Roronoa Zoro, Sanji learned, was very sporadic.
First and foremost in his sleeping habits, Zoro was decidedly random. He would just conk out in any old place: standing, sitting, doing one-finger, hand-stand push-ups, it didn't matter. He could sleep out in the mid-summer sun or in the dead-winter snow. Each new resting situation was periodically amusing, but mostly annoying.
The second thing the cook noticed about Zoro that was sporadic was his apparent hatred. Zoro could be an asshole and a fuddy-duddy a lot of the time, but between bouts of belligerence, he cared about everything that mattered to his nakama. And not just what mattered to Luffy and Chopper. No, Zoro cared about Sanji's dreams too. Zoro was intermittently an upstanding guy.
He was also occasionally touchy about his past. In some of Zoro's better moments, when Sanji was feeling mellow, the cook would ask about Zoro's hometown and his life before piratehood. He always avoided subjects that he knew were bad, and sometimes Zoro would answer him. But other times, the swordsman would shut down or snap or just ignore him. Sanji didn't entirely blame Zoro for that.
Once in a while, Zoro would take the notion to be helpful. He would assist Sanji with the dishes or help Usopp with a project or actually do Nami's bidding. One time, he'd offered to help Robin carry a tall stack of books she'd gotten while they were docked and she had gladly let him. Without fail, he would help fix the Sunny, even if Franky didn't ask and Zoro didn't offer. On some matters, Zoro was solid, not sporadic. But he was mostly unpredictable.
Every now and again, the swordsman would lose his temper. He shouted often, he grumbled more, but he almost never lost his temper. Which is why Sanji counted that as the most surprising infrequency. The world would not suffer any if Zoro never lost his temper again, Sanji decided, although he knew it wouldn't happen that way. Any time Zoro really lost his temper and dove into an off-the-deep-end rage, anyone he didn't consider friend was foe with a capital "target." He won a lot of battles that way. But, one time, and only one time, Zoro truly lost his temper on the ship, with not an enemy in sight. It was before they'd met Franky or Brook, and no one spoke about it after the fact. No one but Zoro, and that was just one mention. Sanji didn't like to remember that day.
Zoro seldom apologized, but that day he had. That was the one mention of his outburst. To Sanji's knowledge, the only apology Zoro had given that day was to him, but there was no way to know without mentioning it. He was not going to mention it. Aside from that time, Zoro apologized sarcastically or only when it really mattered. Sometimes he didn't even make it to the apology he was professing before somebody let him off the hook, perhaps only because apologies were so rare and they knew how hard his pride was fighting against them. Sanji had even let him off the hook a few times. He always considered forcing Zoro into the full apology, maybe even pretending like he didn't hear him the first, second, fifth time, but he never did that. If Zoro actually said that words "I'm sorry," Sanji accepted them the very first time they were spoken. But, more often than not, he did not let Zoro get to the words, instead nodding, cutting him off, absorbing the unsaid remorse, the voiceless extenuation.
And that brought Sanji to his second favorite spasmodic behavioral trend. The unspoken things. Sometimes camaraderie, annoyance, friendship, rivalry, respect. But the greater part of those spotty silences was riddled with a different kind of feeling. A warm and cutesy kind of thing that, in all honesty, was desultorily dumbfounding and consistently wonderful.
Zoro would bring him things from mysterious shopping trips that no one else was sure he actually went on, since he never bought anything big. But Sanji knew. He knew that Zoro had an impeccable sense of what the cook would want or use. He also knew that sometimes the things Zoro secretly got him were not from shops. But he knew that, if he ever mentioned that to Zoro, it would be a while until the next lovely, heartfelt item came his way. He reveled in the fact that Zoro was at times shy.
But, the cook's very favorite things that Zoro did far too sparingly, were the things that happened at night, or when they were alone on the ship. Occasionally he would go to Zoro and propose with a smile or offhand comment that they engage in private matters, and every time he did, Zoro agreed with nearly invisible, but nonetheless present, fervor. But when Zoro came to him, that was different. That was what Sanji really wanted, what he really loved. Zoro would lead him to an unpurposed room, or casually stride into the kitchen while Sanji was cooking. And maybe they'd have a conversation or banter, entirely usual and very common. But, there would be subtext. There would be exiguous smiles, meager touches. He had blunt approaches, too, ones that Sanji had to say he was a fan of. But being ambushed from behind in the storage room while he was taking inventory didn't compare to the subtle chase.
The times when Zoro came up to him out of the middle of nothing in particular were few and far between. The times when he would show open affection with no ulterior motive were even fewer and farther, but Sanji loved those times. Not that he didn't like Zoro's ulterior motives; it was just a bizarre kind of domestic, a good kind, when Zoro hugged him or kissed his neck and barely bothered to hide it from the crew, let alone try to go further. The scattered times when Zoro made sure Sanji was aware they weren't just messing around, that he didn't hate Sanji: those were the best.
His predilection for Sanji was hidden unintentionally, the cook gathered, beneath his pride and dignity, but every day Zoro became a little bit more open. If Sanji wished for more from Zoro, he didn't say anything. He just let him be. Zoro was coming around at his own pace. And if Sanji got annoyed with a lack of propensity, he would show it in the form of an argument or, better yet, the silent treatment. Soon enough, Zoro would correct his behavior not in a predictable way, but in a predictable amount of time.
Roronoa Zoro was very sporadic. His facets showed themselves occasionally, or in some cases singly, and always randomly. But, in a good way.