The ominous black clouds above head threatened to burst open at any second, casting the city in a melancholic gray. Sanji rolled his cigarette from side to side in his mouth anxiously as he walked down the crowded sidewalk. It was five o'clock, coming close to the dinner rush and Sanji wasn't in the kitchen.

"Get the hell out of my kitchen with that plague you brat! You're going to contaminate the food!"

A sharp and swift kick from a metal prosthetic leg mercilessly followed those words; Sanji's lower thigh ached slightly from the memory. Sanji sniffled his runny nose miserably, shifting the groceries in his arms slightly.

He didn't really need to get groceries, he just didn't have anything else to do and his apartment was starting to give him cabin fever. Being the Sous Chef of a five-star restaurant didn't give Sanji a lot of free time, and his forward personality that caused most people to steer clear of him, which meant he didn't really have friends, which meant no one to pass the time with. Though he didn't mind so much, most people were assholes anyways.

Sanji groaned as rain began to gently mist down: it was an innocent facade, those menacing clouds would burst open any second now with a complete downpour.

Coming the opposite way ahead of him was some ratty-looking punk with a black bandana covering the top of his head down to his scowling eyebrows that shadowed his eyes, his path about to make collusion with Sanji's, and rigid posture showed no signs of changing his course. Sanji quickly pivoted on his heel to try to dodge out of the way but in the busy crowd there was no stopping the guy. The two roughly bumped into each other, the punk pushing his shoulder into Sanji's chest, his hand just brushing Sanji's hip. Then the man shoved Sanji aside growling,

"Watch it!" In a deep, rough voice. Sanji huffed and muttered a 'fuck you asshole' and kept walking until he felt a slight bouncing on his leg. He looked down and saw that his wallet chain was cleanly cut through and the wallet that was supposed to be on the end of it was gone. Sanji turned on heel as blood immediately began to boil: that punk had pit-pocketed him!

"Get back here you shitty bastard!" Sanji screamed, he could feel an insistent pounding on his right temple and his blood thumping in his ears. The man looked back, dark eyes wide and startled, and then took off sprinting. Sanji clutched his bags tighter and opened his stride in pursuit.

"Oh no you don't, you fucker!" Sanji yelled. The punk was shoving people out of his way and into Sanji's path, but it was no use as Sanji was easily gaining on him. With one final leap Sanji was right behind the man. Sanji lashed out his right leg, causing the punk to yelp in surprise when Sanji's foot connected with his lower rib cage and effectively threw the man into a muddy alley.

Sanji entered the alley, gently setting his groceries on the lid of a dumpster. The rain was coming down harder now, puddles beginning to form in the alley, raindrops working to slowly plaster Sanji's hair to his face.

Sanji realized he'd dropped his cigarette in the chase and pulled out a new one, keeping his eyes on the punk, who was currently hugging his side and trying to regain the breath that had been knocked out of him, his black bandana had fallen off from the impact, revealing a head of short green hair. As Sanji lit up the man staggered to his feet.

"Give me back my wallet shit face."

He took a few steps closer to the reeling thief, reduced the width of his stance and shifted his weight to his left foot. When the man looked up, Sanji could see that he was missing an eye: a large gash ran through his left eye vertically, cutting from above the eyebrow to the middle of his cheek. It was messy and new and looked poorly treated, without doubt infected. His other eye was dark and currently fixed on Sanji's, daring him to do something. Sanji let his temper throttle back a little, despite how much that challenging look made him want to do otherwise.

"Look I just want my wallet back, okay? I'm not calling the police or some shit, I just want it back." The thief was still panting, his face an unusual pale and gaunt. The man sighed and then began rummaging through his pockets.

"Fuck, Blondie, you really did a number on me." The thief said with a groan.

"Yeah? Well maybe it'll teach you no to steal." The other man just chuckled.

"Psh, whatever. You're lucky I'm not in a fighting mood, I could leave you dead in a ditch curly brow." The words lacked conviction, and the man started to sway on his feet.

"Curly brow? Oi fuck you, moss head. You couldn't fight shit right now."

"Moss head?..." His voice was quiet and raspy. "Yeah…. Maybe you're right, I feel like shit… I think I'm gonna pass now…" The man's voice trailed off and his eye rolled up, collapsing onto the ground face first. Sanji rushed over, bending onto one knee to turn the man onto his back. He was unconscious but breathing, blood now streaming down his face from his nose from the impact of the ground.

"Well shit." Sanji muttered. He looked behind him, but no one in the passing crowds so much as glanced at them. Sanji ran a hand through his wet hair and released a deep breath.

"What the fuck am I going to do you, moss head?" He considered leaving the guy, but then tossed the notion away as it would eat away at his conscious forever: he liked to think he wasn't so cold hearted. Sanji picked up the bandana that had been cast aside and began to softly wipe away the blood on the punk's face. A groan suddenly escaped from the man's lips, he brought a shaking hand to his head.

"Ugh…. Fuck…" He barely whispered in a hoarse voice.

"Hey man, listen, I'm going to call an ambulance okay? You really need to go to the hospital-" The thief tried to sit up but failed.

"What? No no no no… I can't…. I can't go to the hospital… No hospital…." He was already slipping in and out of consciousness again. With a frustrated growl, Sanji hoisted the man up slowly, and then had him lean heavily on Sanji's frame with an arm around his shoulder. The rain was a complete and utter downpour now, making it difficult to see through. Once he made it out of the alley and to the edge of the sidewalk, Sanji hailed down a cab.

"Where are we going…." Mumbled the moss head.

"Just get in." Sanji said as he carefully placed the man in the car, shut the door, walked around to the other side and got in, groceries forgotten. The cab driver turned around to look at the delirious still bleeding man in the back seat.

"Is…. Is he okay? I don't want any blood on my seats." The driver questioned. Sanji pulled out the bloody bandana from his pocket and shoved parts of it up the punk's nose in a weak attempt to stop the flow.

"He's fine, just fell and bumped his shitty nose. Get us to 28th and Merry." The driver just shrugged and turned around. Sanji then pulled out his phone and dialed a number. It rang for a while until someone finally picked up.

"Hello?" A nervous but familiar voice answered.

"Hey Bepo, its Sanji. Is Law there? I need a favor.

Sanji added in some more dried basil into the boiling pot on the stove, stirring it in slowly with one hand and then reaching for salt with the other. Behind him he could hear the sound of Law closing up his medical kit and the faint sound of the thief snoring on his couch. Sanji didn't like owing people favors, especially his slightly sadistic old college roommate, but he hadn't really known where else to turn.

"So… He's gonna be okay, right?" Sanji asked, keeping his eyes on the pot of soup.

"Yeah yeah he should be okay. Now that his eye wound has been properly treated he should be fine. I can't believe he had been walking at some point: carrying a nasty infection AND walking pneumonia. Like some fucking badass in the movies." Sanji rolled his eyes at that, sniffled his running nose again and coughing weakly, listening to Law continue on.

"Seriously though, did you get a chance to get a good look at this guy? He's covered in scars; a lot of them look pretty new too. Like this massive one on his chest: where the fuck do you get a wound like this?" Law almost sounded impressed. "Sanji-ya, why the hell did you let this guy into your apartment? Didn't you say he tried to rob you or some shit?"

Sanji sighed and turned the soup down to a low simmer, and took a drag out of the battered cigarette hanging from his lips. He stepped cautiously onto the carpeted space that transitioned from tiled kitchen to living room with his hands shoved weakly into his pockets.

"I don't know why… I mean he asked me to not take him to a hospital." Sanji sniffled weakly.

"Oh well by all means listen to the deranged pit-pocket. You don't even know his fucking name!"

"Well, what would you have done?!" Sanji huffed. Law raised an exasperated eyebrow that clearly said what he would have done, causing Sanji balk at him. "Like hell I would just leave him there!" Law just shrugged in response, casually heading to the door, stopping as he opened it slightly.

"Whatever Sanji-ya, do what you will. But be careful." Law warned lowly, and then sauntered out. Sanji expelled an anxious puff of smoke from his lungs and wandered over to the man sleeping on his couch.

He was sprawled ungracefully with one arm hanging off the couch; his shirtless torso slowly rose and fell with each heavy snore. Law was right: the man was covered in scars. The eye wound was completely covered at the moment with gauze, but the scar that would be left on his face couldn't even compare to that on his chest. A long, jagged line lacerated across the man diagonally from shoulder to his, gnarled flesh was woven all along the line like a poorly knit sweater.

The man was built like a warrior, scars and all: Sanji hadn't had a chance to really see it out in the alley but damn this guy was huge. With a sharp jaw and defined brow line, along with an exotic golden skin tone, this thief looked like he belonged as a fucking gladiator of Rome. Well, least a sick gladiator: his skin clung to him in an unnatural way that hinted malnourishment and simply body exhaustion.

Sanji hadn't realized he had leaned in so close until his shins bumped the base of the couch, his face only a few feet hovering over the green haired man's. After a slight tickle in his nose, Sanji whipped his head to the side and sneezed painfully to the side, sniffling weakly in the after-shock. The man below him jumped with a start, his eye snapped open and Sanji felt a crushing grip on his wrist.

"That hurts you fucker!"Sanji shouted and he struggled to free his arm. The man squinted his functioning eye and then widened it as he refocused on Sanji.

"Oh it's you." He said in a disinterested voice, dropping his hand from Sanji's wrist.

"Wow, nice shitty gratitude, you green bastard." Sanji jeered. The man just snorted and scrunched his face up at he stretched out his limbs, mouth opening into a ridiculously large yawn.

"Where the hell am I?" The thief mumbled scratching at his belly absentmindedly as he wobbled trying to sit up. Sanji pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Great manners you got there shit face. You're in my apartment."

"Where are my clothes? Who's are these?" The man said in a groggy voice, pulling at the hem of the grey sweatpants he was currently wearing. That carefree voice that was starting to piss Sanji off.

"They were all wet dumbass; I'm lending you some of mine. You're welcome for saving you from catching hypothermia. Oh, and you're for preventing your sorry ass of dying from infection." The man seemed to ponder that for a moment, his confused expression tried to meet with a stoic one and it just left a mess on his battered face. He scratched the back of his head awkwardly, avoiding eye contact.

"Thanks for not leaving me in an alley… And thanks for patching me up… And uh for not sicking the cops on me... Also sorry I tried to rob you. Jeeze, I kinda owe you a lot, huh?"

"Yeah you do shit head. You hungry?" Sanji huffed. The man narrowed his eye but nodded his head none the less. Sanji briskly walked into the kitchen and in a matter of seconds had two bowls of the soup ready and placed on the coffee table in front of the couch. Sanji sat himself down on the love-seat opposing the leather couch, picking up his bowl and looking at the thief expectantly, who in turn cautiously picked up his bowl.

"You're being way too nice to a guy who tried to steal from you. What's the catch, blondie? I am so not becoming your sex slave for the next few days." The punk deadpanned. Sanji choked on his soup.

"Jesus fucking Christ you are not- just- oh hell no!" He sputtered. "Secondly, my name's Sanji, not blondie." The man smirked slightly.

"I'm Zoro."

"What the fuck kind of name is that?"Quipped Sanji.

"What the fuck kind of name is Sanji?" Zoro snapped back. Sanji glared at him.

"A perfectly fine name, fuck you very much!"

"Tsk. Says the guy with dumb curly eye brows."

"Leave my eye brows alone, shitty moss head." Zoro just chuckled slightly, finally picked up his spoon to eat. Sanji just raised his eye brows in the smuggest look he could muster when he saw the look of pleasant shock on Zoro's face. Sanji loved the way watching people eat his food made his insides grow warm and gooey; he felt like his whole body was glowing with pride. Within minutes, the moss head's bowl was completely empty.

"There's more if you want it." Sanji said with a grin. Zoro's face lit up, but quickly pushed his face into neutral and shrugged his shoulders.

"I mean… Sure if you want it gone so bad." The thief had another two bowls.

"So…" Sanji began, watching Zoro stretch out contently before him. "Do I at least get to know how you got that shitty scar on your face?"

"A fight." Zoro replied nonchalantly. Sanji rolled his eyes.

"So fucking descriptive. I mean like, where? With who? What the fuck do you do in life that leads to that kind of injury? Speaking of what you do in life, why do you pit pocket? You homeless or something? And how did you cut my wallet chain like that without me noticing?" Zoro just shrugged off Sanji's barrage of questions.

"Oh no, come on marimo, you owe me a fucking lot. I at least get a story out of this shit." Sanji gripped. Zoro sat up slightly with a deep frown.

"Marimo?" Zoro repeated stupidly. Sanji smirked; he liked the way Zoro's frown twitched ever so slightly as he said the nickname.

"Yeah, you know, because of your shitty hair. It looks like those little moss balls, from Japan, you know what I'm talking about? They look just like you, marimo!"

"Dart brow." Zoro sneered.

"Real mature, really, name calling? What are you, four?"

"You started it." The look on Zoro's face was killing Sanji, it made him want to kick the living daylights out of the moron.

"I so did not!"

"Pshhh… Pansy." Sanji stood up, stalking over to where the marimo was sitting.

"Who you calling a pansy, jerk-wad? I will kick your sorry ass so hard you won't be able to shit for weeks."

"You're all bark and no bite."

The words just stuck a chord with Sanji. He didn't mean to snap, it just happened. Like a light switch had been flicked on in his head.

Sanji's body moved on its own: his left leg struck own, aiming for Zoro's surprised mossy head. The other man ducked down and grabbed Sanji's ankle, pushing him back and standing to follow up with a right hook. Sanji took the blow to his left side below the ribs, trying his best to absorb the punch and retaliated with his knee to Zoro's stomach. Zoro's torso curled in on itself against Sanji's knee.

The moss head let out a feral growl and grabbed the front of Sanji's collar, using superior upper body strength and weight to toss Sanji to the ground and land on top of him. Zoro used both hands to pin the blond's above his head while he straddled his hips to effectively pin him. Sanji struggled for a moment but it was no use. They were nose to nose, both gasping for breath with their eyes locked on one another.

Sanji sharply blew into the man's face, causing him shut his eye and lean up. The man above him gave a confused grin that slowly turned into a low laugh, and he rolled off of Sanji who was beginning to catch the infectious laugh beside him on the floor.

"You are so fucking weird blondie." Sniggered Zoro. Sanji pushed the man's shoulder slightly.

"I know, what the fuck is wrong with me?"

"What the hell was that fighting style? You kept your hands in your pockets, what the hell?!"

"It's like… A mix of Capoeira and Savate, and I don't use my hands. I picked it up from my old man." Sanji mused.

"Why the hell wouldn't you use your hands? That is so retarded." Grumbled Zoro. Sanji shot a small kick to the other man's shin.

"Because I'm a chef, shit face. I can't hurt my hands, they're important to me."

"Huh. Well, you're still weird." Sanji turned on his side and rested his head in the crook of his arm.

"So what about you? Where'd you learn to fight?" The man looked slightly off into the distance, his brows furrowed into a scowl.

"I was kinda always a fighter, I guess. I trained and grew up in a dojo as a competing swordsman."

"No shit? That's pretty cool. So you trained in like Kendo and shit?" Sanji pulled a cigarette from his pocket and stuck it in his mouth, his eyes studying the contemplative marimo beside him.

"Yeah, I fought with katanas, three of them."

"What do you mean, three of them?"

"I fought with three katanas."

"Bull shit. How the fuck do you fight with three katanas? Is that even legal in a match?" Sanji cried incredulously.

"One in each hand and one in my mouth." Zoro explained simply.

"You are so lying: you cannot fight with a sword in your mouth." Sanji guffawed. Zoro just raised an eye brow.

"Wanna bet?"

"Holy shit you're serious!" Sanji exclaimed, and then took a drag from his cigarette. "That is fucking weird man, I've never heard of anyone fighting like that."

"Well I did."

"You 'did'? Why not anymore?" Sanji frowned. Zoro let out a heavy breath and looked up at the ceiling.

"Things got… Complicated... I don't fight like that anymore." His voice was heavy and hoarse, Zoro looked away slightly. The air around them felt thicker, like it was weighing down on them like a blanket. Sanji sat up, ruffling his hair back into place.

"You want anything to drink." He asked as he stood up.

"Anything with alcohol in it."

"I don't think you should be drinking… I mean you were just knocked out for a while and your body-"

"Shut it I'm fine."

Sanji just shrugged in response and headed to his fridge, the swordsman followed behind. As he handed Zoro a bottle, he was pleased to see color coming back into the man's face, he was definitely doing a lot better than yesterday. Sanji stopped to wonder shy he cared so much; the guy had tried to rob him after all. Sanji couldn't quite pin what it was but something drew him to the swordsman: he wasn't afraid around Zoro like he knew he should be, he had never really met anyone like him.

Sanji's musings were cut short when there was loud banging at his front door and Sanji froze. No one ever came to Sanji's apartment to visit. Ever.

The banging didn't stop even after a few seconds; it continued to grow louder and fiercer, shaking the frame. Zoro put a finger up to his mouth and motioned for Sanji to come next to him, to which Sanji cautiously obliged. The swordsman gently guided him down with him to crouch behind the kitchen counter, hidden from the door.

"It's probably nothing." Zoro whispered slowly.

"If it's nothing then why are we hiding?!" Sanji whispered back frantically.

"Uh… Well… If someone I know may have seen me come here we could have a problem." Sanji opened his mouth to protest, but was interrupted by a loud 'CRACK!'. Sanji dropped his jaw in horror as his front door flew by his hiding spot and crashed into the kitchen wall in front of him, exploding into a splintery mess.