He was putting the finishing touches on some ohagi to tide the crew – namely Luffy – over until dinner, and he heard the door open. Without looking, he knew who it was from the slow, deep sounds of boots hitting the wood. He knew that sound almost as well as he knew the sound of his own heartbeat.

It didn't hurt that he could hear them making their way to where he kept the liquor.

"Touch the sake, and you're missing dinner," he said.

"I didn't come for the sake, stupid cook."

Sanji bristled. It'd been a long day, what with those thugs back in town trying to lay their filthy hands on Robin and Nami. Naturally, he, being the gentleman he was – and okay, Zoro may have helped some – he had taken it upon himself to protect the lovely ladies from those snow-driving cretins. In the madness, he'd gotten covered in the snow that was still falling steadily outside, he'd been punched, and the damn swordsman had gotten blood on his new jacket.

And now, that troublesome swordsman had to come into his territory and insult him? Well, fine. He still had some steam to blow off.

Whirling around, he brought his leg up with every intention of driving a kick into that hard green head of Zoro's. Only, at the last second, he realized the damn marimo wasn't even making any attempt to block it. The kick was aimed straight at the moron's face; nuisance or not, he didn't want to break the guy.

He stopped short, leg still raised should he change his mind, and scowled at the moron. "Oi, what's your problem, moron?" he shouted. Frankly, he was a little disappointed when Zoro didn't wince; he was no more than two feet in front of him. "I could've snapped your—!"

"You're kind of beautiful when you're angry."

Sanji lost the rest of whatever it was he was about to say to a sort of undignified sputtering that ended in something that sounded a lot like, "What?"

But Zoro was already on his way out. With casual steps, the same thud of his boots, like he hadn't a care in the world, he made his way out the door.

With a bottle of sake in his hand.

Part of Sanji commanded him to go after him, to beat that damn marimo down and make him explain where the hell he got off saying things like that. Was he just trying to throw Sanji off? Mess with him so he could sneak out with his booze unscathed? Sanji didn't know why he'd bother; it wasn't like he'd ever really stopped Zoro from getting a drink in the past. Sure, he gave him grief for it, and sometimes he'd make him take the shit stuff instead of the good stuff, but he never really outright refused him.

Unless the swordsman had pissed him off, but that was a different story. That was his right as a cook.

Frowning, Sanji went back to the ohagi. He'd chalk Zoro's behavior up to the swordsman being touched in the head, and he'd leave it like that. Anything else, and he probably would go hunt that marimo bastard down. Now, it was just Zoro being weird. Nothing more, nothing less.

Still…

That didn't explain the weird feeling in his chest or the heat on his face.