A particularly bright ray of sunshine somehow managed to slip past the cracked curtains and onto Sanji's face. He squinted unpleasantly at the interruption to his sleep. While it was not exactly restful sleep, it was better than being awake. He could already feel the aches returning. Shifting beneath the large piles of blankets, still shocked at the amount he owned, Sanji closed his eyes again. The pounding in his head, made worse by the sharp sunlight, accented how shitty he was feeling, and the near-constant chill in his bones reminded him that he needed to buy even more blankets. Colds sucked.
It looked to be about noon, but the thought did little to rouse Sanji from the relative comfort of his bed. He was under strict orders to not come into work that day, and he really could not argue. If he was being honest, Sanji did not think he could make it to his own kitchen in his current state. His usually strong legs were achy and weak, and could barely carry him the short walk to the bathroom. And they were not the only ones to rebel against him. His nose had seemed to completely cease to function. Taking a minute to blow the useless body part with one of the tissues that were scattered around his pillow, he sniffled and tried to remember what had happened the day before.
He had been feeling like absolute shit since early yesterday morning, and it had gotten progressively worse as the day went along. Once he felt the fever come on, he knew he needed to get away from the food, but he had thought he could at least do some paperwork in the back. Nami, his boss, and one of his oldest friends, did not agree. When she found him half alive in a bed of tissues and receipts, she told him to go home, and practically shoved him out the door. That had only added to his misery. Sanji could count the amount of times he had missed work on one hand, a fact that he was immensely proud of, but missing yesterday had brought the count to five, and now he was forced to add his other hand.
Sanji rolled onto his other side, putting the window to his back, and groaned when a sudden hot flash forced him to kick off the covers. I wish my body would just make up its fucking mind. He opened his eyes again, distracted from sleep by the sweat that was beginning to re-soak through his t-shirt. Sanji thought about taking it off, but he knew that his body would just pull another 180 and get cold.
Staring blandly at nothing, his attention was caught by the buzzing of his phone as it tried to inform him of an incoming message. It took two tries for him to grab the device, his weakened muscles refusing to cooperate, and he nearly whimpered when the phone's screen sent a spike of pain through his skull. After turning down the brightness, Sanji was able to check his notifications. There was a text from Nami from earlier that morning, reminding him to stay in bed and rest, along with a few emails that did not require his immediate attention. However, the most recent text was from Zoro, and the fact that he had a text from the mossy bastard was attention-grabbing on its own. Sanji was surprised the other man remembered how to text, let alone how to text him.
The two had been friends for years now, but they rarely chatted unless it was something important. Not that Sanji did not want to chat about less urgent things with him. In fact, he would love to talk to Zoro about nothing. To just sit and stare at his face would satisfy a lot of needs in the blonde's life. But he would settle for close friendship and minimal communication.
However, even his best friend and crush would have to wait for a reply because his headache would simply not allow any more screentime. He would check the message when his skull stopped throwing a tantrum, which would hopefully be sooner rather than later. Thankfully, his body seemed to take the hint, and the once elusive sleep beckoned to the ill blonde to return to its pain-free embrace. Sanji let the phone fall on the pillow next to him as he found himself slipping back into unconsciousness.
Sanji knew he had not been asleep long when he awoke to the soft vibrations of his phone. He was cold again, and his half-functioning brain convinced him to pull the blankets back over his shivering frame. The buzzing had stopped, and Sanji quickly forgot about it in favor of relaxing his frozen muscles. His headache had begun to complain again, but once Sanji fell still in his warm cocoon, it calmed back down to uncomfortable, rather than painful. Just as he was starting to drift back to sleep, the phone started vibrating again. Well, whoever it was would have to wait, because Sanji had found the perfect state of comfortable and he did not have the energy to stay awake a moment longer.
Knock knock knock.
Sanji opened his eyes, the unfamiliar sound distracting him from his blank dreams. That was not his phone. Was it his alarm? No, that did not make sense. Alarms did not sound like that. He began to fade again, thoughts too scattered to comprehend a response.
KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK.
The door. Sanji blinked himself into wakefulness, his mind rushing to supply a reason for someone to be knocking so urgently. Was it maintenance? Or perhaps firemen? Was there something wrong? The blonde pulled himself from his bed and stumbled into the living room, tripping over his own feet in his half-awake haze. If it was a salesman, they were going to get a kick to the face, albeit a weak one. He did not need a subscription to whatever magazine they were hawking, and he probably did not need any more tupperware. However, if it was his cute neighbor, that would be a different story. She would get a pitiful smile and an apology for bringing her into contact with his dreadful cold. He'd probably cough on the salesman.
KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK.
Part of Sanji did a mental onceover to confirm that he was decent. Sweaty t-shirt, check. Rumpled sleep pants, check. Fuck knows what his hair was doing, check. Good enough. He managed to open the door before his headache could get worse from the loud pounding, but his skull was certainly not happy about the flooding of afternoon light that entered his apartment. It felt like his eyeballs were being impaled with spikes.
"About fucking time. I thought you were dead," A gruff voice sounded from within the brightness.
Covering his eyes with one hand, Sanji leaned on the handle of his door, "Zoro? What are you doing here?"
The green-haired man stood in his doorway, stiff with irritation, but obvious concern showed in his handsome features. Sanji looked away sheepishly, recognizing why his friend was glaring at him, and dragged limp fingers through his bedhead. Before he could explain himself, Zoro slipped past him and into the living room, a backpack hanging off of one shoulder. The blonde closed the door, blocking out the hateful sunlight, and continued to lean on it as his aching limbs struggled to function. Even standing was tiring him out at this point.
Sanji took a moment to study his uninvited guest, bleary eyes trailing over the muscles that showed through the white v-neck. He tried to avoid looking at the ass that was perfectly framed by the dark, slim jeans, and reminded himself that this was his best friend he was oogling. Instead he focused on another aspect of the older man; Zoro looked healthy. He did not look like he was about to collapse from a stupid cold. Oh, how Sanji wished to be healthy again. Colds seriously sucked.
His one good eye was studying him, and Sanji blinked wearily in response. "You look like shit," Zoro grunted, but Sanji could hear the care hidden in his gruff tone. Part of his heart fluttered, but he quickly squashed it, once again reminding himself that this was his best friend and such thoughts could not be tolerated. Thankfully, Zoro started talking again and gave Sanij something else to focus on. "Nami said she sent you home sick yesterday, and you haven't been answering texts," Zoro stated in a way that was meant to be casual, but was definitely not.
"Yeah, sorry. I've been trying to sleep it off."
"Well, that's obviously not working," Zoro remarked dryly before continuing, "And I doubt you've tried much else. That's why I'm staying here to make sure you that you eat, and, you know, don't die."
Sanji looked up in shock, "Zoro, you don't have to worry about me. That's nice of you but-"
He was interrupted by Zoro snorting with annoyed amusement, "You aren't going to worry about yourself, so someone fuckin' has to. I know you, you won't ask for help. So, I'm staying here and taking care of you. Get used to it."
"But- but it's just a cold. It just needs to run its course!" Sanji replied stubbornly, the chill returning and making it harder to focus.
Zoro did not respond immediately, instead walking over to the couch and setting his backpack down on it. When he looked back at the blonde, he was wearing the infamous 'fighting is pointless' expression. "That's great, but I'm not leaving until you're better."
There was another long moment where neither said anything. Zoro glared determinedly while Sanji pouted and tried to stay awake. He knew arguing was not going to work, but giving in to the other man was literally the worst. However, he just simply did not have the energy that it would take to win against the stubborn bastard. Before he could give in, the silence was broken by the growling of the sick cook's stomach. Damn it.
"That's what I thought," The older man chuckled and waved at the bedroom. "Get back in bed and I'll make you some soup."
"But-" Sanji began, sluggish thoughts attempting to come up with a last ditch effort at an argument, but suddenly Zoro was in front of him, smacking a cool hand against his forehead. His skin rejoiced at the difference in temperature but Sanji hated that it easily gave away his fever. The unimpressed glare he received finally broke him, and with a pathetic groan, Sanji dragged himself back to bed.
Once the blonde had disappeared into the other room, Zoro unpacked some of the supplies from his bag. Getting the weekend off had been easy since he rarely used his vacation time, and he had packed whatever he thought he would need to take care of Sanji for a few days. While he did not know much about cooking, definitely not as much as Sanji, he could at least make chicken noodle soup. He retrieved a can from the depths of his bag and headed towards the kitchen. Okay, he knew how to microwave chicken noodle soup. But it was better than the nothing the sick man was probably eating. Swirly-browed bastard seriously did not know how to take care of himself.
As the bowl spun and cooked, Zoro leaned against the counter. In the many years he had known Sanji, he could not remember a time the cook had truly been sick, at least sick enough to constitute missing work. Even Nami had sounded concerned, which had set off a whole new set of warning bells. And it did not help that Sanji would not want his friends worrying about him, even though he always worried about the rest of them. Whenever anyone else in their group of friends got sick, Sanji was always there with soup made from scratch, and a blanket from his own bed. The least Zoro could do was take care of the guy for a few days.
But this is more than just returning a favor to a good friend… Zoro frowned in thought. He cared about Sanji more than he cared about most people, and even more than some of his closest friends and family. It had been like that for a while now, but Zoro had done his best to shove such thoughts out of his mind. He could not allow a crush to distract him from being a friend that Sanji deserved. Especially when he was sick and needed help. It was not often that Sanji needed someone, being as independent as he was, and seeing the blonde so flushed and feverish had worried Zoro. He was determined to help Sanji get better.
The microwave beeped and the swordsman pulled the steaming bowl out and onto the counter. Finding a spoon proved easy since Sanji kept his kitchen so organized, and Zoro hesitantly tasted the noodle-filled broth. It seemed alright to him, but he was not the cook of a five-star restaurant. Zoro frowned, glaring at the meager meal. It would probably taste like muddy water to Sanji, but he doubted that he could ever cook something that would actually stand up to the other man's standards.
So, while it was not the best option, at least it was food, and the blonde definitely needed that. There was no way he was getting better if he did not eat. If it came down to it, Zoro would just force feed him. An option that sounded highly beneficial to Sanji's health, while also being highly entertaining to his green haired best friend.
As he let the soup cool, the chill of the apartment alarmed the already concerned man. Sanji always kept his apartment at a lower temperature, but this was worse than usual. He was definitely sick. The realization that Zoro was not only cold, but also hungry, had him making another bowl of the warm broth for himself. At least it smelled good. Maybe Sanji won't be able to taste it with his stuffed up nose.
Zoro stepped into Sanji's bedroom, carrying a bowl in one hand. The blonde was passed out on the bed and nearly hidden by what looked to be five blankets, or more. Sweat lined the pale brow, and flushed cheeks peaked out from around the pillows. He looked as beautiful as ever, even if he was currently miserable and feverish. Setting the bowl on the nightstand, Zoro took a careful seat on the edge of the bed. He could see Sanji shivering despite his covers, and Zoro pressed the back of his hand against the damp forehead. His temperature was definitely higher than it should be, but not high enough to call Chopper, though their doctor friend might beg to differ.
His frown lightened for a moment and he let his fingers trail down the clammy cheek affectionately. The moment passed and his frown returned as he pulled away.
Despite his worry, Zoro knew the other man was tough and just needed to let the fever run its course, but he would definitely be there to make Sanji as comfortable as possible. With that in mind, Zoro picked up the soup and retreated to the common areas of the apartment. He put away Sanji's uneaten food in the fridge, and took his own bowl into the living room. It really did taste alright to him, and he slurped at the noodles while getting settled on the couch.
Zoro did not know much about taking care of someone who was under the weather, but surely the internet would have some clues. Taking out his phone, he began to scour the web for advice and remedies.