Candy Shop
1.
"Oi cook, you can open your eyes now. " He heard the marimo's caveman grumble over the rustle of clothing as the swordsman took Sanji's blindfold off.
Sanji opened his eyes slowly, adjusting to the sudden brightness brought by the afternoon sun. His breath caught as he looked up, his gaze directed on a sign, written with what seemed like a childish scrawl. "Lil' Baratie"
Inside, the glass shelves were filled with candies and sweets of varying colours and sizes. The hardwood floor thudded against his footsteps as if welcoming him, as a sugary smell wafted and enveloped his senses.
"W-what is this marimo?" Sanji refused to admit that his voice was trembling, and his stomach was not doing batshit contortions either.
"A candy shop, ero-cook." Zoro answered with a smug grin, elated at the pervert cook's reaction to his gift.
"I'm a cook idiot. I think this should be... I don't know... A RESTAURANT?"
"Usei yarou. You already have All Blue, you don't need another restaurant!" The swordsman grumbled, a half frown forming on his lips.
He leaned forward, kissing his cook and silencing any more violent reactions that the cook's perverted brain may concoct.
2.
Sanji entered the candy shop quietly, unwilling to disturb the beautiful scene unfolding right in front of his very eyes. The swordsman, with his three swords fastened loosely against his waist, would have been number one on the bad-ass-people list, except he didn't look very bad ass right now. Not with the marimo smiling, bent down and talking to their usual kind of customers- a child. The little girl beamed at Zoro as he handed her a pink lollipop and he, in turn, ruffled the little girl's brown hair and shooed her off out the shop. It was closing time after all.
"So...should I be jealous?" Sanji asked, his eyes glinting with amusement. His heart started beating faster though, when the marimo turned to him with a smile on his face. A genuine smile that showed just how satisfied and content he was with the way his life was going. With the man he is spending his life with.
The cook caught the swordsman's face in his hands and kissed him lightly, barely tasting and more of feeling. Savouring the nearness and the warmth that only another person could give. Only his lover could give.
3.
The swordsman clenched and unclenched his fists, knuckles white and nails digging painfully into his palms. He looked at his lover, blond fringes covering both his downcast eyes. He could see his lithe arms trembling just slightly, as if in tandem with his own shaking ones.
"Sanji..." not love-cook, not pervert, yet Sanji had never felt so much dread from just hearing his own name pass from the swordsman's lips.
"I need to do this. Mihawk is out there, my dream is out there, and I have to take this chance of a lifetime or else I will forever regret this." Zoro sometimes hated his dream, his promise, hated its existence and the shackles that it has planted deep into his soul.
"What about our dreams?" the cook finally asked, looking up at Zoro with tear-stained cheeks, looking so lost and terrified. Betrayed. "What about me Zoro?" It was more of a harsh exhale of air instead of a whisper, but the cook's husky voice showed the swordsman just how much of the blonde chef he was able to break.
The biting hopelessness of his situation dragged Sanji down, his body just heavy and refusing to move. If Zoro leaves, to chase Mihawk across the oceans , then it didn't matter to him. Every piece that Zoro will leave behind will shatter into uselessness. He had never been able to deny it, but he knew in himself, that without his swordsman, he was nothing.
4.
It has been three months, eight days and seven hours since Zoro had left him. It had been in a night much like this, with the moon hiding beneath a curtain of clouds, as if mourning for him and the greatest loss he would ever suffer. Sanji looked up as the rain started falling gently against his face, gaze resting on the dull unlighted sign, a darkened pink that almost looked brown. "Li'l Baratie".
Like it was his dying scene, the times he had spent inside flashed in a painful throb against his consciousness.
Zoro.
Each and every memory tainted a sea-green, all those simple and happy times.
He willed himself to step away from the locked doors, strengthened his resolve to move away and move on. He strode forward steadily, chin raised and eyes looking straight. His hands readily lay in his pockets, looking his usual suave and calm manner.
Nothing was amiss.
His hands were trembling, his shoulders shaking once again. But it was cold.
His cheeks sunken, eyes dark and lifeless, but it could have been the shadows playing on his face.
Water flowed freely down his face. But it could have been the rain.
A cold breeze blew against his body, gently like a maiden's farewell kiss, and he shuddered slightly.
No. Nothing was amiss.