Chapter Text
“If my engine works perfect on empty, I guess I’ll drive.” — Noah Kahan, “Growing Sideways”
Zoro’s POV —
It was pitch black outside, only the occasional rush of a car on wet asphalt could be heard through the thin walls of the gym Zoro was in. A reminder that life outside was moving, even if his own halted two weeks ago.
He threw a punch, then another. Sweat ran down his body, drenching him. His arms ached with the intensity of his workout.
How long has it been? He’d been at the gym for the last eight hours, training for a tournament he was losing interest in. A tournament that, in his mind, came between him and the love of his life.
Or maybe that term was reserved for movies, maybe it didn’t exist outside of the walls of a movie set, or the pages of a romance novel. He didn’t understand how this could happen, but it was happening. It did happen. He lost the love of his life. Weren’t those supposed to last a lifetime?
With the last punch, his legs gave out under him, and Zoro collapsed on the floor of the gym, back to the wall, chest heaving.
God, was he tired. He knew he was working his body to its limits, he knew there was nothing good that could come out of it.
But it was better than thinking, because thinking brought Sanji with it, and he did not want to remember Sanji’s name, or face, or voice, or any aspect of him.
He wanted to forget, for as long as possible.
And physical pain, well, it was familiar to him. He knew how bad it could get, he knew the extent of it.
This new feeling didn’t sit right with him. He didn’t know the extent of what a broken heart could do.
What a cliche. A heart that is broken, Zoro might just scoff at that.
But what other word described what he was feeling better? His chest was closing in on itself, like a hand gripping his heart with such force he was scared to lose it.
Heartbroken.
How long was he destined to wear that badge for?
He rested the back of his head on the wall behind him and took in a deep breath trying to calm himself. He tried moving his legs next, and forced himself up despite the slight shake in them.
The sound of a car rushed past the window again, lights illuminating through the window one by one until they faded into darkness. Only the light from the signs on the opposite side of the street illuminated the room he was in.
He looked around at the different machines, contemplated doing one more workout before going back to the hotel room he booked, but decided against it. It was almost 5 am. People started to pile in around that time, and he smelled way too bad to greet them like that.
He grabbed his bag and headed towards the gym bathrooms, and once there, he took off his clothes and ran the water.
The moment it hit his face, memories of a time he wished to forget flooded his mind like raindrops on a stormy night. He remembered a smile, a soft whisper in a dimly lit room, candles on birthday cakes.
Five years of that, gone.
Five years of laughter and mirth and petty fights and pretty moments, gone in one fell swoop.
His knuckles ached, and he contemplated going back to the punching bag, but the muffled chatter from outside of the bathroom wall snapped him to his senses. He’ll be back as soon as he got the chance to, he knew it.
In the meantime, he’ll let sleep take over him. He was so exhausted he was sure to fall asleep deeply, dreamlessly.
He finished up his shower, wore his clothes, and headed outside. He saw some faces on his way out. He couldn’t tell if he knew them from before or not. He was at the gym so often these days that the faces blurred together in his mind, a mosaic of people forming an incoherent picture that Zoro couldn’t tell apart.
He left the gym, got on his bike, and rode back to the hotel he was staying at.
Zoro had an apartment. Or, more precisely, he shared one with him. But he didn’t have the heart, or guts, to go back to at least take back his belongings.
He wasn’t ready to see him, he wasn’t capable of fathoming what he could possibly say to him.
Hello? Hi, Sanji, how have you been? How’s the weather for you today?
Stupid. Shallow. And frankly, he did not want to know the answer to any detail. He didn’t even want to hear him utter hello, lest Zoro stays. Lest he apologizes, on his knees, and begs him to take him back despite it all.
No, he didn’t want to succumb to that. He was weak in front of Sanji, and he didn’t want to show weakness in front of him anymore.
Zoro got to his hotel room, and quickly collapsed on the bed, wearing the clean set of clothes he had on him after the shower.
He fell into a very deep sleep, and woke up exhausted despite it.
He rubbed his eyes and willed them open. He looked at the clock on the bedstand. 12.16 pm. He was late for his sessions. He quickly grabbed a change of clothes and shoved them in his bag, put on his shoes, and rushed out in the same attire he wore to bed.
He didn’t care at that point. Really, what was he afraid of, someone seeing him in the same clothes as that morning? What were they going to do, judge? So what? It was all becoming a little more meaningless to Zoro as the days went on.
He only had his routine to stick to, his tournament to win, and life will just bore itself out of his system eventually.
Everything was bleak to him. Meaningless. Habitual at best. No more color to what he was doing.
How could it possibly be over? It must be a really bad dream he’s stuck in.
How did he fuck up this bad, so bad that the love of his life screamed he never wanted to see him again. How did things get so frustratingly horrible all of a sudden?
They had plans, many of them. But not a breakup. No one really plans a breakup when they’re in love, do they?
Zoro tried his best to shove the thoughts out of his head once he got to the gym. He went upstairs to his private training area and greeted the client with a profound apology for the delay. He lied and told her he was at a doctor’s appointment, and that she didn’t have to worry about him, he’s perfectly fine.
He wasn’t going to tell her he was sleeping off his urge to text the one man that he loved truly. He wasn’t going to tell her it was his heart that needed attending to, and that he had a sneaking feeling only one person could do the job.
He didn’t even let himself think about those thoughts for a second too long, as he might end up crying, and he didn’t want to cry. Not when there was a pit in his stomach that ached the way his knuckles ached when he punched too hard.
He breezed through his sessions with his clients as quickly and as effectively as he could. He was grateful for them, for they were part of his routine, too. The same faces, a familiar handshake, the same excuses of why they couldn’t do this set up today. It was routine, and routine brought comfort that Zoro yearned for, one he has been searching for the past couple weeks.
It was finally 7 pm, by then, all his clients were back in their own homes, with their own loved ones.
He was left to his own thoughts, and that scared him, so he quickly got ready for another 8 hours of training.
He said it was for the tournament, the part of him Zoro didn’t recognize knew it was to forget. About him, about them, about it all.
It was a quarter past eight when a familiar voice rang behind him and a slight clap on the back jolted him from his focus.
“Hey, Zoro, good to see you.” It was Luffy.
Zoro forced a smile towards him.
“Hey Luffy. Good to see you, too.” He put down the weights he was carrying and stood up.
“Man, it has been weeks since I’ve last seen you,” Luffy said, his hands settling on Zoro’s shoulders gently. A soft look came over his face. “How have you been?”
Zoro forced the same smile to stick to his face a while longer.
“I’m fine. Just been training for the tournament.” He was curt with his answer.
Luffy looked at him intently. “And how are things with Sanji, still not talking?”
The smile fell off Zoro's face and he turned around, grabbed the weights, and dismissively told Luffy that there was nothing to talk to Sanji about anymore. That it was over, and that he shouldn’t bring it up again.
Luffy understood. He sat on the machine next to Zoro’s and began on his own workout.
It was 4 am again, and Zoro, as per usual for the last couple weeks, was the last to leave the place. He was exhausted as he made his way back to his hotel room.
On his way in, he saw a funny looking dog being walked by its owner, and it made him smile ever so slightly. He entered his room, sat on his bed, grabbed his phone out of habit and opened the chat between him and Sanji, intending on sending him a message about the stupid dog he saw.
It was a habit he was yet to break.
As soon as Zoro realized what he was doing, he deleted the message and angrily threw the phone across the room.
He left it there for three whole days, cracked and broken. He had no one important trying to reach him, now, did he?
Sanji’s POV —
Dice the onions. Cook them with the melted butter. Add in the ground beef, breadcrumbs, eggs, salt, garlic, pepper, and nutmeg. Thoroughly mix them together with hands.
He worked mechanically. Diced onions as if it were a chore he’s grown accostumed to. An act he could do with his eyes closed.
The first birds outside started chirping, signaling it was almost 6 am. No one was there in the kitchen with him, no one came in before dawn to wash plates, to prepare ingredients.
His motions were mechanical, precise and flawless — soulless. His mind wandered some place else, a place he would rather forget, or forget why he wanted to forget it.
How long had it been? Two weeks? The days blurred in Sanji’s mind. They were just hours he wasted away in, completely unaware of each one of them passing him by.
He did his kitchen duties every day, and every night, he would smoke his lungs black trying not to think.
Why was it so hard not to think?
Sanji didn’t know, and didn’t want to challenge the universe enough to know.
Frankly, he didn’t have it in him to take on more challenges, to do anything other than the ordinary, even when what was ordinary changed drastically over night.
He was busying himself with a new batch of onions when the door to the kitchen opened. He didn’t turn around to see who it was, he had a feeling he already knew. No one would come this early to the kitchen other than him.
“Boy,” his voice boomed behind him. “You’re chopping the onions too small.”
Sanji didn’t reply. Instead, he fixed his grip and continued chopping the way Zeff liked.
The silence stretched between them, and it was enough for Sanji to get lost in his thoughts again.
He was a distraction, he would tell himself. A brute of a distraction and he was lucky it ended when it did, or else he would still be half-assing his job. He would still be too incompetent for Zeff.
How did he let himself get that distracted? How did he allow anyone to come between him and his cooking? Now he’s back where he belongs, in the kitchen, between his real family, doing what he actually loves. No more distractions.
Zeff pulled him out of his thoughts again. “You look like you have a lot on your mind. Do you want to talk about it?”
Sanji’s hands faltered for a moment, stopping for just a second before the mechanical chopping of onions continued.
“There’s nothing to talk about, Zeff. I’m fine.” He responded measuredly, smoothly, preparedly.
The silence settled again, disrupted by Sanji’s knife slamming against the cutting board over and over again.
He could hear Zeff sigh lightly, he could hear him grab a cigarette pack out of his pocket and light it up.
“Here, boy, take a break.” Zeff handed him a lit cigarette and left as soon as Sanji took it.
He inhaled in the smoke, his body welcoming the familiar feeling of nicotine coursing through it. With every inhale came a thought, and with every exhale, Sanji tried to erase it.
His smile, his face when they were fighting.
His laugh, his anger bursting over his family.
His soft touches, the way he slammed the door to their apartment when he left.
Him holding Sanji, him leaving.
Him, his decision to put the tournament first, before even them.
He stubbed the cigarette in the ashtray forcefully and went back to chopping.
People started to pool into the kitchen one by one, chatter filling the once silent room. Pans clattered against each other, knives slammed against cutting boards, plates were starting to pile up all around him in an organized manner.
And soon enough, order after another started to come in. Breakfast ones at first, then brunch, then lunch.
Time whirled by for Sanji, who was finally too preoccupied to think about anything other than what was next on the order list.
He did not engage in any side talks, did not interact with any of his kitchen crew unless they directly spoke to him, to which he responded curtly and in a softness unfamiliar to Sanji. He didn’t have it in him to yell, or laugh, or engage in any other way.
Dinner time came, and with it came an order that had Sanji stuck in his place.
He looked at the piece of paper in front of him, rice and grilled fish. Zoro’s favorite.
He swallowed the lump forming in his throat, mentally beating himself for caring so much, and began working on the dish.
He was on autopilot all throughout it, and he knew it was perfect without even tasting it. It had to be, he had done it a countless number of times for a brute he once called his.
But the dish sapped all the energy he had left in him, and he took the rest of the night off, feigning a physical sickness he only felt in his heart, and went up to the little room Zeff allowed him to stay in above the Baratie. It had a nice view facing the ocean, and he used to love spending his nights here before he met Zoro.
It was just a room that separated them now. A room with a breeze and childhood curtains and a nostalgic sense to it. A room he wasn’t happy coming back to live in.
He rested his elbows on the railing of the window and lit another cigarette, willing himself to think of anything but what he really wanted to think about.
His phone rang in his pocket, and his heart skipped a beat in a way that revealed more than he intended.
He looked at the caller ID. It was Nami.
“Hey, dear.” His voice was soft.
“Hey, Sanji, how are you holding up?” He smiled despite himself.
“I’m fine, Nami. How are you?”
“I’m alright, great actually. I’m calling to share the news.” Her happiness was contagious, and it lightened something in Sanji’s heart.
“And what may that be?”
“Usopp and I are hosting a shared Cafe Gallery downtown in two months time. We just got the okay to go through with it.” She said excitedly.
“Oh my god, Nami, that’s amazing.” He was genuinely happy for them. They had been working for so long to get some sort of recognition, it was amazing that it happened so fast.
“That’s not even the big news. If it goes smoothly, they offered us a spot in the museum gallery being hosted eight months from now. How exciting is that?” Nami sounded ecstatic, as she should be.
“Very,” Sanji replied, shivers running down his body. “That’s incredible. You guys absolutely deserve it, and I’m sure the first gallery will go by smoothly. I’m genuinely happy for you two.”
“Thank you, hun. Does that mean I’ll see you there?” Her voice trailed off at the end, careful.
Sanji took a moment to think.
“Will he be there?” He asked tentatively.
“I’m not sure, I haven’t asked him yet, but I’m planning to. He’s our friend, too, Sanji.”
Sanji was quick to respond.
“I know, I know. I’m not saying don’t invite him. I’m just asking.” He paused for a second.
“I’ll be there.” He assured her and heard her squeal.
“Okay, awesome, you’re the first person I called. I’m gonna go contact the rest. Stay safe Sanji.”
He smiled, “You, too, dear.”
“And Sanji,” she said, “Talk to me, okay? About anything on your mind. I’m here.”
His smile faltered, “I’m okay, Nami. Don’t worry about me.”
And he was okay, for the most part. It only hurt him so much, but he had other things to keep him preoccupied. It was just a fever dream he was sure to wake up from sooner or later.
She hung up after her goodbye and Sanji was left to his thoughts.
He stubbed the cigarette in the ashtray and climbed into his bed, curled up under the covers, and willed himself to fall into a dreamless sleep.