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The problem with Sanji being Sanji was—well, a lot of things, actually, if you wanted to get technical about it, which he didn’t, but one of the big ones according to his friends was that he was a chronic over-planner, particularly for house parties. Sanji didn’t think this was really a problem at all and that if anything his friend group should consider themselves lucky as all fuck to have someone who actually thought about logistics before hosting a certified rager (which, given that Luffy was one of his roommates, was pretty much every weekend), but even he had to concede that this time, he may have shot himself in the foot with his preparedness. Because while most of the leftover food and unopened alcohol had easily been pawned off onto various party-goers as they stumbled out of the house, somehow in all the chaos an errant tray of jello shots had been missed. With everyone leaving for summer break tomorrow they either needed to be tossed or consumed, but unfortunately, Sanji was the only one still up.
Normally, Sanji didn’t mind throwing out alcohol, since unlike food alcohol had no nutritional value—but these were jello shots. And while jello definitely wasn’t a nutritious food it was still a food, which meant Sanji had been standing in the kitchen for the last twenty minutes trying and failing to convince himself that it was perfectly fine to throw the shots away, because the only other solution he could see was drinking all of them himself, which was a terrible idea. Sanji should definitely not try to consume fourteen jello shots all by himself, particularly since he was already pretty drunk. That was basically guaranteed alcohol poisoning, and Sanji had a non-refundable train ticket back to East Blue for tomorrow afternoon. He was not going to willingly put himself in the hospital in an effort not to waste food, especially given that the food in question was fifty percent congealed sugar and fifty percent vodka.
With a deep breath, Sanji grabbed one of the little cups holding the shots and dropped it into the kitchen trash. The bright red mass wobbled as it landed between a few discarded paper plates and the greasy edge of a broken down pizza box, and then the whole thing tipped onto its side, as if it had thrown itself dramatically to the ground while crying out Why, Sanji? Why? Am I not food too? Do I not deserve to be eaten just because I contain a little bit of liquor?
Sanji glared down at the jello shot. “Yooouuu’re not food,” he slurred at it accusingly. “You’re jus’… Just artificial fruit flavoring. An’ sugar. And Smirnoff.”
Sugar is a food, the jello shot retorted, and Sanji scoffed.
“Barely! Sugar’s just… S’ glucose,” he countered. “Or fructose. I dunno which one they use for jello. S’not good for you. ‘Cept if you need a quick energy boost or… Or you’ve got hypoglycemia or… Or…”
He blinked down at the jello shot, which had begun peeling away from the walls of its plastic cup on a slow death march into the bowels of the trash, doomed to be forgotten amongst the wads of paper towels and empty chip bags and several beer cans that definitely should have been thrown in the recycling instead. Glucose is the most important energy source for all organisms on the entire planet, the jello shot said to him forlornly as gravity pulled it down to its unceremonious end. Are you really saying that just because I’m made of sugar I’m not worthy of being called a food? It sighed sadly. My creator, my maker, why would you forsake me so?
Sanji groaned. “Okay, fine!” he snapped, and snatched the plastic cup out of the garbage before the shot fell into oblivion. “Fine, you are food, there, happy?”
He glared viciously at the bright red blob as it settled comfortably back into its container. Yes, the jello shot said smugly. Now, are you going to eat me or not?
Sanji sighed heavily, took a deep breath, and then slurped the gelatinous mass out of the cup. The awful taste of vodka mixed with some indeterminate but definitely very red flavor sat on his tongue for a moment before Sanji managed to swallow it back, shuddering as he felt it wobble its way down his esophagus. Food or not, he still hated jello. It reminded him too much of his mother at the end, when all she’d been able to get down were soft foods and the hospital kept her sustained mostly on oatmeal, tapioca pudding, and jello cups. He only made them because Nami liked challenging frat boys to shot drinking contests and then taking incriminating pictures when they inevitably got white-girl wasted as a result.
Okay, one down, Sanji thought to himself as he set the plastic cup aside on the counter to be recycled later. That only meant… thirteen more to go. That was doable. Probably. Maybe.
“‘M going to die,” Sanji declared to the kitchen after taking his second shot, which went down even worse than the first. “‘M gonna… gonna give m’self alcohol poisoning jus’so… so I don’t waste food.” A third shot. He had to brace himself against the counter as his stomach began to protest this sudden influx of sugar and alcohol on top of whatever else Sanji had already drank tonight, which had not been an insignificant amount. “Fuck, what is wrong with me?”
“You want a list, or should we just go with everything and call it a day?”
Sanji jumped, spinning around so fast that he nearly toppled over. He was only saved by the sudden appearance of a very solid, very warm, very familiar body at his side, holding him upright. “Zorooooooooooo,” he crooned, blinking several times until his vision stopped swirling and the mosshead’s face came into focus; he looked simultaneously very annoyed and very amused, which made Sanji scoff and poke him in the chest accusingly. “What’re you doing here?”
Zoro raised an eyebrow. “This is my house,” he said patiently. “I live here. With you. And Luffy and Usopp.”
Sanji rolled his eyes so hard he started tilting over again, and Zoro had to put his hands on his shoulders so that he stopped swaying. “I know that,” he said, making a dramatic gesture with one hand and nearly hitting Zoro in the face. “I meant what’re you doing here now, dumbass? You’re s’pose to be at Mihawk’s place for the night. For the… the thing? Perona’s…. what’cha call it. Resa… recess… reese’s…”
“Recital,” Zoro supplied helpfully. “Jesus Curly, how drunk are you?”
“Pffftt, not even,” Sanji insisted, trying to wave him off and nearly hitting himself in the face this time instead. “I only had… this many.” He held up three fingers, which Zoro eyed dubiously.
“Right,” he said, gently guiding Sanji backwards so that he could lean against the counter for support. “This many of what, exactly?”
“The jellos,” Sanji explained, frowning morosely at them as he realized how many more he had to get through. “S’fine though, I’ve only got… ‘leventeen more to go. I prolly won’t even need a hospital.”
“What?” Zoro asked, staring at him incredulously. “Curls, what are you…”
His eyes snapped to the tray as Sanji tried to gesture at it and wound up knocking several cups over. He stood there blinking at it for a moment, then looked back at Sanji, then at the tray, and then back at Sanji again before letting out an exasperated groan.
“Curly,” he said, removing one of his hands so that he could pinch the bridge of his nose; Sanji very much resented the loss in warmth and immediately reached out to drag it back towards him, pouting when Zoro resisted. “Tell me that you were not about to try and down—” his eyes quickly scanned the tray “—fucking eleven jello shots just because you didn’t want to waste them.”
“No,” Sanji snapped emphatically. “Stupid marimo.” There was a pause, and then he added, “It’s fourteen. I told you I took this many already.”
This time instead of holding up his fingers Sanji trailed them through the fall of Zoro’s earrings instead, hoping he would get the picture—and then he kept playing with them, because they were very pretty and they sounded nice when they clinked together, and also because Zoro liked it when Sanji played with his earrings. He knew because Zoro’s face always got all splotchy and red whenever it happened. Case in point, his cheeks started burning the second Sanji’s hand touched him, though that didn’t stop Zoro from sounding like he wanted to strangle Sanji with his bare hands as he said, “Fourteen jello shots? Curly, are you nuts?”
“They’re food!” Sanji protested hotly, pouting at him. “I can’t just throw them away!”
“They are not food, and you can absolutely throw them away.” Zoro’s other hand reached out to grab the tray, but Sanji got to it first and pulled it away from him. “Curly, it’s fucking sugar and alcohol and food coloring, you can’t possibly argue that there’s anything nutritious in there!”
“That’s not true!” Sanji said, glaring at him. “Sugar is glucose, an’… And glucose is the most important energy source in the whole world.” Zoro made another grab for the tray, and this time Sanji blocked him by bringing a leg up to press a foot warningly against his abdomen. “It’s food,” he insisted.
“Even when it’s been mixed with vodka?” Zoro asked, eyes darting between the tray and Sanji’s foot. He was clearly trying to calculate the odds of reaching the tray without risking bodily harm, and Sanji couldn’t help being a little smug that even in his inebriated state, Zoro was obviously wary of the potential damage he could do.
“Yes,” Sanji said, very solemn and serious. “Maybe s’not good food, but it is food. I can’t waste it.”
For several moments all Zoro did was glare at him in that particular exasperatedly fond way he did whenever he thought Sanji was being a (noble) idiot; but when all Sanji did was stare resolutely back, he eventually let out another groan and declared, “I hate you. You are the most neurotic dumbass to ever live and someday you’re gonna kill yourself from food poisoning because you couldn’t bear to throw out a fucking egg salad sandwich when it was clearly going off. Now give me the shots.”
“What? No!” Sanji scowled at him. “I just told you, idiot, I can’t throw them away.”
“I’m not gonna throw them away you fucking moron,” Zoro snapped. “I’m gonna finish them.”
Sanji’s scowl immediately dropped, and suddenly he was staring at Zoro with wide, watery eyes. “What?” he said again, overcome with emotion and barely able to believe what he’d just heard. “But Zoroooooo, you… you hate jello shots.”
“Yup,” Zoro replied, still glaring at him.
“You… you think jello shots taste like if gummy bears could vomit,” Sanji continued.
“Sure do.”
“You told Nami they should qualify as a war crime.”
“They should,” Zoro said flatly. “Now give.”
“But… but why?” Sanji asked, mind unable to comprehend this incredible act of selflessness, and coming from Zoro of all people! Zoro! Who hated sweet things and jelly things and especially sweet jelly things! “If you hate them so much—”
“Because if the choices are between downing eleven cups of gummy bear vomit and having to drag my dumbass boyfriend to the hospital for alcohol poisoning because he’s too fucking stupid to realize that a jello shot does not fucking count as food, I will pick the fucking jello shots,” Zoro snapped. “So hand them over.”
For a long moment, all Sanji could do was gape at him. Then, with absolutely no warning, he burst into tears.
“Oh my god,” Zoro groaned as Sanji lunged forward and wrapped him up in a drunken embrace, trying (and failing) to give him a very sloppy kiss. “Curls—”
“You’re the best boyfriend ever,” Sanji sobbed into his shoulder. “You’re… you’re gonna take ‘leven jello shots. For me. ‘Cause you… ‘cause you like me. Or… something.”
“It’s definitely ‘or something’,” Zoro sighed, wrapping an arm around his waist so that Sanji didn’t fall over. He was so warm and solid but also kind of soft, and he smelled nice because Sanji had made him put on cologne before going to Perona’s recital, and Sanji was suddenly very sure that there had never been a more comfortable place on earth than being pressed up against Zoro’s stupidly large chest and held by one dumb beefy arm. “Jesus Christ, this is gonna be so bad. You owe me so much for this you fucking asshole.”
“I do,” Sanji agreed, nodding his head emphatically, which really just served to help get a bunch of snot and tears on Zoro’s one nice button-up. Oops. “I’ll… I’ll make you sooooooooooooo much onigiri tom’rrow, I promise.”
“The only thing you’re gonna be doing tomorrow before we leave is puking your guts out over the toilet,” Zoro remarked dryly as he grabbed the first jello shot. “Okay. Here we go. Fuck.”
Zoro slammed the cup back the same way he did whenever they (mostly meaning him and Nami, sometimes Ace when he was around) did shots of tequila—with an unerring focus and determination, like he was in a duel with the alcohol and was going to win even if it killed him. Sanji felt the shudder that ran through him when Zoro swallowed, his face twisting into a disgusted grimace. “Jesus,” he gasped. “What fucking flavor is that supposed to be, rotten fruit salad?”
“‘S tropical fusion,” Sanji said. “Or strawberry banana. Or… Actually, it might be both, I was combining packets so I didn’t… didn’t hafta waste them.”
“Oh great,” Zoro griped. “Fucking awesome. Ten more shots of fruit abomination flavor, just what I wanted.” He grabbed a second shot and took it with the same determined focus, though the expression that overtook him once he swallowed was even worse than before. Nor did it get any better as Zoro proceeded to work his way through the remaining nine shots, each one making his mouth twist a little further, his pallor turn a little more green, his gag reflex work a little harder until by the very last one Sanji wasn’t entirely positive that he wasn’t simply going to retch over the entire floor. But despite a clear struggle, Zoro managed to keep everything down, and he slammed the last cup back onto the tray with all the triumph of the last man standing after a line of Fireball shots.
“Fucking Christ, that was terrible,” he rasped, eyes rapidly blinking back tears of both disgust and relief. “God, I’m gonna be tasting this shit for a fucking week.”
“I ‘ppreciate it,” Sanji mumbled, snuggling closer and nuzzling into to the side of his neck.
“You fucking better,” Zoro grumbled, even as he dropped a kiss to the top of Sanji’s hair. “Now c’mon, Curly, let’s get you to bed.”