Authors notes :

Good news, everyone! I now have my schedule for this year, and guess what : I don't have school on Fridays. Which not only means I'll update this fic every Friday from now on – until I run out of finished chapters, that is, but also that I'll try writing a bit on that same day. Hopefully, I'll be able to write a few chapters before I have nothing left to post.

Now that chapter two is up, you might start figuring out where this fic is headed, more or less... I told you it was weird. I also changed the characters from Zoro to Zoro & Nami, for now. By the way, the chapter's title is a quote from Paul Éluard, a famous French surrealist poet.

I'd also like to thank everyone who reviewed the first chapter. Thank you for the wonderful support.

I never really owned anything, aside from a rotten mind and an honest body. But you know that already.

Enjoy~!

ooo

When his shift ended, Usopp climbing up the mast to take his place in the crow's nest, he was still half asleep, trying to to clear his mind. Usopp eyed him through narrowed eyes, most likely suspecting he had, once again, spent most of his watch sleeping – which, for once, wasn't entirely true. He soon left his crew-mate, heading for the men's quarters, intent on finishing his aborted night comfortably tucked in a hammock.

When he climbed down the mast through the hatch, he could see the inside of the room for a brief moment. The cook was sleeping on the carpet, laying on his side, a hand slid between his knees, breathing quietly. On the couch, Chopper was fast asleep. Looking further inside, he could make out Luffy's outline. After a while, as his eyes got used to the darkness, he saw he had a couple limbs dangling from his hammock, and a leg curled around his pillow, in the faint moonlight. His mouth was open, letting out loud snores.

He could have laughed at their peaceful faces, but merely smiled instead. He didn't want to wake them up.

He closed the hatch, and his feet hit the floor with a muffled thud. He carefully stepped over the cook, careful not to disturb him, and climbed into Usopp's hammock, which was now empty and free to use. Some warmth still lingered on the latter's blanket, which subtly smelt like gunpowder. Sighing faintly, feeling wasted, and yet, strangely secure at the same time, he closed his eyes. He wasted no time falling asleep again, lulled by his friends' snoring.

ooo

When he opened a somewhat bleary eye, later in the morning, he was alone in the room. He yawned, stretched his arms over his head, and folded them behind his head, looking at the ceiling, taking his time waking up properly. He knew, while at sea, there were only a few chances to do so, and he intended to enjoy this relaxed moment.

He blinked, and something faintly twisted in his gut when the events from the previous night resurfaced in his mind. But the muffled, unnamed feeling didn't last, because he wouldn't let it. What was done was done, he reckoned, but there was no need to think about it further. Even if Nami felt awkward around him for a few days – he surely wouldn't – he knew she would hide it well, being good at putting up a front. And things would soon fall into place.

No regrets about it.

He got up with a start, before raising his arms over his head and making a few bones in his back pop. He then climbed up the mast through the hatch, heading for the galley.

The shit-cook was there, just about to start with lunch preparations, which meant it was about ten thirty, more or less. He glanced sideways as Zoro walked towards the sink, reaching for a tankard that was drying there, freshly washed.

"Good morning, shit-head." He muttered around his usual cigarette, pressed on the corner of his mouth. "Had sweet dreams?"

"Huh?" Zoro replied, maybe a tad more amiably than usual.

"You've got that awfully smug smile plastered on your face." He made a face. "It's kinda gross-looking, actually."

Zoro realized after a slightly befuddled moment that the damn cook was right. He was smirking. He also noticed idly that the cook's tone was neutral. That was weird, because he usually pestered anyone who skipped a meal to no end.

He couldn't help but grunt somewhat derogatorily as he was filling his tankard to the brim with fresh water. If only the ero-cook knew he had gotten to screw his beloved Nami-swan mere hours ago, he'd be so jealous he'd start wailing in disgust. Before trying to kick his ass. Well, he was certainly not going to tell him. When he turned back to the cook, he made sure his smile was gone.

"Whatever."

He went out on the deck, and sat down, resting his back against the galley's wall. He started drinking his water in long, greedy gulps, as he was quite thirsty since he had woken up. He surveyed the deck, and saw a busy Usopp, sitting on the front section, while Luffy and Chopper were sitting nearby, watching him work. Robin came out from the storage room, her hair still wet from the shower she had apparently just taken. Luffy called out to her, and after exchanging a few words, she joined the boys on the front deck, but Zoro couldn't hear what they were talking about. He looked up. Even though there were a few fast moving clouds, propelled by a strong breeze, he could see the blue sky in-between.

He relaxed against the wooden wall, sipping absentmindedly on his water tankard, effectively letting the rush of wind against his ears annihilate any sound his crew-mates might be making, aside from the cook's whistling. He could hear it from the galley's open door. It was the only thing he could hear, and despite the fact he was butchering the tune, it felt peaceful.

Between two particularly strong gusts of winds, he could hear a light voice, joining the cook's pathetic attempt at whistling, before being engulfed in the noisy breeze again. With this, he finally recognized the song – Bink's sake, obviously – and grunted scornfully at Sanji's ability to turn any song into not-so-melodic vomit. The guy was practically tone-deaf.

Zoro was feeling at peace with the world, today, and strangely content.

A black shoe suddenly intruded into the peaceful view before his eyes, startling him. He didn't see it coming, though he trusted nothing in his composure indicated so. Fortunately, that shoe stopped a mere inch away from his face. He relaxed imperceptibly when it fell back to the ground, soon replaced by a plate holding a few toasts covered in what smelled like apple jam.

"You're really out of it, today, marimo. You didn't even see me coming. But consider yourself lucky, because I'm in a good mood."

He looked up, only to see Sanji, lighting up and blowing smoke slowly in the wind, looking at the sky.

"Such a nice day." Eyes as blue as that very sky over them fell on him when he silently grabbed the plate. His face was unreadable. "Lunch won't be ready for another two hours or so. Enjoy your treat."

And with this, the cook went back to the galley.

After staring at them for a while, Zoro seized one of the bread slices, and bit a large chunk. The jam's flavor was strong, and the bread was buttery. He couldn't believe the shit-cook made these for him. Not that the snack was unusual, since that sucker was intent on never leaving anyone on board with an empty stomach alone, but he had taken the time to spread butter and jam over the toasts. What the hell did he do to deserve such a delicate attention? He briefly wondered if Nami had said or done something to trigger this unusual behavior – the cook was so easy to manipulate, as long as you had a pair of boobs and a skirt. He discarded that thought. He doubted that the way she treated him would've changed just because of what happened. It was only physical comfort, and a one time thing. Certainly not enough that she would make sure the cook was nice to him.

He shook his head, and soon stopped thinking about it altogether. It was a waste of time.

After wolfing down his treat, before the cook could change his mind – he said he was in a good mood, but who knows, with that temperamental asshole? – he decided it was time to train. He got up, went down the lower deck, and, discarding his shirt in a swift motion, started doing push-ups on one arm, switching to the other after some time. When he felt he had sufficiently warmed-up, he grabbed his weights and started to count.

One – two – three...

Robin passed him a few minutes later, a book in her hand, headed for what was probably the tangerine orchard. He followed her absentmindedly with his eyes, never stopping his weight-lifting, as she walked up the stairs and disappeared behind the foliage.

Two thousand seven hundreds sixty four – two thousand seven hundreds sixty five...

Nami was up there as well, standing on a small pliable ladder and tending to her trees, plucking ripe fruits from the branches and dropping them in a basket at her feet. He couldn't hear from where he was, but she seemed to be talking, to Robin, maybe – or maybe she was still singing that same song from earlier.

The sun was getting higher, and the air, slightly warmer.

When he reached six thousands, he laid his weights on the wooden floor and, deciding to stop there for now, looked up at the sky. From the sun's position in the sky, it couldn't be past noon yet. The cook wouldn't be calling them for lunch right away, and he might be able to take a short nap before then.

He got up, grabbed his discarded shirt and used it to wipe the sweat from his face, before sliding it over his head. He would take a shower later. Looking at the front deck, where his captain and the little reindeer were now running after each other in circles around a slightly aggravated-looking Usopp, he decided against going there. His nap would be short, and he needed a quiet place.

He headed for the stern and was soon sitting against the railing, not far from the small trees. He closed his eyes and started relaxing. Despite the wind, rushing strong against his ears, he could still make out Nami's singing, as well as the faint sound of her shears, as she was harvesting more tangerines. The sound wasn't intrusive, and he found himself dozing off quickly, lulled to sleep by the soft sound of her voice.

Zoro usually dreamt a lot when he slept, and would recall his dreams with much clarity. Chopper, who was more versed in this field than any of their crew-mates, would have told him that he could remember so well because his sleep was fractured, short, which meant he could reach the REM phase quicker than an individual with regular sleeping habits. But Zoro never wondered about it, so he didn't ask.

When he woke up, feeling like he had slept for hours, he first had trouble remembering where he was. There had been streets. An endless maze of streets, surrounded by tall buildings. And now, he was sitting by the stern, leaning against the ship's wooden railing. He rubbed his eyes wearily, trying to clear his mind. He had been running after... something? Someone, maybe? But, unable to find the way back, he'd gotten lost. The further he had gone, the more building had turned into... he absentmindedly glanced up at the small tangerine grove. Trees. The buildings had turned into trees.

Whatever.

He looked up at the sky. The weather hadn't changed much, aside from the fact clouds were much scarcer than before. It was sunny, and a tad warmer. He rubbed his eyes again, and shook his head. The wind rushing against his ears made him feel dizzy, and he couldn't make out a sound. How long had he slept?

His eyes fell on the orchard again as Nami came out from behind the trees, a basket full of ripe fruits under her arm, still humming that tune from before. Her eyes were unfocused, and she looked lost in some kind of reverie of her own. She absentmindedly looked in his direction, and smiled. He had the feeling she wasn't seeing him, lost like she was in her thoughts. She soon went down the stairs, and disappeared from his view.

ooo

Later, that night, he was laying on his back in the men's quarters, his arms folded behind his head. His eyes were fixated on the cabin's hatch, watching the night sky. Luffy's loud snores could be heard throughout the room, as well as Usopp's quieter wheezing – only the cook was silent when sleeping, and Chopper was on watch duty. He could feel the floor's hard wood through the rug, and even though the day had been barely warm, the night was far from cold. The air in the cabin was uncomfortably hot and stuffy, despite the open hatch.

However, none of these inconveniences prevented him from slumbering peacefully. They never did before, and he wasn't one to strive for physical comfort.

Still, tonight, he found himself unable to sleep, thoughts whirling in his mind restlessly.

Today had been a weird day. He had spent it in some kind of strange, foreign haze that felt like an extended afterglow, and he didn't know if he liked or hated it. He made sure he didn't dwell on what happened between Nami and him the previous night, and it appeared she did the same. Her behavior around him hadn't changed. She didn't seem to feel uneasy around him, nor did she try avoiding him – which would be useless anyway, on such a small ship. She wasn't nicer to him either, and even threatened to charge him for some irrelevant things, as usual. As for him, he did his best to be his usual grumpy self, and generally didn't listen much to whatever she rambled about. He definitely didn't feel awkward about the whole thing.

And yet, he could tell there was a change. The quality of the air between them seemed different. He didn't really know what to make of it.

And the cook... He was a bit reluctant to admit it, but that foolish idiot had actually been nice to him, today. It was so strange that he couldn't even start finding words to describe how it made him feel. First, there had been the toasts. Then, when he came to the galley for lunch, he realized that the shitty cook had prepared his favorite dishes. He tended to the girls as usual, serving them the best pieces and making a fool of himself. But every once in a while, he could feel the cook's gaze on him. He wondered if he had felt that something had changed between him and Nami. Zoro wouldn't have been that surprised. The guy had a radar for anything related to his beloved female crew-mates.

But there was no way he could have guessed, because if he did, he wouldn't be so nice to him. No, he'd definitely over-react, and carve his skull into the deck's floor thanks to these deadly kicks of his. Or try to do so. It wasn't like Zoro would let him, anyway.

But what was with the shit-cook?

He tilted his head backwards and watched the two of his crew-mates sleeping in the hammocks. Usopp was the nearest, sleeping quietly, aside from the indecent wheezy noise coming from his nose. His arm was curled around his pillow, his hand clenched in the cotton fabric of the pillowcase. Further back in the room, Luffy was sprawled out in his own hammock, limbs once again dangling from all sides. As Zoro surveyed his outline, he jerked in his sleep, before turning around, mumbling random syllables without definite meaning. He could now see his face in the pale moonlight, and he noticed his captain was drooling.

He shifted, turning towards the cook, who was laying on the rug beside him. He was curled up on his side, his face away from Zoro, and he could make out his slowly heaving chest in the faint light. Before he could even realize what he was doing, he sat up, and leaned over the sleeping cook. He tried peaking at his face, but his hair was a bit ruffled on the side, a few strands of hair unusually sticking out, probably because he slept on it earlier. Zoro stretched a cautious hand and brushed away a few stray locks blocking his view of the sleeping cook's face, careful not to wake him up.

By daylight, the cook's face was always a messy display of raw emotions. Annoyance directed at the guys. Disgustingly submissive adoration for the girls. Calm fury to anyone who'd mistreat a lady, quickly followed by anger – these would be directed at Zoro himself, most of the time. The only time the fucker's face sported any kind of mask was when his gruff surrogate father was mentioned, but if it was inspired by respect or some other, more complex feeling, Zoro didn't know, nor did he really want to – it just wasn't his business. And there was, of course, that stupid, overly enthusiastic, boyish grin that surfaced every time someone mentioned All Blue. He also remembered a couple of times when the cook's face reflected something that looked like expectation, as well – every time, that was while they were throwing insults at each other, before starting a fight. He had always envied the way the cook was able to let out his emotions comfortably, whatever they were, and without even thinking about it. Zoro couldn't imagine himself doing the same.

But of course, he wouldn't even admit that much.

Right now, the shitty cook looked peaceful, his face relaxed in his sleep, and he was quietly breathing through slightly parted lips.

And yet, despite the fact most of the cook's expressions were easily readable, he still couldn't make out what today's thoughtful looks meant. There was questioning in those eyes, he realized, but that was pretty much it. Whatever the nature of such questioning was left him completely mystified.

The cook started stirring in his sleep, and Zoro was prompt to remove his hand, which had been left hovering near the other's face, after brushing his hair away. For a moment, he thought the shitty cook would wake up and ask him what the fuck he was doing. But he soon stopped moving again, resuming his deep, comfortable slumber. Which was for the best : Zoro didn't have an answer to that question, aside from the obvious. I'm looking at you while you sleep, cook. Definitely creepy.

He shook his head, giving up on sleeping for now. He raised to his feet, and after stepping over the sleeping cook's figure, started climbing up the ladder and exited the room through the hatch. If he was going to have to deal with insomnia tonight, he might as well not waste this time rolling around on the floor, looking at his sleeping crew-mates. Maybe some booze and fresh air would help him fall asleep, anyway.

A few minutes later, he was sitting among the tangerine trees, a bottle of cheap sake in his hand, which he had grabbed from the cook's stock. That dumb-ass would notice it was missing, when he'd survey the bottles rack in the morning. And of course, he'd get hell from his temperamental crew-mate. But he'd deal with that then. For now, he was going to enjoy the surrounding quietness.

He soon finished his bottle, and laid down in the grass. The small trees' branches were swinging in the warm breeze, and he could see a few stars in-between the foliage. Such a perfect time to sleep out in the open. Feeling a little better, at peace with himself, he closed his eyes and rapidly dozed off.

ooo

This time, he dreamt of Nami.

He was back to the previous day, sitting against the railing near the orchard. Nami was wearing Luffy's hat, and a white, slightly transparent sun-dress that didn't leave much to the imagination, bathed as she was in the blindingly bright afternoon light. The wind was stronger than before, and through the rushing sound against his ears, all he could hear was her light, glistening laughter.

The cook was there as well, and he was talking to her. Zoro couldn't hear a word, but somehow, with that mind clarity that dreams sometimes give rise to, he knew they were talking about him. Nami closed her eyes, and stretched her arms over her head, enjoying the warmth of the sun. At that, the cook turn towards him, and he felt pierced by the gaze set on him, blue and bright like a resounding summer sky. He was smiling, that same toothy grin he generally saved for either the girls, or his foolish dreams. Cocking a curly eyebrow, he told him something that, once again, he couldn't hear. He wanted to answer, but when he opened his mouth to do so, he found himself unable to produce a single sound. The wind was getting stronger.

When he didn't reply, a slight feeling of frustration mirrored on the cook's face. He turned away from Nami, still laughing behind him, and advanced towards Zoro, who suddenly felt like running away. But his body wouldn't move. He watched the cook as he walked, soon reaching the place where he was sitting against the wooden railing. Once there, he took a long drag on the cigarette that was dangling from the corner of his mouth, and slowly exhaled the smoke. It swirled and twirled in the sunlight. When he looked down, his eyes intent on him, the cook had a lazy, slightly smug smile on his lips. There was a challenge in his eyes, though Zoro didn't know of its nature.

The cook started opening his mouth. Don't. Suddenly, it was tremendously important that the shit-cook didn't say a word, whatever he was about to tell him. He felt himself chocking, unable to breath under the sudden pressure. Stop. Don't say it! The cook licked his lips. Will you stop, you fucking fool! DON'T SAY IT! But he was still unable to talk, and couldn't prevent that idiot from speaking. It felt like it was bound to happen, and Zoro knew with an uncanny sense of dread that it would mean the end for everything.

And, after what felt like centuries, the cook finally spoke, his raspy voice a mere whisper, drowned in the wind's noise.

"Is that so, Zoro?"

A soft cry resounded behind him, and Nami's face was suddenly overcome with distress. Zoro saw Luffy's hat, blown away by the wind, golden straw flying against the bright blue of the sky, that blue that reminded him of the cook's eyes.