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Summary
"Of all the fucking places," Sanji mutters lowly, "you had to choose where he works?"
"I was referred for fuck's sake," Zoro fires back, massaging at the tender skin surrounding his brace. He cuts a sideways glance at the driver's seat. Gone is the private smile and the humming, the serene look from earlier, and this time Zoro isn't the cause of its demise. At least not directly.
He rescues the paper from the center console where Sanji tossed it, turning the thing over in his hands. Ankle pumps, heel slides, calf raises. A whole host of interventions await him, and it's only the beginning.
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Zoro is an inconsiderate, dumb asshole. But that’s just two guys’ opinions.
