Disclaimer: One Piece and all of its' characters belong to Eiichiro Oda, I don't profit off of it at all. Just writing fanwork for it and all that. xD
A/N: Oh man! Sorry it took so long to update guys, forgive me? I've been super brain dead, and only bits and pieces of this chapter would come to me. That, and I'm working on another one shot has been bugging me for some time. I've been devoting a lot of my time to it that it pretty much sapped my creative juices for awhile! But, I think I may be sort of back ish now!
Things haven't been right between the two of you for some time, and you know that.
You can tell in the way he looks at you.
He's itching for a fight.
The kind of fights you used to have with him when you were younger, in the high school and the college years. The kind of fighting that lead to bruises, curses, screams, blood, and really, really fucking great angry sex afterwards.
But, it was maybe a couple months ago after the amazing angry sex that you realized that hey, you're tired of that sort of sex. Great as it is, it leaves something that feels empty in you, and yet so full at the same time. Empty because if feels meaningless. Full in that it fills your stomach with works that seem determined to make their way out of you through every possible orifice they can find. You don't want that feeling anymore.
So, you stopped rising to his baiting whenever he tried to bait you, and dammit if he didn't. You wanted to rise so badly to the baiting that a part of you ached to give back as good as you got, but you didn't. You didn't want to have a relationship with him like that. You wanted the adult relationship, one of equals, not of rivals. It's not that you wanted some relationship that was particularly frilly or like dating a girl. No, you still wanted to be able to talk to the shit cook like you did know, just without the fighting.
Yeah.
At first, you had been content, happy, with the way things were. You still yelled at him just like he would yell at you, only there was no fighting, no angry sex, and it was great! The vigor he poured into the sex was amazing, just like the ferocity and tenderness you poured into the sex. It wasn't like their younger years, but it was better, and you couldn't help but think that yeah, you liked this new relationship, and yeah you could get used to it.
But he couldn't.
Sanji was the stubbornest son of a bitch that you've ever met, and sometimes, when he's set in a way, he refuses to see anything but this path that he's laid out for himself, regardless of whether it's right or wrong. You can't blame him for that, you really can't. That stubbornness is part of the reason you fell in love with him in the first place.
But even you weren't the greatest with restraint. One day, he came to you look for a spar, so you acquiesced and gave in, but when it came to the angry fighting, and the angry, but great hate/love sex, you were firm in your refusal.
Sanji didn't like that. He'd screamed at you, cursed you, insulted you, said every mean thing he could think of short of personal boundaries to try and get you to rise to his baiting. You could be just as stubborn as he was, in fact, people had said that, besides your terrible sense of direction and skill with your katana, that was one of your strong suits. Stubbornness. That was probably how you'd managed to last in a relationship with Sanji. He tried to push your buttons, you refused to have them pushed, and you were like stubborn waves, crashing into each other, and collapsing together.
Sanji would nitpick sometimes, insulting you for your bad habits, like drinking out of the carton instead of using a cup, so, you tried to change that, hoping Sanji would calm down and settle into this adult relationship. Sanji didn't. When he'd realize what you were doing, he'd nitpick about the next thing, and the cycle continued. As maddening as it was to have your every little habit picked over, You understood, you knew why Sanji was nitpicking, but you refused to rise to the baiting.
Until one friday night, you wanted to watch a sword fighting tournament on tv, and Sanji wanted to go out to a club.
"Just record the fucking show, and lets go out, stupid marimo!" Sanji had shouted angrily.
You had thought that Sanji looked absolutely adorable in his crumpled suit and mussy hair. Like a pouting child. That had made it very hard for him to get angry with Sanji. So, instead, you'd calmly said "The sword fighting tournament has Dracule Mihawk fighting in it, and I want to watch him fight." Otherwise, you'd probably forget and never watch it. You had always admired Mihawk, you wanted to beat him. You were still an amateur, hardly any good, and definitely not good enough to face Mihawk in a fight just yet, but you'd tried when you were younger and in college. He left you with that scar on your chest, the one that Sanji liked to kiss and lick and worship whenever you had sex. You were proud of that scar. It reminded you of how far you had come, and how much farther that you had to go.
It made you feel strong. Powerful.
Sanji had thought you were stupid. He'd told you that every single day in the hospital, and yet, from the start of visiting hours to the end of visiting hours, he'd be there to keep you company. Sometimes he'd even bring you food if he felt like it. You knew you were lucky to have him. It was part of the reason you'd wanted to stop that horribly angry and amazing hate/love sex. You wanted to show him how much you loved him, appreciated him. It wasn't a significant reason, or even something you'd thought of at the time, but now, months later, you realized it. You wanted to show Sanji that there could be more to this relationship than anger, sparring, and throwing punches, kicks, or swinging blades. That there was more to the two of them other than fighting, screaming, and anger.
So, you told Sanji honestly "But it won't be as good as watching it live. Because watching it live makes me feel like I could be there. Like I'd be in the ring one day." This was true. You liked watching it live because everything felt more real, more vivid to you. Even if it was through a television screen, you still felt like you were there in some way. Knowing it was just recorded and that you were watching it later than everyone else had just took away from the experience for you, something Sanji normally understood. But you could tell from his expression that he wasn't in the mood to pretend, or try to understand tonight.
Sanji practically shouted back "What the fuck does it matter if it's recorded or live, it's the same fucking thing! There's no difference between watching it live or watching a fucking recording! Why don't you fucking stop lying and just say that you don't want to go out to a fucking club tonight!"
You can't help but protest "That's not true, and you know it Sanji! I always go when you want to go!" You do, and even though you hate clubs, Sanji loves them, so you go because it makes him happy. Plus, dancing with Sanji can be kinda nice, especially when he's not mad at you, trying to make you angry, or being all noodley over the pretty girls in the club. You like dancing with Sanji, so you always go when he says that he wants to go. Today was the first time that you've ever told him no, that you didn't want to go.
Sanji snarls at you "Fine! Stay home and watch the fucking match! I'll go out and fucking dance! With human beings! Instead of sitting on the couch every fucking day and gathering mold!" Sanji storms out, and you call after him "Sanji! Oi, shit cook! Come back, Sanji!" But he ignores you.
So, instead of going after him like you want to, you choose to wait instead, to let him simmer down. You figure that Sanji will go to a nearby club, get a few drinks, and he'll be drunk enough for you to take home. Maybe he'll mellow out by then, or maybe you'll give in and fight him just to get the angry hate/love sex that Sanji craves from you. So you stay home and wait. You'll go get him in a bit. If he doesn't come home on his own that is.
So you sit on the couch and watch your match, keeping an eye on the clock during commercial breaks at the same time. An hour goes by, then two, and finally, four hours later, the tournament is over, and Sanji still isn't home yet. So, you decide that maybe you should see if you can find him. Once you've got your shoes, your keys, and your wallet, you leave the apartment, heading for the nearby clubbing district. You know how to get there so well because Sanji's beaten the directions into your head so thoroughly that you can't get lost. Plus, you follow the clubgoers, using the smell of smoke and alcohol to guide you as well.
By the time you reach the district, you start wandering around, unsure of which club your wayward lover has wandered into. There were too many to count, and you didn't want to accidentally miss him in case he left the club he was in while you were inside another one looking for him.
It was purely by chance that you see the cook coming out of a club, a pretty brunette on his arm, half-supporting the drunk cook. You shout, hoping to catch his attention "Oi! Shit cook! Where the fuck are you going?!"
You watch as he turns his drunken attention to focus on you, sort of. The cook is so drunk that you're pretty sure you can smell the booze from here. You see the pretty brunette girl ignore you in favor of your drunken lover.
Sanji, in his drunken haze slurs "Where's it look like, dumbass?"
He's leaving with another girl. You realize. He's going to go with that girl and sleep with her. You feel like the breath has been knock from your body, like you're drowning…..choking. Like you're trying to inhale when there isn't any where to breathe. What it looks like, is that your lover is leaving. With a girl. A very pretty girl. Before you got together, Sanji had been very straight. Sanji had chased after girls like you'd chased after your dream of beating Mihawk. But then Sanji had ended up with you, and you'd thought that, yeah, this was nice. Maybe even nicer than beating Mihawk, and later, even than challenging Mihawk and losing spectacularly.
You realize that he's deliberately going with her, drunk or not.
You can feel your heart breaking into a million pieces, and it feels like the pieces are being ground into dust in your heartbreak. Watching Sanji leave with that pretty girl is what makes it worse. Your heart hurts. So much that you could cry, but you don't. You're too strong to cry, too determined to not cry.
You watch him get into the cab, you watch him leave you.
And you know.
Something in your relationship has been broken.
When the cab is no longer in sight, you stiffly turn around and walk home, like a soldier, marching off to war, but instead you're marching home, trying to hide the tears that a weaker man would have let fall by now.
When you reach home, you stand in the doorway to the home you've shared with Sanji for so long. Suddenly, you're angry. Shutting the door to the apartment shut with a bang, you storm into the kitchen. Throwing the fridge door open, you take out a chilled sake bottle that Sanji had bought for you as a present. Draining the bottle in one go, you throw the empty bottle against the wall, listening to the satisfying sound of the bottle breaking. You're not drunk. You're not even buzzed. That wasn't nearly enough to make you feel anything. Taking another bottle, you chug down the alcohol, not caring what it was. After that bottle, you definitely feel something.
As the salty tears run down your face, you finally break.
Screaming in anger, in agony, you rip all the food from the fridge and throw it at the walls where the empty bottles hit. Slamming the door to the fridge shut with a bang, you storm into the bedroom, aware that you're crying, but unable to stop the tears. You walk over to the swords hanging on the wall as both a decoration, and a celebration of your favored sword style, the Santouryuu. Without thinking about it, you grab the three sheathed swords and toss them on the bed. From the closet, you dig through it, trying to find the carrying case you used to carry the three swords in public when you were going out for a tournament.
But you can't find it, so in your frustration, you rip the clothes from the closet, tossing them all over the place until you find it in the back of the closet. Tossing the box on to the bed, you gently put two of your swords into the case. Slinging the case over your shoulder, you hold onto your beloved wadou, a gift from your sensei after Kuina's funeral. You still haven't wiped the tears from your face.
But the sound of Wadou slipping free from its' sheath soothes you a little bit. Without even thinking about it, you slice the bed in half, destroying the bed that you and Sanji have made love in a countless number of times. It means nothing to you, not in light of recent events. After that, you leave the bedroom, and with a primal scream of range, you destroy the living room. You cut the couch to ribbons, the coffee table is cut in half, and the expensive entertainment system you bought Sanji for his birthday a year ago falls upon your blade with a satisfying crunch. You destroy the dvds, cds, both yours and Sanjis. You don't care what you destroy as long as it feels the pain, the anguish, the anger you feel. You want to hurt something as badly as Sanji has hurt you, and yet, you know you won't ever turn your blade on him. You love him too much to do that, regardless of how badly he's hurt you.
You don't think you're better than him, not by a long shot, but you love him, and regardless of how badly he's hurt you, you won't hurt him back for it. But you know that what Sanji's done, you may forgive him for it in the future, when you're not hurting, but you'll never forget. Never.
Zoro could forgive, but he could never forget.
Sheathing Wadou, he had enough presence of mind to grab his phone charger, and with that, he left the apartment quietly, as if he hadn't just destroyed his home. It couldn't be home.
It wasn't home.
Not anymore.
