"What the hell's with all this blood...?"

Sanji staggers forward, stumbling over his own mangled feet as he steps down the pile of cracked boulders. Liquid gore paints the landscape under his feet; some dried and sticky, and some splashing up onto his shoes with each step he takes. Behind him, the hollow sound of crumbling rock echoes with an audible clatter. His heartbeat drums in time with his paces, speeding up as he approaches his companion's side.

"Hey, are—" Sanji swallows down the knot in his throat. "—Are you still alive...?"

Zoro stands firmly in place with his arms crossed over his chest, masking the slight tremors that threatened to break his composure. He lets out a short, shaky breath through his nose, but cuts it off with a quiet strain. He's standing so perfectly still that could easily pass for a marble statue, were it not for the beads of blood and sweat dripping down his face. Sanji is used to seeing him covered in filth, but never like this. The sight of it is enough to make his stomach wrench.

"Answer me! What the hell happened here?!" he yells, his voice cracking as his hand latches onto the other man's tattered shoulder. Zoro doesn't budge an inch under the added weight; his gaze is locked on something invisible in the distance.

"...Nothing happened."

Sanji's pulse throbs in his ears, filling the deafening silence that follows. There's nothing he can say to such a simple response; any words fall dead on his lips. He can only stare at his companion, silently fighting back the desire to kick the man into the ground. Or hug him senseless. Maybe both.

After a long, stiff pause, a muffled crackle over the loudspeakers pulls a heavy sigh from everyone in the room. "Alright, perfect, that's exactly what we were looking for. That's our take. Initial read-through for the next scene begins at 8:00A.M tomorrow, so don't be late."

The hand gripping Zoro's shoulder slides away as Sanji's arms fall limp at his sides. "Holy shit!" He laughs over the sudden uproar of chatter and mechanical beeping that erupts around them. "That was so intense! I thought the director was going to piss himself, did you see the look on his face?"

Zoro scoffs, wiping the syrupy red mess off of his cheek with the back of his hand. "No, actually, I didn't. It was pretty much impossible to focus on anything with you screaming in my ear like that."

"Sorry, I guess I got caught up in the moment a little." Wincing a bit at the soreness in his arms, Sanji runs his fingers through his hair, cringing as they catch on knotted tangles halfway through. Every inch of him is filthy; and while it isn't the first time he's dealt with it, it's really starting to get on his nerves. Examining his hands with a scowl, he tries to wipe the dirt makeup and stage blood onto his pants to no avail; too bad for him, it's already long since dried. "But it hard to not get into it, this time… You really look like hell. How many bottles of blood did they use on you? A dozen?"

"At least a dozen," Zoro replies, pulling the red-soaked shirt away from his skin with a grimace. It separates from his skin like he's peeling off a sticker, but then promptly snaps back into place with a wet slap the moment he lets go. "...Man, it's gonna take weeks to wash this all off."

"Yeah, no shit. You know, you might as well just throw those clothes away... They're completely trashed," Sanji says, assessing the damage with a poorly hidden grin. He's a little biased, though—as he's said plenty of times in the past, he's tired of seeing those clothes. Maybe if they're lucky, the studio will answer his prayers and finally get around to replacing the outfit with something new.

"Hell no, I've been wearing these for years! They've been through worse." Zoro clutches the bottom of his shirt possessively in a tight fist, accidentally squeezing some of the blood out onto the ground. Fortunately, the set below them is utterly covered in the stuff already, so it doesn't make much of a difference.

Sanji has all sorts of objections to that. Those clothes absolutely have not been through worse than this before, for starters—and repairing them at this point would take the costuming team at least a few hours of pointless work—but he's cut off before a word of it can get out.

"Hey, you two," a distant voice calls from the edge of the set, barely intelligible over the shuffling and metallic clatter all around them. "We have to clean up! You're in the way, so hurry up and clear out!"

Right, they're still in the middle of the stage—and surrounded by of dozens of people who would sooner knock them out of the way with heavy machinery than have their work put on hold, no less. Sanji sighs under his breath and turns to the source of the voice with an over-the-top workplace smile. "Sorry, sorry! We'll move," he calls cheerfully, grabbing Zoro by the wrist before promptly dropping back to into a monotonous tone. "Come on, moron, let's get out of here."

Zoro nods, yawning as he allows Sanji to drag him across the massive, bloody field of prop rocks and grass. "Your voice sounds like shit," he says, looking Sanji over with a tired frown as they walk. "How many cigarettes did you go through today?"

Sanji pauses moment to mull the question over. He'd lost track a few hours in, but he's sure it was a bit higher than usual. "I dunno. A few dozen at least?" he replies, hopping up over a boulder and off of the edge of the set with a slight spring in his step. He peers back over his shoulder just in time to see Zoro shoot him a look of horror. Clearly the man hadn't been keeping count. "Well, that's just what happens when you mess up a scene a hundred fucking times, y'know? It's your fault I sound like this."

Zoro is quiet for a moment, pressing his lips in a hard line. "...I still can't believe you won't switch to fake ones," he starts again. "You're going to die of lung cancer before this show is even over—you know that, right?"

Well, that's probably true, if the incessant burning in the shallow reaches of his chest are any indication. But still, letting the moss head know he's right isn't fun. "I'm gonna die of old age before this show is over. And I told you a million times, fake cigarettes aren't even close to the same. I can't get into it unless it feels real, y'know?"

Slowing to a stop, Zoro tugs his wrist out of Sanji's grasp and pulls his shirt off over his head in one fluid motion, apparently having grown tired of walking around with slimy clothes clinging like plastic wrap to his body. Not that Sanji could blame the guy; that blood can be itchy as hell sometimes. But even so, can't he wait just five goddamn minutes to get to the dressing room before stripping? Unless, of course, his goal is to get most of the crew on the clock to swoon over his abs instead of doing their jobs properly, in which case he's doing great. Sanji reflexively chews on the inside of his cheek, studying the man out of the corner of his eye as stealthily as he can manage with his shitty, blood-matted hair in the way.

"You're so hung up over realism that you'd die for it?" Zoro says, wringing his tattered mop of a shirt out over a trash can before slinging its carcass over his bare shoulder. "Good thing you didn't go into porn acting, then, huh?"

"Oh, shut up. At least I have the looks for it," Sanji grumbles, narrowly avoiding accidental eye contact as he turns to examine himself in one of the mirrors of the makeup station set up just off-set. But the sight he's met with is almost bad enough to have him averting his eyes right back; he looks like even more of a wreck than he had when they started, with hours of real fatigue built up underneath the expertly crafted facade of battle-worn exhaustion. Fake cuts and bruises blanket his face and bare neck, and if it weren't for the layers of foundation making him look flawlessly smooth underneath it all, he's sure he would be able to pass as a corpse; a sexy corpse, but still very dead nonetheless. "Well, I mean, I look like trash right now, but... you know. Usually."

Zoro looks him over with a sly smile, raising an eyebrow before turning to the water cooler aside the table for a drink. "Yeah. Sure you do."

And just what the hell is that supposed to mean?

Before Sanji has the chance to object, he's cut off by the sound of a metal door slamming open against the concrete wall behind them, and an equally earth-rending voice shouting out, "Yo, Sanji! Zoro! Great job out there!"

"Oh, Luffy," Zoro perks up a little, some of his exhaustion disappearing in favor of a bright grin. "What's up? I thought you went home already."

"Nope! I was watching from the sound room," he says, pointing up at the window on the second floor of the studio. Behind it, Sanji can barely make out the familiar faces of technicians and actors alike chatting excitedly amongst themselves. They seem pleased, from what he can tell, but it's impossible to hear anything they're saying through the soundproofing. "I couldn't miss out on watching you guys run that scene; people are gonna totally flip when it airs! That was freakin' awesome!"

"Aw, thanks. And to think it only took us sixteen tries…" Sanji says under his breath, casting a side-eye in his partner's direction.

"Hey, I wasn't the one that kept falling down on the rocks like an idiot!" Zoro snaps back, bristling at the not-so-subtle accusation.

"Oh yeah?" Sanji folds his arms over his chest, sneering as they turn toward each other with looming tension that seems to blossom out of nowhere. "Almost every retake we had to do was because you delivered your line too early, bastard!"

Luffy looks between them, sporting his trademark grin as he plays around with the string holding his hat around his neck. "...Man, you two really do keep in character, huh? It's really funny."

"We do not!" they yell at him in unison, before their gazes snap back together and they stare at each other like they're both standing around in their underwear or something. Sanji can feel the unfettered embarrassment radiating off of Zoro in waves next to him, but he's feeling it just as much. Nothing else gets under his skin quite like being lumped in with that dickbag as if they're actually an item. It gives him too much hope, damn it.

Luffy, however, seems to be entirely oblivious to this as always, striding into their personal space to fling an arm over either man's shoulder without skipping a beat. "Yeah right, whatever you say," he laughs, grinning like a mischievous kid as he rubs some of the dirt around on Sanji's face in a poor attempt to clean it off. "So, anyway, some of the guys were going out for drinks in a bit! Do you two wanna come?"

A drink sounds like exactly what he needs, but the conflicted look he catches on Zoro's face as he steals a glance at the other man gives him pause; no, that prospect is out of the question. He has prior engagements, after all. "I wish I could," he starts, subtly trying to peel the smaller man's hand from his shoulder. "But maybe next time. I already promised the marimo I'd cook him dinner if he somehow managed to not break character for the whole filming. Didn't think he could do it, but he did."

On the opposite end of Luffy's half-hug, Zoro straightens up a bit, and an oddly strained, nonchalant expression overtakes his face. In his own weird way, he seems pleased.

To be honest, Sanji hadn't really been expecting his bribe to work nearly as well as it did. Out of everyone, except maybe the "future pirate king" and star of the show himself, Zoro is one of the people most prone to laughing fits or fucking up lines in the middle of recording. And more often than not, the two of them would have to stay late to make up for his inability to keep his shit together. But he'd really pulled through that day, playing the "stoic sentinel" part almost freakishly well. Perhaps Sanji is on to something by bribing the man by his tastebuds.

"Sanji's real food, huh...? Sounds suuuuper nice," Luffy sighs, his envy clear as day as he gives a pointed look down to his stomach; that expression of longing is one Sanji has seen dozens of times on the man's face. Ever since he'd invited the crew over for dinner at his place a few years back, they all looked at the food props catered to the set with the same wistful expression. Perhaps they'd get lucky and end up with another scene in which he has to perform food prep on camera again soon. Lunch breaks in the studio are always so lively on days like that. "Well, alrighty then. Next time for sure!"

"You got it, captain." Sanji reflects back Luffy's grin, and the man slides out from between him and Zoro with the dexterity of a small cat.

"Cool!" he says, and Sanji can practically see the gears turning behind his eyes as his mind undoubtedly runs a mile a minute planning their next group outing. "Let's talk about it tomorrow! Have a nice dinner, guys!" He gives them a wave, spinning on his heels to make a mad dash for the studio exit.

"I'll bring you some leftovers if I have any!" Sanji calls after him, barely able to get the words out while Luffy is still in the room.

"You're the best, Sanji!" Luffy yells enthusiastically over his shoulder, before the door slams shut behind him again with a force that rivals his boisterous entrance.

"Your lack of faith in me is annoying," Zoro sneers, but his sour expression quickly melts into a mellowed smile. "...But good for my stomach, at least. What's for dinner?"

"We'll cross that bridge when we get to it," Sanji says, and resumes his trek toward the dressing rooms. "Before that, I think a change of clothes is in order, don't you?"

Zoro nods quickly, likely all too eager to get into something more comfortable. "Yeah. Let's make it quick, though. I'm hungry."

Admittedly, Zoro's not the only one itching for a good meal. The thought of something warm in his stomach is more than a little tempting. So he makes his way across the studio and down the main hallway with the marimo trailing close behind, his hands idly messing with some of the half-burnt cigarettes in his pocket. Seafood. He's planning a seafood dish. Is that too predictable, too ironic? He lets out a quiet sigh, inwardly kicking himself. No, he can cook whatever the hell he wants. And if Zoro has a problem with that, he can just go home and feed himself. It isn't Sanji's job to cater to him exclusively, after all. It's not like they're like that, for fuck's sake. Cooking for him outside of work is already beyond what Sanji was required to do in the first place, as far as their friendship was concerned. He's already being more than charitable enough.

It doesn't occur to him until the moment he stands with his hand on the doorknob, however, that nobody else is going to be inside the dressing room anymore. For the first time in as long as he can remember, he and Zoro are going to be alone.

Shit.

To be continued