Rating: Teen
Summary: Sanji doesn't need the day - or more like he doesn't want it. Though, who was to say one always got what one sought?

Warning: MxM implied. Deal.

Word Count: 489

Timer: Hour or less, surprisingly quick for the likes of me.

Disclaimer: I do not own One Piece, hence me writing a fanfic where two men have evidently got it on.

Author Notes: Something that started out as an extra credit assignment from school but instead took on a One Piece undertone. I guess I really am, that obsessed.

-------- Light up --------

He didn't need the day, because sometimes the light was all to bitter for him to stand. Even the brief flicker of fire igniting the tip of a fag, placed at the crook in his lips was all too illuminating for his current comfort. He leaned back, savoring the temporary warmth radiating from so nearby. Flicking his gaze askance he took in the other's form leisurely. The idiot's body was surprisingly soft he mused, eyes roving a tan expanse while fingers itched to run through stubby green locks. How many times had it been now? He'd convinced himself it wasn't a dream either. Too many angry marks on his skin grounded that theory. Though, he couldn't blame himself for all the damaged flesh. Quickly, he had to quell a smirk that dare tug at his lips. He needn't them betray him as well. Once, twice, three times. Idly tapping off a finger as he went. It was too many now, he couldn't pretend much longer.

Just like the bastard too... It was only upon a rare occasion that he woke first, was allowed to indulge in what remained of an after glow. Every other time, more often than not, he woke alone. The veil of night ripped away, he being painfully aware of the day already having risen. He knew; though it twisted his gut just thinking about it - that as soon as he saw the shit-head, that'd be it. There'd be nothing. To the other man, the evening gone by hadn't been. There hadn't been too many drinks, too many words, too much to hold back. They were still just Sanji and Zoro, still just nakama. The way it was meant to be.

What else was there to do though? No, no. Nothing would be easy from here on out, he decided. He wanted to scowl, to scream even - he wanted so many things. He was rambling. He knew the answer was there, staring him down. He didn't want to face it. There it was again, 'want', what a petty word. To simply want something was not enough; he should've known that by now. Being who he was, knowing who he knew... Today was real, and damn it all if last night hadn't been too. In a few minutes, seconds, there'd be truth. THAT would be real.

Where did he get off denying the inevitable anyways? He sighed, his head hurt; and, crap, that was his last cig. He was sure of it. Just like this was his last dream. It was only natural, all dreams came to an end eventually he concluded, grimly amused.

Daring a glance, he stole one at the window. Pale gray shafts of light filtered lazily inward. He breathed around the spent cigarette, teasing swirls of dust that danced in the premature sunlight. The dawn was breaking, the truth waking.

He sighed, a scorched stub taking flight as he sent it to the ground with flick of his index and thumb.

"Oi, shit for brains... Wake up."

- Fin -