Title: One to a Thousand
Rating: M for language, adult themes and sexual content
Disclaimer: I do not own One Piece
Spoiler Warning: Takes place after the time skip. References to several previous arcs and events.
CHAPTER TWO
The short walk out of the bar felt impossibly long. Sanji knew that he was surely at his limit.
When they finally reached the street, Sanji hurriedly released his grip on Zoro's arm and bent over, inexplicably out of breath.
Zoro furrowed his brow at him. "Oi, what the hell is wrong with you? You look like you're about to drop."
"I'm fine," Sanji snapped, but in reality, his head was swimming. A little rest was all he needed, probably. And to get the hell out of that dreadful place.
"You look pretty stupid for being fine," Zoro muttered.
He didn't feel like retorting. Of the many hardships Sanji had encountered in his life, for some reason, the damage that had been done from his two years at Momoiro Island affected him the most. He thought he had learned to deal with it, but the last hour or so he had spent on this island was surely proving that notion wrong. Maybe he could have been okay if he had just found Zoro sitting by himself, and after a drink or two, persuaded him to come back to the ship with no trouble.
Is that really it? he suddenly asked himself.
And that was the thing he hated to consider the most. After all, if that was truly the case, then why did that act—that stupid performance he had just put on, because he couldn't come up with a better plan on the spot—push him over his limit? That wasn't really the same as the horrors of Momoiro Island, but the reason he felt that way was surely from the island's influence…
But he didn't want to think about that incomprehensible—no, unspeakable—reason. He had to submerge it deep within him, to drown it completely, and pin his hopes on it never rising to the surface again.
As the two men leisurely walked down the busy street, Sanji felt like he could not quite catch his breath. Even outside, he felt like the open space was closing in on him. He realized he must have looked pretty terrible, because at some point, he became aware of the other man glancing at him every few moments.
As Sanji observed out of the corner of his eye, he realized the reason the head-turns were so conspicuous; Zoro was walking on his right side, so his permanently closed eye was nearest him. The swordsman was probably trying to be subtle, but there was no way he could see Sanji without a blatant turn of his head.
"Oi, are you trying to check me out or something, shitty swordsman?" Sanji asked with irritation.
"Tch, you just look like you're going to fall over. You lose too much blood when you saw some women on this island earlier, nosebleed?" Zoro retorted.
"That hadn't happened to me in a long time!" Sanji protested. He clutched his temple as he took a heavy drag on his cigarette; the swordsman could not have picked a more distressing nickname to call him at the moment. The root of that nickname was too closely associated to the trauma he was trying to ignore currently. Or at least, a part of it.
"Seriously, you look awful."
"So do you!" Sanji spat. "Besides, I'm perfectly fine."
"If you pass out, I'm not carrying you," Zoro warned.
Sanji opened his mouth to reply, but then he met with a stroke of bad luck: the normally sure-footed man tripped over something just as he was turning to look at the other pirate.
What the hell was that?! he thought angrily as he unceremoniously fell onto his knees, one hand slamming against the ground, bracing his fall. On impact, his cigarette flew out of his mouth and rolled a distance away from him. Irritated, he glanced behind him.
A shoe? Who the hell loses a whole shoe and just leaves it there?
Yet as he glanced around, he realized the majority of the people walking around were noticeably inebriated, despite the early hour, so maybe it wasn't so surprising.
What definitely did surprise him, though, was the strong arm suddenly reaching under his arms and behind his back, effortlessly pulling him upright. His heart skipped and a drop of sweat rolled down his brow.
"Oi, what are you doing?!" he protested loudly, angrily glaring at the swordsman. "I'm alright, I just tripped."
That, at least, was the truth; as unsteady as he had felt, his knees had not actually failed him... yet.
The green-haired man did not loosen his grip, however. "Let's go in here," he said, nodding at the obnoxiously bright, blinking sign of another bar they were about to pass. Without waiting for an answer, he headed to the doorway, dragging Sanji along with him.
He tried to pull away, but there was no escaping Zoro's strength. Maybe the swordsman had an actual good intention by bracing him as they walked, but the feeling of the other man's strong arm wrapped around him was actually making him feel even worse.
"One drink and we leave," Sanji insisted. As his eyes swept the interior of the bar, he noted with dismay that there was certainly nothing odd about them sauntering inside practically in each other's arms. Of all of the bar's occupants, Sanji noticed at least two dozen couples and only five women—four of them seated together near the entrance, chatting boisterously with an assortment of empty bottles on their table, and the fifth seated at the bar leaning in closely to another man. On closer inspection, however, Sanji was not one hundred percent certain of Bar-woman's actual gender.
He tensed slightly, and Zoro glanced at him, responding by tightening his grip around Sanji.
They finally found an empty table near the back, and with relief, Sanji felt the strong arm finally release him and pull away.
"Wait here, I'll grab something from the bar," Zoro told him, turning around with an air of nonchalance that was really starting to piss Sanji off. How could that shitty swordsman be so damn calm about his surroundings, when he felt like he couldn't even remember the last time his heart rate was normal?
Holding his head in his hands, he leaned forward on the surprisingly clean table and closed his eyes. His body felt like a rubber band that, after being wound so tightly, became so tangled it could no longer unravel itself once it was let go. His thoughts were so jumbled, he could barely sort out serious problems from petty annoyances that were plaguing him.
The sudden thunk of a heavy glass being set on the table made him jolt upright.
"What the hell," he muttered, lifting his head away from his hands to glare at the swordsman.
"What?" Zoro asked, ungracefully flopping himself in the chair across from him.
Sanji furrowed his brow. "Nothing," he said, realizing that there was no reason to get pissed off at him for simply setting down a drink. He reached out and grabbed the glass, noting it was some kind of lager. Not a surprise that Zoro would just order whatever for him, even at a place where there were clearly ample options. Gingerly, he took a sip, expecting the usual swill Zoro tended to drink.
Sanji was stunned as the drink met his tongue. The flavor was surprisingly complex, with a sudden rush of subtle bitter and sweet flavors coming to his tongue. Momentarily, Sanji found himself completely fixated on the taste. "Oi, this is actually good. What is it?"
Zoro shrugged. "I don't know, I asked them what kind of drink somebody who's snooty about how things taste would like to have. They gave me some long explanation about it, something about aging in a whiskey barrel."
"I see, that makes sense," Sanji nodded, taking another sip. "It's really faint, but it comes out. It's a little ashy, but there's a sort of dark sugar taste there, too..."
Zoro gave him a condescending look. "I have no idea what the hell you're saying, ero-cook."
"Tch, you have no sense of what's good and bad," Sanji glared.
Suddenly, the bubble of distraction around him burst; how the hell could he relax and try to pick out the flavors of a beer when he was in this kind of place? No matter how good the lager was, he was in a situation that was far too deep for him to overlook. The rush of panic flooded his chest again.
With a shaky hand, he reached for a cigarette.
"Oi..." Zoro muttered, leaning forward slightly and furrowing his brow at Sanji once again. "You're really pale."
Sanji remained silent, leaning back in his chair and taking a long drag on his cigarette. "You're imagining things. Just finish your drink and let's go, shitty marimo." Sanji hoped the din of the bar hid the slight quaver in his voice.
The keen stare from the green-haired man told him that it didn't.
Sanji grit his teeth in annoyance. Most of the time, the shitty swordsman was completely oblivious to everything around him, but sometimes he could be aggravatingly perceptive. Sanji took a troubled sip from the glass.
"I think I'm gonna want another," Zoro announced.
"What are you, a brat? I told you one and then we go back to the Sunny," Sanji barked. "Besides, you've only had a couple of sips, how can you know you already want another one?"
Zoro shrugged lackadaisically. "I just do."
"We're leaving after this."
"Tch. If you can't make it back, I'm not carrying you," Zoro told him for the second time that night.
Two things happened as he said those words. First, the swordsman's motives became clear to Sanji; he didn't want to admit he was concerned for Sanji, so he posed it as selfishly wanting to stay for more drinks.
But the second thing that happened was that Sanji's already shaky emotional plane violently spun out of control. With a flash of temper, he sputtered off his reply without thinking.
"Don't you get it, shitty marimo?" he raised his voice, slamming a hand on the table loudly. "It's going to get worse the longer I stay in this shitty place, that's why I want to get back to the Sunny as soon as possible."
Zoro stared back at him calmly, taking a sip of his drink. "Why's that?"
A rush of pink flooded his pale cheeks. He hadn't really wanted to give Zoro any hints about what was bothering him; in fact, he didn't even want the swordsman to know he was actually feeling troubled, but clearly he was already too far past that point. Zoro was the last person he wanted to know about this, particularly because of that unspeakable reason that Sanji was trying to bury before it became a tangible thought in his head.
So he simply didn't respond, and Zoro did not repeat his question. There seemed to be a slight shift in his demeanor, but Sanji could not quite identify what was different beyond the silence. Eventually, he stopped trying to.
As they finished their drinks, Sanji could not even tell if it was comfortable or uncomfortable, as he was just anxiously awaiting when they could leave. He did notice that Zoro downed his drink rather quickly, so that it was actually he who finished last. For a moment, he wondered if Zoro was rushing for his sake, because he said he needed to leave quickly… but that was probably giving him way too much credit.
When Sanji took the last sip, Zoro rose to his feet before he could even set the glass down on the table. "Well?" he asked with an impatient, indignant tone, as though Sanji was the one who had unwillingly dragged him into the bar in the first place, and not the reverse.
With a twitch, Sanji rose to his feet. He was going to retort, but a sudden rush of lightheadedness distracted him. Maybe that drink was a bad idea, he realized. A single drink shouldn't have had any effect on him, really, but he had already been feeling bad...
He had to at least pretend to be fine, though. Focusing all of his efforts on acting out that pretense, he led the way outside, glancing behind him every few seconds to make sure the swordsman had not wandered off—or somehow, managed to get lost in the small bar. Not that it would be the first time something so ridiculous had happened.
Back on the street, Sanji cast his gaze toward the sea, which seemed utterly black beyond the blindingly bright lights of their surroundings. He could not make out any ships, but he knew the Sunny was out there, and that as long as they made no further divergences, he would have this awful place behind him forever in a matter of minutes.
Zoro walked next to him, a bit more closely than he cared for, but since it was crowded, it was probably better so he wouldn't lose him.
A tall, plump woman wearing a purple dress that was several sizes too small for her accidentally bumped into Sanji as she backed away from a man she had been speaking to.
"Ooh, pardon me!" the woman cried out, turning toward Sanji.
Sanji started to open his mouth to reply to her, but as he gazed upon her face, he experienced a shock similar to the one he had felt earlier: it was another newkama.
Momentarily stunned, Sanji could neither reply nor move. The accumulated stress and anxiety of the night had finally become too much to bear, and this final occurrence was simply more than the cook could take. A puzzled expression crossed the newkama's heavily made-up face, and she started to ask Sanji another question.
It was Zoro who actually saved him. "Don't worry about it," he said quickly. Sanji felt an arm slide in behind the small of his back, shoving him forward before the newkama had time to say whatever question had been forming on her lips. Instead of continuing down the main street, the swordsman took him on a detour down a dark alley, away from the crowds. Even as the powerful arm pushed him forward, Sanji wondered why he allowed himself to be led there.
The alley was narrow, but long. There were trash cans, crates and boxes scattered throughout it, but like the rest of the island, it was unexpectedly clean.
When they were away from the crowd, Zoro roughly shoved him forward. For the second time that night, Sanji felt himself tumble onto his knees.
The shock and pain that ensued snapped Sanji back to attention. "What the hell was that for, shitty swordsman?!" he cried out.
"Tell me what the hell's going on with you," Zoro demanded.
Glaring at him, Sanji rose to his feet. This time, at least, he had managed to keep his teeth clamped on his cigarette as he fell, and he puffed on it angrily. "I'm alright, I just need to get the hell out of here and—"
"That's bullshit," Zoro interrupted, his low voice calm but menacing. "Not a damn thing has happened to you on this island, but you're acting like this is the most dangerous place you've ever been."
"I have my reasons," Sanji replied darkly. His reasons were getting harder to define as each second ticked by, however. His encounter with Purple-dress-newkama left him shaken, but being pulled into this deserted alley made the anxiety in his chest skyrocket. With great effort, he tried his best to match Zoro's angry glare without showing any signs of his inner turmoil.
"Spending two years on an island of cross-dressers by choice is not a damn reason," Zoro boomed.
Sanji's jaw dropped opened as he blankly stared at the swordsman, obviously caught off guard. Then his expression darkened. "Tch, you went and said it," he muttered.
Maybe he should not have been surprised that Zoro had figured out he was rattled by seeing the newkama, but he hadn't expected to be called out on the one thing he did not like to admit when he spoke of his hellish two years: he didn't ask to go to Momoiro Island, but he did choose to stay there until he reunited with the crew. It was like he had asked to take on his trauma himself. Even the unexpected parts…
"Why the hell do you care, marimo?" Sanji asked after a long pause, unable to mask his frustration.
"Because you seem so weak."
The revolt in his voice as he pronounced the word weak made Sanji flinch, but he didn't have the energy to fight back the way he normally would. Any other day, he probably would have lashed out. They would back gotten into a violent altercation, and yelled and cursed at each other for awhile until they felt content.
But at that moment, Sanji could have cared less about Zoro's declaration of his weakness.
It's nothing new. He always brags he's stronger than me anyway, Sanji thought bitterly. He knew he should have been angrier… After all, Zoro had not said he was weak compared to him; he had said he was weak, as in weak in general. Surely in a couple of hours, his blood would boil at the remembrance of it, but right now, he was ready to throw into the towel before they even got started.
Sanji could see the handwriting on the wall—if they continued like this, the foreboding sensation he had had all night would surely come to fruition. He wasn't ready to face the thing he wanted to hide away most of all.
He tossed his cigarette butt on the ground and stomped it out forcefully. Turning back toward the main street, he called back over his shoulder, "Why don't you wait till we get back to the Sunny to call me names? Come on, let's go."
A hand grabbed his arm, violently wrenching him around, and Sanji felt himself being forcefully held in place.
"Oi, I just called you weak. Didn't you hear me?" Zoro asked fiercely.
"Yeah, yeah," Sanji muttered with forced nonchalance. He felt all too aware of the two strong hands that were now firmly gripping his shoulders, forcing him to face the green-haired man. "And I said, save it for when we get back to the ship."
"What the hell?" Zoro said lowly, his face twisted into a deep scowl. The grip tightened, almost painfully squeezing Sanji's shoulders.
"We'll deal with whatever bullshit you're spouting later."
A brief flicker of affliction crossed Zoro's face. "Tch. if you were actually strong, you wouldn't need help from me to overcome your weaknesses."
"Who the hell says I need your help for anything?!" Sanji shot back. He started to shove Zoro's arms away.
Yet Zoro did not release his grip, and that same troubled expression momentarily appeared on his face again… but it was immediately replaced by something else entirely, something far more confident and unwavering. "You need something, since you can't seem to figure out anything yourself," he said firmly.
And then, even more firmly than the tone of his voice, the swordsman crushed his lips against Sanji's.
All of the rapid palpitations of his heart that he had been feeling since he came to Coleherne Island seemed insignificant to the uncontrollably reckless and erratic beat that followed. That unspeakable emotion that he had desperately tried to submerge rushed to the surface, threatening to burst out of the murky waters of his subconscious. Sanji trembled at the implication of it, desperately trying to banish it back to where it belonged.
Yet, he didn't pull back.
Oblivious to Sanji's inner turmoil, Zoro pressed on. Much like his fighting style, his kiss was direct, precise, and fueled with passion. Already feeling the twinge of remorse in his stomach, Sanji finally responded, meeting the fiery kiss expectantly, tiny murmurs of pleasure escaping as the swordsman deepened the kiss.
After an impossibly lengthy moment, Zoro pulled away, but did not release his firm hold around the other man's body. "Now tell me," he said, a bit breathlessly.
"What?" Sanji asked, still feeling a bit dumbstruck.
"What the hell is wrong with you right now?"
That you just kissed me, to start, Sanji thought with irritation, glaring at Zoro.
"I'm waiting."
Sanji closed his eyes. Don't make me say it, shitty swordsman. All of the things that had happened to him on Momoiro Island… What being there had done to him… He couldn't talk to him about it.
"I don't like places like this," he responded lamely.
"Hnn? What, because there are a bunch of men getting together?"
"N-not that alone," Sanji replied hesitantly.
"That there are men dressed like women?"
He nodded affirmatively; it was definitely a part of it. He prayed that was all Zoro had picked up on. But apparently today, his prayers would be left unanswered, as the next question was the one he dreaded most.
"That you didn't actually mind hanging off of me in that bar?" As he formed the words, the green-haired man stared at him with an intense gaze that made him want to shrink away from him.
"Wh-wh-what the hell are you talking about, you shitty marimo?!" he shouted, a bit too angrily. "Of course I didn't want to do that!" But Sanji knew it was already futile to react that way; after all, Zoro had already kissed him, hadn't he? And hadn't he kissed back eagerly, too? It was too late, and it was getting harder and harder to drown the revelation he wasn't ready to face.
And then, his legs finally decided to fail him, buckling as he fell toward the rough pavement.
A flash of inhuman speed, and then he felt that same muscular arm that had needlessly supported him earlier wrap around his upper body, stopping him before he hit the ground.
"Stupid ero-cook," Zoro muttered at him, guiding him over to one of the crates for him to sit on.
"Oi, I'm fine, let me go," Sanji protested loudly. Though his knees had briefly felt like they had turned to jelly, it was only a momentarily lapse. Still, Zoro forced him to take a seat on the crate; meanwhile, Sanji tried to ignore the feeling of the swordsman's warm body against his own.
Once Sanji was seated, Zoro leaned back against the wall next to him, blankly staring ahead, not speaking. Sanji glowered at him. He truly pissed at just how keenly the normally dense swordsman had seen through him—and yet, he still did not want to admit he was right.
It wasn't too late to put it behind them, though; he had to stop the progression of whatever was about to happen.
He wasn't ready to admit to himself just how gratifying that kiss had been. Maybe that was why the first idea he had to diffuse the earlier situation at the bar was to pretend they were lovers; maybe it was why the thought of sitting with him a bar, in an island mostly frequented by male couples, made him feel unbearably enxious; and it was surely why, even now that he had no idea what to do next, he unconsciously pressed his hand to his still-tingling mouth, remembering the forceful kiss that had been there just moments before.
"I'll do it again, if you want," Zoro said, snapping him back to attention. When he realized he had been tracing the lines of his lips, he thrust his hands into his pockets with embarrassment.
"Shut up, shitty marimo," he muttered weakly, no bite behind his insult.
With a heavy sigh, Zoro took a step closer to Sanji, plopping himself next to him on the narrow crate—the crate that had just enough room for a single person to sit comfortably. Once again, he felt the other man's body far too close to his.
"Oi, what the hell?" Sanji snapped, alarmed not only by the closeness, but also by the familiarity of Zoro doing such an action.
"What?" he asked casually, glancing at Sanji out of the corner of his eye.
His heart fluttered even as the vein in his temple throbbed with irritation. The green-haired man's aloofness was so damn irritating.
"A-about what you just asked me about. When you said weak—" Sanji started, not quite able to bring himself to say 'I'm weak' when he asked the question, "—which one of those things did you think was weak?"
Zoro raised an eyebrow. "Hnn, isn't all of it weak? You can't get over something bad that happened to you by yourself, or even figure out what the hell is bothering you. It's pathetic, if you ask me." He slightly turned his body, to be able to look at him more directly—Sanji felt like they were now even closer together, somehow.
It was Zoro's final statement that delivered the fatal blow, however. "I think the worst thing is how you're somehow trying to act like two things that aren't unrelated, are."
"Eh, what's unrelated?" he asked, his confusion clearly spelled out on his face.
Zoro scowled, his brow twitching with irritation. "Whatever the hell you went through in that place that made you a nosebleed who's scared shitless at a man in high heels, and this."
As he uttered the word this, Sanji felt the side of the swordsman's hand lightly brush against the edge of his pinky. Automatically, he yanked his hand back in surprise, the electricity of the touch making his heart kick into a faster gear.
Sanji's head spun. Were the two things unrelated? Wasn't it the two years of his mind being poisoned that made him feel this way about… about Zoro, another man?
"Maybe if I dressed up like a woman first, they'd be related, but since this came first, you've messed up."
This came first? Is he talking about…
Then firm hands reached up, grabbing his face, and he felt himself being pulled into another kiss. This kiss was much gentler, though, and somehow tinged with nostalgia.
Ah, that's right…
That shitty swordsman had cut right to the root of the problem, exposing the nerve and all of the secrets Sanji wanted to hide.
The efforts he had taken to pile on layers protecting it, to bury all of the feelings and memories… Sanji believed that by never speaking of it again, it might have faded away into nothing, like it never existed. But now, it was there, in boldface-type, permanently etched into his history.