards.
Back when he’d texted Luffy asking about Zoro’s dietary restrictions, the other had enthusiastically replied with not only that Zoro had none, but also a full list of everything Zoro had liked to eat which, considering Luffy’s own love of food, was incredibly detailed in a way that few things with Luffy ever were. Sanji wasn’t complaining though. The extensive list gave him more than enough material to work with while he was crafting the perfect meal.
He’d spent the last evening pouring over his recipe books and experimenting in his own kitchen to try and find the perfect flavor combination with plenty of meat and rice (much to the joy of his siblings who got to eat his leftover work). He’d even gone to his class early to use the equipment, and he’s pretty sure the lovely girl he asked to taste test it nearly started crying when she took a bite.
That stupid moss head has no chance.
Sanji nods with satisfaction as he stows the lunchbox carefully away in his bag before heading outside. The sun is shining, birds are singing, and Sanji is going to make that arrogant prick on the motorcycle eat his goddamn words before the day is out. He grins widely, practically whistling as he makes his way down to the pickup area. Nothing is going to ruin his-
Ping!
Sanji jolts as he feels his phone vibrate in his pocket. He shifts the bag to his left hand and pulls out his phone, glancing at the incoming text notification.
Bottomless Pit
Sorry, Sanji, forgot I had club today! Won’t be able to wait with you!
Luffy’s text is followed by about half a dozen crying emojis. Sanji stares blankly down at the screen before woodenly shoving his phone back in his pocket. If Luffy wasn’t coming did that mean…? He glances down at the still warm lunch in the bag in his hand.
Well, it wasn’t like the food would be going to waste even if that asshole didn’t show up. Niji and Yonji would be more than happy to eat anything Sanji put in front of them, especially a meal like this, but still. Sanji had made the meal for a specific person and he hated the thought of not going to its intended recipient. He supposes he could just make the meal again the next day when Luffy was sure to be picked up, but for some reason he still feels oddly bereft.
Of course that just ends up making him angry because ‘how dare that bastard not be around to appreciate the meal I made for him’. Despite the fact that Sanji knows it isn’t Zoro’s fault that Luffy forgot to inform Sanji about his club activities, he’s perfectly happy redirecting his frustration at that arrogant fucker instead. Maybe there’s something to be said about all his misguided irritation, but Sanji isn’t interested in any self-examination at the moment.
“Shitty moss-“
Sanji’s building rant is cut short by the sound of a revving engine. Just like the day prior, Sanji is left staring, stunned, as a gleaming motorcycle cruises into the pickup lane with a very familiar figure sitting astride it. He can feel his eyes widen, all resentment evaporating in an instant as Zoro slows to a stop in front of him.
“Uh,” Sanji says dumbly, not having expected the target of his ire to suddenly appear before him.
Zoro pulls off his helmet and Sanji is frustrated to learn that no, yesterday was not a fluke, and the bastard apparently just looks that good all the time. Something about that makes him even angrier.
“Where’s Luffy?” Zoro says, completely skipping any routine niceties.
“Hello to you too, asshole,” Sanji huffs.
“Hm?” Zoro looks genuinely puzzled.
Sanji rolls his eyes. “Never mind. Luffy’s at his club. Didn’t he tell you?”
“Wait, he…?” Zoro pulls out his own phone and checks it, eye rolling heavenward when he presumably sees Luffy’s message. “Fucking hell. That’s what I get for trying to be early.” He rubs his forehead with a scowl.
“Early?” Sanji questions, raising an eyebrow. He’s pretty sure the other was there no earlier than he was the day prior.
“Got lost,” Zoro says, waving a hand, “The roads around here are a maze.”
“The roads around here are a grid,” Sanji says skeptically, “You’d have to be a fucking dumbass to get lost.”
“What was that?” Zoro growls, shoving his phone back into his pocket. Sanji would be more intimidated if he could seen a growing flush of embarrassment tinging the other’s ears red.
“You heard me,” Sanji says, emboldened. “You must have a piss poor sense of direction if you’re getting lost in a place where the streets are all numbered.”
“Shut up,” Zoro snaps, though he doesn’t seem to have any other rebuttal.
Sanji snickers. “How long did you even drive around town for?”
“I said shut up-!” Zoro cuts himself off sniffing the air. His eyes immediately go to the bag in Sanji’s hand. “Wait, is that food?”
“What are you, a dog?” Sanji asks, putting his free hand on his hip. He supposes the food does smell pretty good considering it’s still warm. If Sanji hadn’t had a snack after his classes earlier, he’s sure he’d be affected by the smell too.
“Did you make that for me?” Zoro asks, looking up.
Sanji does his best to meet the other’s eye and not squirm under the searching look. “I mean, yeah. Not because you told me to, though.”
“Sure,” Zoro says with that infuriating smirk Sanji remembers.
“Shut up,” Sanji says, unconsciously echoing the other’s words as he feels the back of his neck heat. “Do you want the food or not?”
Zoro’s eye widens with what might be panic. “I do, I-“
Beep!
They both look over as a car horn blares next to them. A glance shows and irritated looking driver motioning for them both to get moving out of the pickup lane.
“Shit, let’s talk somewhere else,” Zoro says. “Hop on.”
Sanji’s brain sputters. “Wait, what?”
“You heard me,” Zoro says impatiently. He waves a hand to the space behind him on the motorcycle. “Let’s go somewhere else so we aren’t blocking the pickup lane.”
“I- I’m waiting for my sister!” Sanji protests.
“Then text her that I’ll drive you home,” Zoro says with a shrug.
“I can’t-“
Beep! Beep!
“Calm down!” Sanji snaps at the car behind them. He looks back at Zoro and sees that challenging look in the other’s eye again. It makes something inside Sanji bristle once more. He’s abruptly reminded of how badly he wants to make the other admit his skills as a chef and begrudgingly apologize for being a dick. “Ugh, fine! Fine-!”
Sanji whips out his phone and quickly texts Reiju that he’s found another ride home before stepping toward the bike. It’s… it’s admittedly a little more intimidating up close. Zoro swipes the bag of food out of Sanji’s hand before he can protest and carefully stows it away in a small box strapped to the side of the bike before locking it shut.
“You need a hand up or something?” Zoro asks, eye glinting with amusement.
“Fuck you,” Sanji replies.
He’s never ridden a motorcycle before, but he’s ridden a bicycle. His brothers used to race them up and down the street, and even if Sanji struggled to keep up with them back then he could still ride one without issue. This can’t be that much different. Sure, it was bigger and had more moving parts, but it was still just a fancy bike…right?
With that thought in mind Sanji finally steels himself enough to step up next to the motorcycle and try and swing his leg over it. He’s never been so grateful for his flexibility and sense of balance in his life, because he’s pretty sure that without it he might have fallen right on his ass, and that would’ve been enough of an embarrassment to have him evaporating off the face of the earth.
“Not a big deal,” Sanji says, trying not to let his relief show on his face.
“Wow, look at Mr. Big Shot here,” Zoro says, making Sanji scowl.
“Let’s just go,” Sanji mutters, dropping down on the seat. Immediately he balks as he feels the bike humming under him, and it feels a lot more powerful than he previously anticipated. Shit, he hopes he doesn’t die on this thing. His Mama would kill him, and then Zeff would dig him up to kill him again.
“Here,” Zoro hands him the spare helmet, and Sanji doesn’t even protest it messing up his hair as he puts it on. He’d rather have a bad hair day and end up a bloody smear on the pavement.
He internally wars with himself before he finally sucks up his pride for the sake of his safety and asks. “What do I do?”
Zoro snorts, putting his own helmet on. “You hang on, princess.”
“Prin-?!”
The engine revs, drowning out his outraged shriek. Sanji isn’t given time to protest, grabbing onto Zoro’s jacket in panic. He can feel the other’s laugh rumble through his back, and scowls.
“Wrap your arms around my waist, you big baby,” Zoro says.
“Fucker,” Sanji mutters, but does so because the last thing he needs is for his mother to have a heart attack if he gets injured.
He does his best to ignore the other’s defined muscles that he can feel under his fingertips or the way Zoro seems to radiate heat as much as the bike does. He tries not to think about how the other smells like an appealing mixture of leather, smoke and spice. And he definitely doesn’t think about how this probably looks from an outside perspective and how he’ll have to run away to another country and change his name if, god forbid, any of his siblings ever find out about this.
“You good?” Zoro asks.
“Yeah,” Sanji says, trying to inject as much disdain as he can into his voice to cover up his nerves.
“Alright.”
Clearly not one to waste time, Zoro revs his bike again, only this time he finally kicks off the ground and suddenly their zooming out of the pickup lane. Until his dying breath Sanji will deny the panicked sound he makes or the way he grabs the other’s waist tighter, unprepared for the speed at which the bike flies down the street.
“Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit-“ Sanji mutters under his breath, hoping that Zoro can’t hear him. Thankfully the other doesn’t acknowledge him, so he’s pretty sure he’s managed to avoid embarrassing himself too much. His heart is pounding like a drum, adrenaline flooding his veins as the scenery whizzes past them.
After a few minutes though, his heart eventually gets the memo that he’s not actually about to die and he finally releases the death grip he has on Zoro slightly. He glances to the side to watch the streets as they go past, and soon realizes that they really aren’t going that fast, at least no faster than he would be if he was in a car. It still feels different though with the wind whipping through his clothes and the electric sensation of the bike humming under him setting his nerves alight.
It’s freeing.
All at once Sanji can understand why Zoro rides a bike (though Sanji would probably never want to drive one himself). There’s both a sense of excitement and an odd sense of peace to feel so close to the world around him and simultaneously to watch it pass by so quickly. Of course, he plans to keep those thoughts to himself as well. He’s sure it would do nothing but make Zoro even more cocky if he admitted to enjoying the feeling.
“Where are we even going?” Sanji finally yells after a few minutes.
“The ocean bluff,” Zoro says back, “It’s quiet there.”
Sanji would agree, he’s gone out there for picnics with his family before, but the one problem is- “That’s the other fucking way, you moron!”
“What?”
“You’re going the wrong way! Turn around!”
“I’m not going the wrong way.”
“Yes, you are!”
“I know where it is-“
“So do I!”
“Curly-“
“Don’t call me that, just turn your shitty bike around!”
“Fuck, fine!”
The bike screeches as Zoro spins at the next U-turn, and Sanji yelps and clings to the other for dear life as he swerves the bike around.
“Are you trying to fucking kill us, you maniac?!” He squeezes his arms tighter in punishment, though he’s sure the man barely feels it. Sanji wishes he were in a position that he could actually kick the other.
“Which way?” Zoro asks.
“Huh?”
“Which way?”
“Just go straight!” Sanji says, “I’ll tell you when to turn.” He gets a noncommittal grunt in response, and narrows his eyes. “You better listen to me, you shitty moss head!”
“What did you call me?!”
“Turn now!”
Eventually they do make it to the bluff that overlooks the ocean far below. Normally the area is a lot more crowded with families and teenagers, but since its a weekday during rush hour the bluff is relatively empty. Zoro parks his bike in the tiny lot and Sanji staggers off it. He scowls at Zoro’s smirk as he tries to find his balance again. He feels like he’s still vibrating from the hum of the bike, and a little lightheaded from the ebbing adrenaline.
“Impressed you actually managed to hang on,” Zoro teases, holding a hand out for Sanji’s helmet.
“Like I said, not a big deal,” Sanji says, handing back his helmet and trying not to look like he desperately needs to sit down. “Let’s just get a table.”
“Sure.”
Zoro buckles the helmets to his bike before pulling Sanji’s lunchbox out of the side box and then the both of the move toward one of the empty wooden picnic tables. The settle onto one without any words, and Sanji is silently grateful to have something stable to rest on for a minute to recover from his first motorcycle ride.
The other man is completely unfazed by their journey and doesn’t waste any time pulling the lunchbox out of the bag and popping the lid off. Sanji grins smugly as he watches the other’s eye widen, taking in the spread of meat and rice.
“Well?” Sanji challenges.
He knows he’s a good chef, but he still enjoys any compliments he gets on his cooking. For some reason he feels strangely nervous as Zoro scans the meal with an unreadable expression.
“Gotta taste it first,” Zoro finally says, picking up the wooden chopsticks Sanji packed. “But… thanks for the food.”
It’s not a concession, not yet, but Sanji beams all the same. “Don’t waste any of it.”
Sanji holds his breath as Zoro brings the first bite up to his mouth-
Even without the other saying anything, Sanji can tell that Zoro is enjoying it. The other man’s eye lights up, and he wastes no time digging into the rest of the meal. Growing up, Zeff had always told Sanji that the best compliment was a clean plate, and Sanji has never agreed more than when he watches Zoro inhale everything in the lunchbox in record time.
“I think that was almost faster than Luffy,” Sanji laughs.
Zoro snorts. “No one eats faster than Luffy.” He stares forlornly down at the empty remains plastic container. “I imagine you didn’t have seconds hidden anywhere?”
“You liked it that much?” Sanji asks with a smirk.
Zoro stiffens and looks away. “…It wasn’t bad.”
“You don’t have to be shy,” Sanji teases.
Zoro huffs but turns back to meet Sanji’s eyes. Sanji freezes as something about the other’s dark gaze seems to draw him in. “I can see why Luffy wants you on our floor.”
“He’s a bottomless pit,” Sanji says, unexpectedly breathless.
“Not just that,” Zoro says, and Sanji’s brain stutters as he tries to figure out what the hell the other means by that.
“What else is there?” Sanji asks, only to be pinned under the other’s sharp gaze once more. ‘Stop looking at me like that!’ He wants to scream, but it feels like all his words have dried up in his throat.
“Don’t know yet,” Zoro says, “But Luffy’s a good judge of character. If he’s offered you a room, you should take him up on it and move in.”
“I have an apartment with my siblings,” Sanji says, though it doesn’t sound as convincing as it usually does.
“Can they cook?” Zoro asks, and that startles a laugh out of Sanji.
When the other quirks a brow he explains, “We all worked at my stepfather’s restaurant growing up, but my sister, Reiju, is the only one I’d trust near a stove. My brothers would probably burn the whole place down trying to boil water.”
Zoro hums, “Then yeah, you should probably just come by yourself.”
“Did you not hear what I just-?”
“Do you want to room with your siblings for the rest of college?” Zoro asks.
Sanji grimaces, because the other has a point. As much as he cares for his family (though granted sometimes they made it really goddamn hard for him to do that), he has been wanting to have a little independence for the short time he’ll be at university. He’s spent his entire childhood splitting a room with his brothers, and even now he still had to split his apartment with his siblings even if they all had separate rooms. He definitely wouldn’t mind living somewhere else, even just getting a different room mate for a change of pace.
“There’d be a lot to move,” Sanji says. Just thinking about all the kitchen appliances he’d have to move out gave him a headache.
“Franky has a truck, and we can attach a trailer to it,” Zoro says, “And there are plenty of us to help you move.”
“How many people even live on this floor?” Sanji asks.
“Currently? Nine full-time,” Zoro says, “But sometimes we have people come and go.” He shrugs. “Plenty of open rooms though.”
“…I’ll think about it,” Sanji finally says.
Zoro nods before standing and stretching. Sanji very firmly does not look at the flash of skin and well-defined abs that action reveals (well defined abs he was clinging to just a little while ago, his brain helpfully reminds him). “Good. Alright, I guess I should get you home before you turn into a pumpkin.”
“Wh- that was another princess jab, isn’t it?!” Sanji scowls, getting to his feet. “Don’t call me that!”
“You were one who called me… what was it?” Zoro frowns, “Moss head?”
“Because you are a stupid moss head,” Sanji says, gesturing to the other’s green hair.
“Wow, sounds like someone wants to get left at the bluff,” Zoro says, before he starts striding back to his bike.
“Wh- Don’t you fucking dare!” Sanji hurriedly stuffs the lunchbox and dirty utensils back in the bag before racing after Zoro. “You hear me, you shitty moss?!”
“Huh, there’s some really noisy, annoying mosquitos around here,” Zoro says loudly, swinging a leg back over his bike and reaching for his helmet, “Better leave before any of them bite me.”
“I’ll show you biting!”
Zoro laughs as Sanji shoves the bag in his face and huffily climbs on the back of the bike. He stows the bag away before handing Sanji his helmet, which Sanji reluctantly takes and puts on. “Don’t pout, curly brows.”
“That’s not much better than ‘princess’,” Sanji grumbles.
“What would you prefer then?” Zoro asks, voice saturated with amusement.
“My name!”
“I’ll use yours if you’ll use mine,” Zoro says. Sanji grimaces, cheeks flushing, but remains silent. “That’s what I thought. Hang on, princess.”
“Shitty moss head,” Sanji mutters, but he still leans forward and wraps his arms against Zoro’s waist.
As they speed off back down the streets toward town Sanji wonders absently how long it might take to pack up his belongings. His siblings might be shocked at first, but he’s sure they’d eventually understand. His mind drifts to this new apartment complex. He can’t imagine what it might be like, Luffy’s stories of it all sounded incredibly far-fetched at the best of times, but for just a moment he entertains the idea of living in a place with a group of friends.
He imagines cooking for people that aren’t his family or paying customers, but just close friends he enjoys the company of. He imagines laughing and singing over meal times and learning a new group of people’s favorite cuisines. He imagines late nights watching movies in the common area and outings on the weekends to new and exciting places.
He imagines traveling to all of them on the back of Zoro’s motorcycle.
Yeah, maybe he could give it a try.