Work Text:
15:48.
Zoro glanced at his wristwatch. The lingering chime of the school bell seemed to hum in the air, as young faces poured out from the school gate like a tide.
That blond, blue-eyed teenager was dazzling even from a distance, as if he had his own spotlight. He finally walked out of the school gate, hands in his pockets. Zoro leaned against his motorcycle, seemingly waiting for someone, his gaze fixed intently on the school entrance though he tried to appear casual. Seeing the boy's figure, he immediately straightened up, subtly smoothing non-existent wrinkles from his shirt collar, only to catch himself and curl his lips in a self-mocking smile.
His actions were meaningless because there was no chance the boy would see him.
Because this 15-year-old boy, this blond, blue-eyed middle school student, this guy with a single-strap bag slung over his shoulder, a lock of bangs defiantly covering one eye, his face full of defiance, named Sanji, did not remember him.
Or rather, simply did not know him. For all practical purposes, it was the same.
He had forgotten those voyages across the split waves, did not remember those moments of fighting side-by-side to the death, forgotten those noisy, chaotic days, did not remember the profile blurred by the glow of a cigarette butt and the laughter-laced "moss-head" exhaled with the smoke.
What a bastard.
He lowered his hand, hooked the key ring, and pulled out the key. The shiny metal circle spun around his finger twice with a force of its own, jingling crisply.
So unfair.
The boy was completely unaware of this gaze that seemed almost enough to burn through him. He kicked a pebble at his feet, his pale face expressionless, only the furrow of his brows betraying an unmistakable irritation, reminiscent of the foul arrogance Zoro had once glimpsed at the Baratie restaurant. Those sea-blue eyes couldn't hide their condescension. Sanji shoved his hands back into his pockets and turned in the direction opposite to his home.
Maybe he was going to feed cats in some alley again, maybe he was heading towards another unavoidable conflict, or maybe he would just sit frozen on a park bench, staring at the sky for a long time.
As for how Zoro knew?
Because he had been following the boy for over two weeks now. Stalking – who would have thought that word would apply to Zoro? But he had indeed followed the boy's footsteps through street after street, a baseball cap hiding his striking hair color and eyes. He had learned the time the boy left home every morning, which shortcuts he'd take to save a few steps, which store's soda he preferred to buy, how he'd loosen his tie just before entering the school gates.
In this life, Zoro was twelve years older than Sanji. He had lived an ordinary twenty-eight years in this world, slowly recalling memories of his past life since he was very young. Sanji was only fifteen or sixteen, still a high school student, showing no signs of past life memories apart from his appearance and preferences.
Zoro encountering Sanji was pure chance. It wasn't as if he hadn't searched for his companions from his past life; it was precisely because he had searched too many times, too often, that he had gradually given up hope and expectation. That fleeting glimpse, he had initially thought was a trick of the eye.
After all, the Baratie chef he'd first met back then was already nineteen. This boy who walked past him with his head down, without even half a glance of eye contact, looked no older than seventeen, his cheeks still holding a youthful softness, his straight eyelashes making him seem somewhat listless. Zoro could almost call him "kid."
After recognizing him, Zoro completely lost control over his attention to Sanji. He started secretly following him, watching from corners as the still-youthful-faced boy fought, his legs kicking out in sharp arcs. So young, yet already smoking, his eyes occasionally flashing with a stubbornness and intensity that didn't belong to his age.
In this world, Sanji's family environment was still terrible. Like a lone leaf on the water, his interpersonal and family relationships were a mess, his personality cold and prickly. But Zoro would occasionally see him patiently searching through the mess at street corners, muttering the names of stray cats. The boy would always pull cat food from his backpack, surrounded by a meowing ball of feline fur.
Zoro couldn't stand by and do nothing for this Sanji. His past life memories were too vivid; the sound of that curly-browed chef scolding his nickname with a cigarette in his mouth seemed to still ring in his ears. His mind uncontrollably flashed images of the school uniform on Sanji's body, the bruises on his clean cheeks, those sea-blue eyes refusing to yield even when outnumbered in a fight.
Those eyes he couldn't easily forget.
Soon, Zoro's stalking was discovered by Sanji. Sanji deliberately turned into a small alley, turned back to block Zoro, and aggressively demanded to know who he was. Getting no response, he even attacked first. Zoro could only awkwardly indicate he meant no harm. Their relationship gradually eased. Zoro would stand up and tell the guys blocking Sanji in the alley to get lost, would wait for Sanji at the school gate after classes, and the two would go eat pizza together. Sanji would sporadically tell Zoro things about himself, maintaining a strangely peculiar relationship.
Zoro completely couldn't help but pay attention to Sanji. No one could maintain so-called distance and boundaries in a reunion like this after such a long separation. He would often go home, lie on the sofa staring blankly at the ceiling, cursing himself for being insane, then remembering Sanji's sea-blue eyes. This soul was concrete, vivid, defiant, unique, burning his hands wherever he held it, leaving him no place to hide. Just the thought of the boy facing everything alone was something he couldn't tolerate or accept, so the next day he'd still go wait at the school gate.
Sanji completely didn't understand why this older man was doing this. This man, so much older than him, shouldn't have had any connection to him, yet his eyes persistently followed him, asking how his day at school was, if the guys who gave him trouble before were still showing up.
...Honestly, Sanji found the guy creepy. Especially after taking a good look at the man's hair, growing as freely as seaweed, he looked nothing like a good person. With a fierce face and a tendency not to smile much, his brow often furrowed, he seemed to make people want to avoid him. Waiting by the roadside, his expression looked more like he was preparing to beat Sanji up.
Sanji had a sharp personality and often got into conflicts and fights outside school. Afterwards, he'd often sit alone in a small alley, fuming, covered in dirt and wounds, meticulously and politely inquiring after the entire families of those idiots. Zoro would always appear silently, the tail end of his breath slightly hurried, perhaps from rushing over. The man would hesitantly sit beside him, looking like he wanted to comfort him, to say something, but often ended up saying nothing at all.
Eventually, he might turn his head and ask if he wanted to go get ramen.
The Sanji of this world hadn't experienced as much yet; he was even a child forced to grow up too soon. When sitting across from Zoro eating, his temper and edge would unconsciously soften, revealing the childishness and naivety not yet fully shed at his age, constantly stirring his ramen with chopsticks, sporadically complaining about people he disliked. That sticky, muddled tone turned Zoro into half a mute, lowering his head and stuffing food into his mouth in silence.
Seeing him so silent, the boy would get displeased again, putting down his chopsticks, frowning, and pursing his lips. "I say, you moss-headed bastard, are you even listening to me!"
His temper was just as bad as ever! Little curly-brows.
Zoro had bought a motorcycle earlier to look cool and show off, but it found its greatest use with Sanji. At first, the boy was unbearably proud, refusing to sit behind him no matter what he said. Later, as they slowly became more familiar, he reluctantly granted him the favor of sitting on it, but his arms would absolutely never wrap around Zoro's waist. He'd only hold onto the back of Zoro's clothes, leaving enough space between them for another person. Zoro, with a mischievous idea, deliberately wanted to scare him. He talked about taking him for a ride to the seaside, tricked him onto the bike, then drove the motorcycle like a speedboat on the elevated bridge. His eardrums were filled with the roaring wind, listening to the curses from behind becoming distorted. Sanji thumped Zoro's spine a couple of times, finally couldn't hold back, leaned against Zoro's shoulder and laughed out loud, gasping for breath, and ended up cursing Zoro out.
Later, the two would bicker and fight almost every time they met, almost developing something that could be called friendship.
Sometimes, when Sanji had nowhere to go, Zoro would even take him back to his own place, help clean his wounds, find him clean clothes to change into. Unknowingly, they had already crossed a certain boundary. Everything was too sudden for Sanji, like a typhoon sweeping through, chaotic, rushed, catching people off guard, unfamiliar and hard to understand. He could only vaguely sense that Zoro's feelings towards him were by no means simple.
When Zoro spoke, when he focused on other things, that feeling wasn't very obvious. But once those eyes turned to him, the alarm bells inside him that had never been disarmed started ringing again. Having grown up in chaos, he was especially sensitive to malice and abnormality. Sanji could faintly feel that the other party seemed... to hold some special feelings for him.
At least not the kind of friendship he knew.
But if it was Zoro...
If it was Zoro, then he would have to be the one to take a step forward, right?
---
Sanji had gotten into another fight outside school, and his mood was completely ruined. When Zoro tried to approach him as usual, sitting in the alley, Sanji suddenly looked up, glaring fiercely into Zoro's eyes, telling this man who always invaded his boundaries to get lost. Zoro, thinking he'd been bullied, asked in a low voice what happened. This only made Sanji more irritated. He spat near Zoro's feet, cursing him, asking if he could just stay away from him.
Zoro still wanted to get closer, so Sanji started hurling insults and attacks.
He would say, don't think I don't know what you're thinking. He would raise his sharp defensiveness again, because of fear and irritation, because of unease and confusion.
Maybe there was indeed malice in Sanji's voice, because he was doing it on purpose.
"You're just a pervert, a stalker, a pedophile. Disgusting."
Sanji used one hand to push back his bangs, damp with blood, his words so clear, each one hammering into Zoro's heart.
"You followed me so many times. Did you really think I only noticed you that one time?"
The guy who barged into his world.
"Those things you said to me, you'd thought them many times before, right?"
A despicable adult.
"That day I stayed at your place, you saw me wearing your clothes, you actually felt something, didn't you? Really wanted to do something to me, huh?"
A pervert who gets turned on by a man's body.
For a moment, the only sound in the alley was Sanji's increasingly frantic breathing.
"Say something!?"
"Do you think I'm pitiful? Or is it that you just like this."
A foolish bastard with ulterior motives.
Sanji looked at him, his eyes curving into a smile. "Do you like the feeling of saving people?"
Disgusting scum.
"Do you really like problematic kids like me? Think a little kindness can easily win them over, become the big hero in someone else's world? With a face like yours, you definitely don't lack for people liking you, right? So, that's why I say you're just a pervert."
A bastard who casually looks at people with those ambiguous eyes.
"Someone you knew... must have looked a lot like me, right?"
Zoro abruptly bent down towards him, his powerful physique invading his pupils, his shadow completely enveloping him. That resolute face was so cold, the lowered brows making Sanji afraid to meet his gaze, an overwhelming sense of oppressive force washing over him.
...Getting angry already? And he hadn't even said much...
Sanji gritted his teeth, kicked Zoro in the shin, but Zoro didn't budge an inch. Sanji's gnashing, furious curses seemed to go completely unheard. He just stubbornly gripped the boy's slender wrist, wanting to pull him up. That wrist really had no meat on it; Zoro could encircle it with one hand. A sharp, almost bone-deep pain spread, forcing Sanji to reluctantly loosen his clenched fist.
The corner of his forehead had been injured in the earlier fight. Blood had begun to flow slowly, the initial adrenaline masking the pain, now half-congealed, sticking to his delicate, long golden eyelashes. The sharp pain from his temple and his tightly held wrist, no longer possible to ignore, transformed into the anger and pain shining in his golden eyes, like a blade swinging towards Zoro.
Zoro would never think that the companion who could stand by his side and fight alongside him was fragile. But this blond, blue-eyed guy staring fixedly at him really should be protected.
Even the corners of his eyes still held a touch of youthfulness.
You're in pain again, aren't you?
Lost again, aren't you?
Trying to push me away again, right?
Even the boy's bones were so slender. The clear wrist bones felt almost on the verge of breaking under his palm, the thin layer of muscle over the bones tensing strugglingly. When he lifted his leg to kick him, his beautiful calf was like an unsheathed knife.
Zoro lifted him up like holding a struggling kitten.
Sanji, furious, beat his arms twice. His dirty, blood-stained palms twisted helplessly against Zoro's rolled-up white shirt sleeve twice, then weakly let go, turning his head away. Something glistening rolled down from the corner of his eye, his white teeth biting tightly into his lower lip, refusing to let out a single sound.
Zoro felt his heart was like a wave in a storm, thrown high up, falling uncontrollably.
Sanji's school uniform hung loosely on him.
Why is your fate so fraught with hardship? Why did your mother die young? Why is your father so biased and violent? Why are your brothers so malicious and stubborn? Why are you still you, still unable to find happiness?
Zoro made no sound, just held the boy in his arms. Sanji's tears suddenly surged forth.
He said, you really are a pervert.
But he also had nowhere else to go, right?
Yeah, he had nowhere to go, no choice. Zoro held his slender waist tightly, his other arm wrapping around his back, feeling a pair of distinctly protruding shoulder blades fluttering like butterfly wings under his sobbing breaths. Such a thin body.
Zoro's breath warmed his ear, his voice still so firm, but with a hint of suppression. Casting aside all worries, past hesitations became a joke. Why couldn't he touch him? What right did he have not to hold him? Those countless times of hesitation, hands reaching out and pulling back, now finally landed where they belonged. Those qualms that shouldn't belong to a swordsman, forget them. Time to confess.
"Maybe it's just like you said. Yes, I am a pervert."
Was it a moral collapse? Or maybe, he had always thought this way.
Or should he continue to self-destructively deceive himself that this was just a hug? He couldn't do it anymore.
He turned his head, his lips brushing against the boy's delicate, fair skin. He smelled the fresh scent of shampoo, the natural warmth of his skin. The warm body in his arms steadily radiated body heat.
He was now holding in his arms the person he had fallen for twice. Two hearts, separated by rib cages, just beyond that thin layer of skin, layers of flesh and blood, enclosed within bone, seemed to have never beat so close before, pounding madly. As if in this moment they had already died, only their souls stood before each other, enveloping one another. What fell silent wasn't despair.
At this point, what else could he say? He couldn't defend himself anymore; being cursed out didn't matter. So human morality really does keep lowering. He really had done wrong, hadn't he? He really shouldn't have done this. But, if it's you...
Zoro was certain he couldn't change what had already been done; there was no regretting it. The only thing he regretted now was not meeting him sooner.
He held Sanji, as if wanting to press this person completely into his own body.
If I had met you earlier, would you be better off now? Could you be a little happier?
The one with no home was Sanji. The one with no way back was Sanji. The one with no choice was Sanji.
Zoro pressed that fluffy head against his shoulder, but still asked him.
He thought, what should I do?
He said, "What should I do?"
It sounded really bewildering. Better not to casually throw questions to someone who can't do anything, because there are no other choices.
Sanji fiercely punched him twice, then, the movement stopped, finally unable to control the flood of tears. Zoro felt something wet and warm roll onto his shoulder, carrying a soft body temperature, fragile, reminding him of the stray cats Sanji fed, when they came over to lick food crumbs from his fingers with their rough tongues.
Sanji's hands, which had been pounding his back, stopped tiredly, then suddenly gripped his shirt, blunt nails digging fiercely into his flesh.
He said,
"Take me away..."
Tears traced the curve of his slightly upturned lips, a triumphant, tear-streaked smile.
"Okay." Zoro pressed his forehead against Sanji's in a gesture of devotion.
As he wished.