A/N: Well, hello there. I haven't posted anything here in FFnet in more than 2 years. :'D
There seems to be a whole lot of amazing Zosan writers here. I hope I can contribute to those lists of quality fics. :)
Anyhow, this Lingering Moments will be a collection of canon-based Zosan drabbles or one-shots. This chapter, "Sanji's Resolve", was based on the Return to Sabaody Arc. I read and re-read the chapters, watched and re-watched the episodes-which ate away at the time I was supposed to study-but nevertheless, I had fun writing this. I hope you'll enjoy reading them as much as I did writing them. :)

Happy reading!

Disclaimer: I own not ONE PIECE.

On a random sidenote, "Their shitty love grows like marimo." is a random OTP quote I thought of a few weeks ago. It has become my tumblr tag for Zosan posts in my blog. lol

-EDITED (2012/09/12) Because I thought this was probably too rushed the first time I posted it. Hoping this seems more Sanji-like now. But I'm still trying to get the right characterization for him, so yeah. :) Please don't hesitate to give constructive criticism. :)

Sanji's resolve was firm.

After being stuck in an island filled with nothing but Okama for two whole years, he was sure as Hell—and Sanji was pretty certain Hell existed, because that's exactly where these shitty Okama lived—that he was damn straight. With every kick to achieve each godly recipe for his crew (but most especially for his darling inspirations, Nami-swan and Robin-chwan), he became more and more sure he could never fall in love with any non-female human. Let alone a stupid, three-sword wielding, forever lost marimo.

Women were beautiful, graceful and kind. Elegant even as they glare at him to death, nimble even as they punch a huge lump on his pretty face, sophisticated even as they practically throw invisible daggers at him for endlessly declaring his love for them. Women were angels, beings this physical world was unworthy of. Men, on the other hand, are sloppy, uncouth and cruel—except for Sanji himself, a man worthy and blessed enough (that he needed) to be in the presence of ladies. Men needed neither love nor concern from a fellow man. A true man was concerned only with himself, and of women.

So when the fisherman he approached spoke—quite distressfully—of a green-haired man, the escalating speed of his heartbeat didn't mean Sanji was worried about him. Of course, it didn't. The cook was calm and composed then, his face not even showing the slightest change in emotion, even if he knew there weren't much green-haired men with three swords and a haramaki. He was a bit surprised to hear that his nakama seemed to have been involved in a little mishap here, yes, but fazed? Excited? Nervous? No. Sanji's heart pumped, beated, and existed solely to love and be concerned with women, and it was just speeding up to ready the impending rage about to detonate.

And the rage detonated, indeed, when he learned the shitty marimo mistook a pirate ship for a fishing boat and set off to Fishman Island ahead of the rest of the Straw Hats. Trust the idiot lawn head to make these kinds of slips, the cook thought to himself, cursing the marimo for his lack of common sense that only seemed to worsen in the two years that passed, as he took in a long drag of his cigarette. The cook wasn't done cursing the damned cousin of seaweed in his head while he told the troubled fisherman the more optimistic side to his mishap—he won't get killed, at least we know where he's going, yadda yadda—squeezing in a humble request for fish in between.

But moments later, Sanji's heartbeat escalated, eyes widening briefly, when he saw the perfectly sliced ship slowly come up from the waters. The scene was breathtakingly familiar. It reminded him of a ship slit in half the same way back in Baratie, back when he first met his now captain and fellow crewmates, back when he first spared a thought about the three-sword-wielder—the swordwielder who was out of his mind for fighting a battle he should have known deep down he couldn't win, the swordwielder who was stupid for challenging a man who stood at a far greater level than he did, the swordwielder who was careless for almost casting his life away for the sake of testing if his dream was truly achievable or not.

Sanji couldn't put the exact feeling into words. The damned marimo had reached this far, he thought. He was mesmerized, filled with admiration and respect, and he felt proud to be this mighty person's crewmate. Only for a little while, though, because Sanji caught himself thinking things he didn't need to. He quickly replaced his mouth agape and put on a blank face before he could be mesmerized any further. "Oh, he's back! Well, I couldn't care less about him."

Sanji wouldn't have cared any less. He wouldn't have cared less, Sanji repeated to himself. His resolve was firm. He couldn't ever fall in love with any man. He couldn't. He wouldn't.

But maybe, just maybe…

"Oh?" The swordsman pulled his mouth to a one-sided grin, cocking his head as if in arrogance as he walked towards his fellow crewmate and the old man who offered him to fish, still dripping wet. "If it isn't the perverted cook."

Sanji glared daggers into the one eye shooting right back at his, taking in another waft of his cigarette. "And if it isn't the still stupid as ever, shitty marimo."

The swordsman hummed, low in his throat. "Seems you missed me that much, huh? You can't even respond to me properly."

The cook felt heat rise in his cheeks, a blush he didn't need settling in. He clicked his tongue and turned away from the swordsman to hide it. How could the swordsman sense the still lingering admiration he felt? It wasn't as if he was an open book. "Che, not a chance I could miss some idiotic moss head like you."

"What's up with you being all bashful now? Got amazed by my slicing a ship in two? Heh. It's okay to be amazed. It's a feat normal people like you aren't able to do."

"Normal people like you" resonated in Sanji's head, clearing all thoughts of admiration for the other man. Apparently, the shitty marimo really didn't need any of his admiration at all. What he needed was a good, two year's worth of ass whopping. Sanji was an amazing chef. Sanji was a genuine ladies' man. Sanji was the Black Leg. He wasn't just normal. The cook's voice came out almost a growl, his body flaring up, as he said, "What did you just say, you son of a fucking algae?"

Sanji was ready to pummel, pound and kick the fuck out of the shitty moss head, and Zoro's hands were already on his swords' grips, ready to pounce or receive any attack coming his way, when the old fisherman came towards them with a towel in hand, handing it to Zoro. "G-green haired guy, a-are you okay now?"

"Ah, yeah." Zoro loosened the hold on his swords, the tense air apparent moments earlier rapidly disappearing. He took the towel to wipe himself dry. "Thanks to those stupid losers for docking their ship there, I ended up under the sea for a while, but I'm okay, old man."

Th-that wasn't their fault! The old man wanted to say, but he kept his mouth shut.

"Well, old man, as I've been asking earlier, do you have any fish to sell now?" Sanji grinned at the fisherman, a bit thankful to the old man for distracting both him and the shitty moss head from causing impending damage to Grove #42 should they have fought then and there.

"Unfortunately, no," the old man replied, "I'm only about to go out to catch some fish, you see."

"Ah, I see, well, that's too bad." Sanji laughed, fake, as he blocked the swordsman from stepping towards the lone fishing boat before he could respond. "We'll be going then."

"Huh? But I wanted to fish." Zoro complained as Sanji dragged him off to whoever-knows-where.

"We don't have the time for that now, shitty marimo." Sanji sighed to himself. Why did he have to pay attention to this shitty marimo when their whole crew hasn't fully reunited yet? Much to Sanji's luck, perhaps, or the lack of it.

Sanji let go of the other's arm once they arrived at the next grove, #41, and the two of them silently walked past stalls to pass the time.

The silence was unbearable, and the air was tense. Sanji wished there could have been something to talk about. Ah, but it wasn't that Sanji actually wanted to talk to the shitty marimo or anything of the sort. The awkwardness was just suffocating, like a growing lump in his throat, preventing him from breathing easily. The cook had been wondering, however, about the distant air between them. Before they got separated two years ago, Sanji had often taken the shitty idiot moss head to shop for food with him, but the tension between them wasn't this… intimidating. What was wrong? Or, perhaps, what was different? Could this tense air be a result of the moss head, just like Sanji did, realizing over the past two years that this benevolent cook wasn't the one (or any variations of "anything special") for him?

Sanji chuckled to himself. Of course, of course. That was understandable. Not that it mattered, though. Sanji breathed, lived and existed to love women. He need not spare the time to think or ponder about the relationship he had with the marimo two years before—if a "relationship" is what it could be called. They shared a few nights—okay, maybe months—in each other arms, be it in the Merry, Sunny Go or the inn they would stay over. But that was it. A mutual release of sexual repression. Even when either of them could have gone to the brothels, yes, that was it. It didn't mean anything. It didn't mean anything.

It didn't mean anything.

Neither did the sudden, piercing pain Sanji felt in his chest.

Sanji remembered kicking some creepy jackass who dared to stare at Nami-swan's beautiful body and then he was here, lying down on Sunny's grass with a blood bag attached to him. Beside him, he expected the worried, but still angelic looks of the adorable Nami-swan and charming Robin-chwan, but, instead, was met with the determined look of a muscleheaded marimo, staring at him.

"W-what is it, shitty marimo?" Sanji muttered, gritting his teeth. In the distance, Sanji could hear Nami and the other crew members discuss underwater currents. Sanji couldn't admit it to himself, but it felt like they had a world of their own in that brief moment, cleared of any awkwardness present during their walk back at Grove #41. But he didn't need the time alone with this marimo. Not now. Not for a long while. Despite the lack of awkwardness, the piercing pain was in his chest again, and Sanji didn't know what he could do to bear with it.

His resolve was strong. He wasn't going to break down, he reminded himself.

But the swordsman simply continued staring into the chef's deep, blue eye. He stared for so long, so deep, that Sanji felt as if he was going to be engulfed by the single brown orb. Sanji wondered what this was-they were done, right? There wasn't a spark between them anymore, if what happened in Grove #41 was any evidence. But after a few moments of empty silence passed, and the swordsman gently patted the chef's head and walked away to where Luffy stood by the railing, it all somehow just clicked in Sanji's head-what the past few moments had meant. Caught off-guard, a blush settled in his cheeks. He badly need a smoke right then and there to settle his heart down.

"A slaying dynasty? Now that's something I'd like to see…" He heard the shitty marimo ride into the flow of the conversation as if he was part of it since the beginning.

Sanji stayed lying down for a few more minutes, trying to calm the escalation of his heartbeat as the words the swordsman's determined eyes relayed to him. You better be more careful, shitty cook. Don't you dare die on me from fucking, perverted bloodloss, or else I'll dive right into the Hell you so hate and I will bring you back.

This was unfair of that shitty marimo. Absolutely unfair. Because Sanji's resolve was firm. He couldn't ever fall in love with any man that showed he cared for him, or he used to care for. He couldn't. He wouldn't.

Damn that shitty bastard. Because maybe, just maybe… With how his heart still naturally reacts to this goddamn bastard, a certain shitty marimo could be an exception to his resolve.

And that certain shitty marimo would be the only exception he would ever consider.

A/N: How was it? My first ONE PIECE fic. :) This isn't exactly the way I usually write, and I was experimenting with the writing style quite a bit, so I hope it was still enjoyable.

Reviews and constructive criticism are greatly appreciated.

Thank you for your time and reading this far. :)