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Ding-dong.
Nothing.
Sanji knocked on the door, half-asleep, half-drunk. But the damn marimo wasn't answering. So he rang again, and again and again and again.
Ding-dong. Ding-dong.
He hit his forehead against the door, dead tired. Fuck, so he really wasn't going to open? How was he supposed to do now? What was he supposed to do? He'd already been ringing at his own flat for an hour, but Usopp had never come. Maybe because it was three in the morning, and maybe because he was supposed to be asleep. But still, 3am, it wasn't that late, right? Lots of people weren't sleeping at this time.
Damn, if he hadn't lost his keys, he wouldn't be facing this awkward situation right now.
He knew his neighbor “Roronoa Zoro”, as his frontdoor's name said, often slept late, because his room was just next to his apartment, and he therefore could hear him working and doing sports in the middle of the night. He had never complained, for now, and he was currently glad he'd never actually done this.
They didn't know each other, they had barely talked, maybe only once or twice when they went outside at the same time, or in front of the letter box. But that was all.
And now here he was, in front of his door, as drunk as he could ever be, asking for – harassing – him, waiting for an answer, or at least a consideration of his person, and maybe hospitality.
He had green hair, and three earrings on his left ear. Each time he hung out, he was dressed in green, with sometimes a bit of white and black, but not much. Sanji had also seen him carrying three swords on his belt.
Ding-dong.
Maybe he should stop ringing. Maybe it was a bad idea to harass someone who always looked grumpy and very at ease with the swordplay. Maybe he should step back and sleep in front of his flat's door. He was exhausted and honestly, floor or mattress, he could adapt. Yeah, he should total-
“Who's there?”
The door opened, which almost gave a heart attack to Sanji. Astonished, the young man remained speechless. They stared at each other, silently, from head to feet. One second, two seconds, three seconds.
And then the swordsman closed his door.
“Oi,” Sanji called awaking from his torpor, “that's rude!”
The man re-opened his door, frowning.
“Oh yeah? Because knocking and ringing at a stranger's door at this time of the night isn't?”
“So you did hear me the whole time,” he said.
He really, really needed to shut the hell up. Oh man, the alcohol was talking for him, and the guy would leave him there: that was what he personally would do.
“Actually,” the man replied, “I didn't, I was asleep, but I guess you've been here for maybe hours.”
“Oh it's only been half an hour.”
Stupid mouth, stupid drunken brain. The Green Head sketched a smile, arms crossed.
“What do you want?”
“I... I'm sorry to disturb you, you know I'm Sanji, your neighbor and, well, I kinda lost my keys and my room mate doesn't answer so...”
“So you've come to me, assuming I would help.”
“... Yeah.”
Put like this, ehm, he was feeling dumb. He looked at him with a pleading look. Don't let me down, I'm begging you.
Zoro sighed, rolled his eyes and slightly stepped aside to let him in. Sanji stared at him, not really sure anymore.
“C'mon, I don't have all night,” Zoro got impatient. “And you'll take a shower, frankly, I don't want my whole studio to smell alcohol.”
He didn't ask twice, agreed to his conditions andcame in.
The flat was smaller than his, but still nice. There were swords hooked on the walls, one or two posters and everywhere he looked sport stuff – swords (again), weights, and all these kinds of stuff. Sanji'd thought it would be messy, but it wasn't, not really.
“Here's the shower,” the man said pointing his right with his finger, “Take a towel in the cupboard, and please, don't throw up.”
“I'm not going to throw up anywhere,” Sanji replied in a vexed tone. “I'm not feeling that bad.” Zoro suddenly came closer, smelt him just for a second and shook his head. “What was that?!” he hissed.
“A confirmation. Shower, now.”
Sanji grumbled as he entered in the bathroom. What was wrong with him? Who was he, anyway? He didn't understand him. First, he let him come in, which he didn't think he would have done to be honest. Or maybe he would have. He didn't know anymore. After all, he never refused to give food to anyone, even if it meant not to eat. Okay, he would totally do that too.
Okay, nevermind. He was just acting kindly. And he had every right to be grumpy – Sanji had been a real jerk with him after all. He could really use this shower.
The cold water finished the job of completely awaking him. When he went out, his towel around his waist, he found his neighbor on the couch, eyes closed. He opened them as if he'd felt his presence, and saw him froze to his sight.
“I...” he started, “don't have any clothes to put on. My suits, it... smells alcohol. Do you have... something?”
Zoro stared at him, at first surprised, and just sketched a smile then frankly burst out laughing. The asshole.
“Allow me to borrow one of yours and I'll give it back to you clean. Also, I'll make you pastas.”
The other man frowned.
“You'll what?”
“I'll make you pastas.”
“...”
“...”
“No, thanks.”
Sanji walked towards him, still dressed in that towel, shirtless, and Zoro looked about to step back, which the young man didn't notice.
“I'm a cook, and clearly, all these canned food don't prove a good healthy way of living at all. I mean, you seem the type of person who wants to take care of himself according to all the sport stuff you own, but what good will it do if you don't feed yourself with a balanced meal?”
Silence. The swordsman finally replied:
“Do what you want, I don't care, curly eyebrow.”
“... The fuck did you just say?!”
“Curly eyebrow.”
“Crappy marimo.”
“What?”
“Marimo!”
Children. They were acting like children, and yet, they were supposed to be fully responsible young adults.
“Shitty cook!”
“Uh? You didn't even taste my food yet!”
“Well maybe it's better that way! Maybe I don't wanna die!”
“Right, I should let you keep poisoning yourself with your tins. Cause everybody knows industrial stuffs are just so better.”
“Whatever, just take that damn shirt already and cover yourself,” the MossHead replied looking away as he threw him said shirt. “There's a mattress here you can sleep on. Now leave me in peace.”
“Thanks,” Sanji mumbled. He changed, and when he went to bed, Zoro was already snoring. He couldn't sleep until some time, still wondering what had just happened.
Zoro woke up first, and directly looked at the cook who had invited himself to his flat a few hours ago. He was still sleeping on the couch, and he noticed the man wasn't using the blanket. And he couldn't help but notice his position, bent on himself, his shirt up along his muscled belly. He was awfully cute.
The man shook his head and decided to go to the bathroom and get prepared for the day. Cute or not, he had to go to work, and get that motherfucker out of his flat. That was what he was still thinking when he left the bathroom, and that was what he also stopped thinking the moment he smelt the odor of the food. The one you could smell and instantly grow starved, even though you were just coming from a lunch.
He discovered Sanji cooking with his shirt on.
He looked so good in this shirt. Hell. How could he have had a neighbor that attractive he hadn't talked to for months, and have him all of a sudden in his apartment? How much luck did he have to find him drunk at his door asking for hospitality?
“I hope that's not pastas,” he said to the cook, rubbing his wet hair with his towel.
“No it isn't. It's what I call a breakfast,” Sanji replied.
Zoro shrugged and came closer to take a look. It truly both smelt and seemed delicious. The damn man hadn't lied about his skills. Oh, great, that must have been him the responsible of the scent of food he could sometimes smell everywhere in the corridor of the building.
“Thank you... by the way... for yesterday,” he muttered.
Zoro raised an eyebrow.
“You mean this morning?”
“... Yeah, this morning. I've been a complete jerk but still you helped me. Thanks.”
“Nevermind that.”
He finished his cooking and gave it to him. Then his phone rang and Zoro saw him frowning as he responded.
“Usopp?”
“Sanji? Where are you? I thought you told me you'd come back late yesterday?”
“I did, but I don't have my keys anymore.”
“... Oh fuck. What did you do then? Sorry I wasn't awake and...”
“Yeah, I noticed that.”
“So where are you?”
“I'm...” he glanced at Zoro, “at the neighbor's.”
“The... the what? You mean that guy you've been int-”
“YEAH RIGHT”, Sanji suddenly interrupted awkwardly. “SO, I'm coming, I hope you'll open this time.” he finished before hanging up.
Again, Zoro stared at him, eyebrow raised.
“What was that?”
“Nothing. Gotta go, I'll come back to give you the shirt back.”
“And for the pastas,” the swordsman added.
“What?”
“You told me you'd cook pastas. Well, I'm waiting for you to make me taste them, then. Why pastas by the way?”
“Don't know, first thing that came up to my mind. And everybody is convinced pastas are so simple to prepare when it's not. There's a way of cooking it as everything else.”
“Right,” he just said.
Sanji opened the door, and there was Usopp waiting for him in the corridor, looking amazed just by the fact he was actually coming out of this flat. Sanji turned to Zoro who had begun to eat his cook, and smiled.
“See ya.”
He looked up, smirked.
“See ya.”