Author's notes :
Woot! Guess who's been on holidays for about 2 weeks? And guess who managed to write as much as 3 friggin chapter since then? Yeah, you hear me. THREE full chapters. I'll try posting one every three weeks from now on (still on Fridays). My next holidays will be around late February, and I should be able to write another one before then, though the couple next months will be extremely busy for me.
Anyway, I hope you enjoyed the ZoNa smut, because we're pretty much done with it by now. Which also means it's time for more interaction between our beloved swordsman and cook! I'm so happy to have reached the juicy parts (to me anyway) that I wrote straight through the past few days, without getting much sleep. I swear, I've never written that much, in such a short time. Also, I changed the characters accordingly.
I'll now let you all enjoy this new chapter. Happy new year, everyone!
And remember : I don't own One Piece. But if he asks nicely, Zoro can have a piece of me. Or several. Or the whole thing, actually. And he doesn't even really need to ask, does he?
Enjoy~!
ooo
It's when you expect it the less that things suddenly decide they won't go your way, and instead, place themselves right in the middle of your life path. Some people call it fate, or karma. Some other people would tell you it's only bad luck. Others would shrug it off as a mere coincidence, and go on with their life, in spite of ordeals and adversity.
Of course, Zoro is part of the later kind. He doesn't believe in fate or karma, though he does think that luck, as well as coincidences, exist. He isn't one to dwell on unpleasant occurrences, and certainly not one to give up because of mere obstacles. He's never been scared of taking on a new challenge, even if it was a pain in the ass.
Still, it doesn't make things easier for him, when said obstacles are a product of his own treacherous mind.
He's currently training on the deck, trying to no avail to keep track of how many push ups he's already done, to empty his mind and body from the unwanted emotions that stupid dream left behind. Luffy, Usopp and Chopper are sitting on the nearby railing, fishing and discussing merrily. But his brain doesn't even process what they're saying. Similarly, the girls are sunbathing lazily a few feet away from him, and he should be trying hard not to look in their direction. Nami's there, and he doesn't know if he'd rather demand answers and finally know, or be left hanging forever. But he's so distracted he doesn't really need to, aside from the occasional surge of – what is it anyway? Curiosity? Dread? Zoro almost feels like there a clock ticking, somewhere, slowly shelling some kind of twisted, inevitable count down. He feels pressured, but he's not that stupid. He knows that it's only the result of that stressful situation. He can handle that.
But never in his life had Zoro been that puzzled, that disturbed by a mere dream.
They never bothered him before, whether regular dreams or nightmares – not that he has many of those to begin with. Most of the time, they won't really make sense, not to him anyway. And he'll forget about them within a mere day, when he remembers them at all. But his latest dream was unusual, and he doesn't seem to be able to dispel its strange effect. The disturbing images are imprinted on the inside of his closed eyelids, the warmth of that embrace is burnt into his skin. Even though it was just a dream. Even though it's long gone.
The worst about it is that the dream actually made some kind of sense, somehow. Not only what happened in it is similar to what could happen in his daily, normal life, or at least, more similar to that than usual. Conversations with a beginning and an end. Logical continuity of events. Just that is disturbing enough on its own. But he also knows very well what prompted it. And with what happened right before he woke up... He still can't explain why the hell his brain has come up with such a stupid, silly thing.
No need to lie to himself. No need to hide it. He knows very well that he's felt lonely before. After Kuina fell down those accursed stairs and died. When he left his sensei's dojo to fulfill his promise, too. And even when he was left hanging from that pole, bruised and hungry, until Luffy managed to get him to join his crew. Yeah, those were all occasions when he felt lonely, he admits it without hesitating, even for a split second.
Also, maybe – no, definitely. He had been lonely when he left that woman, the blond-haired forest dweller who rescued him and introduced him to the intense pleasures his body could provide, a pleasure he had only heard about, prior to that point in his life. But it wasn't surprising. In retrospect, he reckons he had been lonely for some time, when he met her. In her, he had found companionship and, he guesses, comfort, for some time at least. But he knew right from the start that he wouldn't be able to stay by her side. Did she know this as well? He doubts it. She never objectively tried to make him stay, or said anything that would make him think she did. But she did manage to get him to sleep with her, even though he'd never been a very demonstrative individual. And even though she didn't even try to prevent him from leaving, she cried when he did.
That's how he remembers her : silent, eyes wide and glazed by inextinguishable tears, flowing freely on her reddened cheeks. She never said anything, but each silent, refrained sob reverberated around him like an accusation, even after he had long left.
What a cold, heartless man he was, leaving her like that.
He discards the memory with a sigh. Because, in the end, maybe he imagined it all. Nevertheless, it made him feel even more lonely than he already was. But certainly, he got used to that. Until some black-haired boy with a grin too large for his thin face that made him look younger than he really was, stumbled into his life. And then, with him, an avalanche of nakama followed, one after the other, and he was never alone anymore. Not that he regrets it, not even one bit, though every once in a while, he wishes that his days on board of the Merry were a little quieter. But he knows he can handle a little commotion, so, it doesn't matter. It's more than worth the pain in the ass most of his crew-mates sometimes prove to be. Even the cook.
Nah, he's never been less lonely than he is right now. And yet...
With that dream, his unconscious mind seemingly wants to prove him otherwise. And it succeeded, somehow, because now, Zoro's starting to wonder if he's really lonely, if he really wants Nami's attention – and maybe more – so badly that he's afraid to lose it. That he even has nightmares about it.
He's never been one to reflect on his dreams, or to try to analyze them. He'd rather not start today, but he has to admit that his efforts are useless. Maybe he's disturbed more than he first thought he'd be.
He woke up with the feelings from his dream still intact, somehow. He knows that they're mostly baseless, only prompted by an unconscious desire for – what, affection? Companionship? Whatever. He's almost admitted by now that he does feel something for Nami, and it's not really surprising. She's been his friend, his nakama since they met, though his feelings' unusual intensity, towards a crew-mate, slightly disturb and unsettle him. Because he promised himself that he wouldn't let them grow that much. He failed in that regard. Let her overcome his stoicism, pierce through his defenses so carelessly. Zoro doesn't like failing. But he blames it on the fact his relationship with Nami, however faint, however fragile, however superficial it was, is most likely about to end. The sheer irony almost has him laughing at himself for not anticipating that unwanted side effect. One never knows how much they value something until they lose it, he knows that well. He's known that since he had to suffer the cruel loss of his friend, that little girl he never even knew was so important to him, back then. But he knows he'll get over it, with some time. Eventually.
He doesn't even want to start thinking about the fact the cook was there, and involved, too. But his determination is annihilated by an intense, unusual desire to analyze and understand. To find an explanation.
That's how disturbed he is, and he doesn't like it one bit.
Jealousy... He's never thought that he'd come to feel such a shallow, useless emotion, one day. And yet, here he is, risking a glance towards the galley's door when the cook emerges from there, a tray precariously perched on his hand – but the idiot knows how to manage such a difficult thing, doesn't he. He strides towards the place where the girls are quietly chatting, swoons over them as if they were the 8th and 9th wonders of the known world, respectively. Are his attentions just a tad more insistent on Nami's side? Is that a coquettish smile she's bestowing upon him? Are these teasing fingers, trailing on the back of her hand – his heart sinks at that thought, before he realizes it's only a trick of light against the glass – as a sultry-looking drink is passed between them? Would she even let him do such a thing, without shouting and landing a well-aimed fist on his head? Zoro doesn't know, doesn't want to know. So, he discards it altogether, and tries focusing on his training.
He has to admit, though, that there's still something to gain from such a complicated situation. He's been weak, and now he knows of that weakness, he surely won't let it happen again. Feeling close to his crew-mates is ok, but that was too close. His current mind frame is a clear proof of that.
He doesn't know, nor does he want to think about what he'll do if she happens to approach him again. But he'll think about that later. If he ever needs to.
All that's left to him now is getting rid of all these small, faint physical reactions. It feels like he's sick, light-headed, and he doesn't like it one bit. These sensations new and foreign to him, and he doesn't really know how to handle them. Nor does he know what to do with himself, actually.
Accelerated heartbeat. Heat in his chest, in his gut. A strange feeling of excitement, of expectancy, uncontrollable and unwanted, whenever he thinks of what happened in that fucking dream. Of that embrace. Even though it was a dream, he returned it consciously. Willingly. And it almost felt like... merging, maybe? He doesn't really know how to describe it. He's never felt anything like that before. It didn't feel that bad. Quite the opposite, actually. But what disturbs him the most is that he misses the feeling. If given the opportunity, he knows he'd do it again, without a second thought. It scares him like nothing ever did.
He grunts faintly, as he realizes that, once more, his mind has drifted in a direction he'd rather not explore. And, once more, he's lost track of his push-ups count.
Yeah. He's definitely more disturbed by that than he'd like to admit.
Dammit. Get a grip on yourself, focus, and train, for fuck's sake!
He sighs, picks up his smallest weights – still heavy enough to knock anyone out after a couple lifts – and starts training himself out of that over-thinking bullshit.
Of course, it's not that simple.
ooo
The worst thing about living on a small ship, aside from the much too rare stops to restock and disrupt the usual routine by having all sorts of fun, is that you can't really avoid someone you'd rather not talk to. Whatever you do, you'll inevitably end up crossing paths with that very person, even if you try not to. Don't even try talking to them, because they might brush you off, or even tell you things you'd rather not hear. They could also ignore you entirely. Do as if you weren't even here to begin with. Which, obviously, would be worse.
But this... This is even worse than the worst.
The cook walks from one stall to another, his pace the very embodiment of determination and no-nonsense professionalism, aside from the occasional delighted whimpers that escape him whenever they encounter a pretty girl. Fortunately, the shopkeepers are more on the middle-aged, hairy, gruff side, on this island. Fortunately, because Zoro, currently lost in his own thoughts, knows very well he's not aware enough of their surroundings to avoid ending up wandering away – not that he'd ever admit that. He somewhat counts on the cook to keep him on the right path, and that idiot wouldn't manage such a simple task if he were to let himself get distracted too much. So, he begrudgingly accepts every new grocery bag the shit-cook bestows upon him without a word, and follow silently.
Of course, he did notice the stolen glances from the other, whenever he thinks Zoro's not looking – he's not that oblivious to the world. His core swordsman instinct wouldn't let him. But even if the cook noticed something's wrong with him, he doesn't think he'll question him about his lack of retaliation. Not when he sports such a deep frown, feigns dutiful disinterest, and reluctantly lets his mind wander towards unwanted thoughts, because there's not much else he can do.
Somewhat unsurprisingly, Nami is behaving as if nothing ever happened. As if, in the past weeks, she never spent every single night he was on watch in his company. In his arms. Spread beneath him or straddling his thighs. Screwing him into the wooden floor, like there was no tomorrow. Rendering him unable to push her away, to refuse her. Tricking him into complying.
If Zoro had to be honest with himself, he would admit that he was the one to blame for most of that fiasco. He gave up resisting her a long time ago, right from the start, even. As that creepy teddy bear from his dream told him, he brought this shit upon himself, and he was stupid to believe he could have even a hint of control over this affair of theirs. All that's left to him is bearing the consequences as stoically as ever. And Zoro honestly thinks he could do that, if it weren't for the stupid dreams he's been having lately.
It's not really getting better. He's been having more of them, though he can't really remember them anymore – his sleeping pattern has become slightly erratic, and he wonders if that might be the cause. All he knows for certain is that Nami's been a prominent feature in them. Not really a surprise, after what happened – or rather, hasn't happened anymore – in the past few days.
He almost jumps when a pale hand suddenly appears in front of his face, waving leisurely.
"Hello? Earth to marimo?"
His eyes slowly follow the suit-clad arm attached to that hand, then the shoulder above the arm, only to land on the cook's silly mug, all grins and cigarette hanging from lips corners. That blue eye is peering at him in a peculiar way, as if trying to see past his face, which he knows is frowning in a focusing effort, at that moment.
His mind finally sets on answering the cook, trying not to sound too out of it, with a noncommittal retort. Unfortunately, the only thing that he grumpily manages to utter is far from convincing.
"Huh?"
"Yeah, I'm talking to you, moss-head." The cook replies in an unimpressed, casual tone. "Here, take this."
And with yet another of these peculiar looks, he hands Zoro yet another bag which, from the strong iodine smell emanating from its inside, most likely holds some kind of shellfish. Zoro takes it with a slight grunt, and ignores the insistent staring. Soon, they're walking through the stalls again, Sanji eagerly surveying the available products, and Zoro's mind wandering.
He wonders what he did to trigger such a rejection – he didn't dare ask Nami directly, since she's been avoiding him lately. Not that it's very obvious, because she's conscientiously acting as if there was never anything between them. But the way she has to find herself extremely busy whenever he's around, or leave under the pretense of some pressing matter when they find themselves alone... Yeah, she definitely seems to be uneasy around him, though she hides it well.
He doesn't keep track of time, and even less of direction, which might be why he's rather surprised to have his head violently slammed to the side – though not so violently that he'd lose his balance and trip – by the hard sole of a black shoe.
"Look where you're going, shithead!"
Zoro, absentmindedly rubbing his head where the hit landed, and frowning at a slightly aggravated cook, has to admit that the guy is right. Looking ahead, he realizes he was about to cross a small river that seems to meander through the city, given the numerous bridges they had to cross since they started shopping.
Except that there's no bridge in sight.
Oh. Great. Way to go, Zoro.
His frown deepens as he grunts and shake his head in disbelief. He shouldn't be that absentminded, he knows it very well. A swordsman should be aware of his surroundings at all times. Not to mention the fact the cook was in a pretty good mood, up until now. But that stunt of his probably ruined even that. Not that he cares, not really. But his crew-mate is painfully obnoxious when he's upset. Zoro doesn't need that right now.
"Yeah, right." He answers in a tone that, he hopes, lets the other know of his irritation.
"What's wrong with you today, marimo? You're so out of it. More than usual, that is."
He scowls at the shit-cook.
"Huh, whatever."
And he starts walking again before the other can even think of questioning him further. But before he can walk more than a couple steps, a hand roughly grabs him by his shirt's collar. I wish they'd stop with that detestable habit, or I soon won't have a decent shirt left to wear – not that I care, anyway, he thinks, feeling his irritation rise steadily. That is, before he remembers that there's little chance Nami will do that again. Not anytime soon, anyway. Which has him scowling even harder than he did moments ago.
"Wrong direction, moss-head." The cook mutters softly through clenched teeth, grabbing his cigarette between slender fingers and slowly exhaling smoke, as if, having to face Zoro's so-called stupidity, he had to focus to keep his cool. As if he'd rather not fight about whatever he thinks Zoro should or shouldn't do.
Zoro doesn't know why, but this aggravates him even more. He wishes the cook were back to his usual annoying self. A good fight would be the best thing that could happen to him right now. Perfect way to get rid of unwanted thoughts and frustrations. And he got more than his share of those, in the past days. But, as the other eyes him almost calmly – almost, but not quite, because Sanji's always agitated for one reason or another – he doesn't feel like admitting the cook's getting on his nerves. Because it would be admitting defeat. This is just another kind of challenge, of competition – and after all, they're rivals, in more ways than he'd like to admit to anyone but himself.
So, he says nothing and follows, silently fuming. And tries focusing, but once again, he fails miserably.
His mind is back to Nami again, and her now obvious desertion. He knows he shouldn't dwell on it, and yet, he can't help but wonder. What happened to make her change her mind about their nightly encounters? Did he do something wrong? Is he really cold and heartless?
I wonder if there's something wrong with me...
"Yeah, I was wondering about the same thing."
He briskly glances up at the cook, wondering if that idiot read his mind, or if his words are just a coincidence. But no, it couldn't be, not when the other's blue eye is peering at him in such a peculiar fashion. He must have thought that last one out loud.
"What do you mean?" He cautiously asks, unwilling to arise more suspicions in the cook than he already did.
"I told you already. You're awfully out of it today. Even worse than usual. And now you're even talking to yourself."
He pauses, lighting up and greedily inhaling the smoke, before going on, in that soft tone that almost has Zoro squirming, as if he was about to sneeze. The guy's voice sometimes does that to him, though he'd have to admit it's not really unpleasant. More like irritating.
"Did something happen?"
Ah. There it is, that foreboding feeling. Unsurprisingly, because the softness in the other's voice reminds him of his dream. And is that genuine concern that can be heard in the cook's gentle, casual tone? Zoro doesn't know. Nor does he know what to make of it. So, he just stares, and doesn't even try to reply.
"Hey." The cook asks again. And when he realizes he's not going to get an answer, he steps a tad closer to him.
Zoro almost jumps when the other's hand grips his forearm, the one that's holding the shellfish bag, catching him unawares. Obviously, the cook only sought to get his attention, without no ulterior motive, or so Zoro thinks. But as Sanji rests his hand on his arm, near his elbow, these slender, skillful fingers brush against the inside of his arm, where the skin is more sensitive. No, he doesn't think he did it on purpose. Most likely, the other is unaware of the intimacy of that contact – after all, it's only that way to Zoro, because of a stupid dream. But it's a gentle, delicate touch, and it sends imperceptible shivers run down his spine, despite the warm weather. He hopes the cook didn't notice.
"Hey, moss-head, are you sure everything's ok? Or did you finally fry that last braincell of yours? Is it the sun? Do you need watering?"
But Zoro still doesn't reply, because right now, sensations of soft fingers in his hair, as well as a warm embrace, wash over him. He's unable to repress the flow. All he can think of at that very moment is the cook's hand on his arm and the memories it brings.
"Hey. I'm starting to worry here, shit-head." A pause, and a slight shake of the hand on his arm. "Hey? You hear me? Marimo?" Another pause, and a more violent shake of his arm. "Zoro?"
Hearing his name from the cook's lips, uttered in this almost panicked tone, is so unusual, so foreign to him that he snaps out of his near-trance state. And the images in his head flicker, like fluttering leaves in the wind, soon discarded, forgotten. He blinks, shakes his head and finally sees the cook, though he never stopped looking at him. Is it just him, or does the other's face look a tiny bit paler than usual?
"Huh?"
Sanji sighs, and lets the hand that was resting on Zoro's arm fall to his side. He slowly shakes his head, and drags on his cigarette maybe a little bit longer than he usually does, before exhaling the smoke.
"You're really hopeless, marimo. Don't pull that unnecessary shit on me anymore, will you?" He sighs, and ruffles the swordsman's hair in what feels awfully like a fond gesture, before grabbing a slightly dumbfounded Zoro by the sleeve of his shirt.
"Come on." The cook's tone is, again, soft and very far from antagonizing. "We're done here. Let's go back."
What the hell was that? Zoro wonders, as they walk towards the port, where the ship is anchored. One more weird thing to add to the long list of what could be summed up as the cook's strange behavior. The more he thinks about it, the less he understands. He absentmindedly raises his free hand to brush on his arm's skin, where the other's fingers were earlier. He then runs his fingers through his hair. There's no proof that the cook really did touch him there, no more than proof that he really did graze against the skin in the back of his head. Maybe he imagined it all.
But the warmth lingers.
ooo
One glass. A second one. Put it upside down on the counter. One, two, three plates. All in a neat pile. A large dish, and a cooking pot. Another glass. Spoons, forks, knives. A ladle. More knives.
It's never been a source of displeasure, not really, drying the dishes after the cook washes them and hands it to him, one after the other. Zoro never minded helping with that, even though he'd rather sleep through his share of other chores. Perhaps because it's one of the few occasions he and the cook can work together, stand side by side without feeling the need to really make conversation. Or bicker – that usually comes later. Helping with the dishes is something he's always looked forward to, somehow, despite the fact he's always put up a reluctant front. But that's only because it's how they work. The cook will nag, Zoro will grouch, and at some point, a fight will ensue.
But not today. Today more than ever, Zoro revels in the comforting quietness, only interrupted by the occasional chinking of glasses, and of course, the cook's mumbled interjections every time he hands him a new dish to dry. And that's a little weird, actually, because he usually says them in a confident, challenging tone. But today, they're barely whispered. It's almost as if he didn't say anything. Seems like the cook is still in that weird mood of his, the same one he sported during their shopping trip. It's an uncanny mix of serene irritation, with a hint of melancholy, which he discretely demonstrates by sighing softly when he thinks Zoro's not paying attention. He is, sort of. Most of the time. But he's got stuff on his mind as well, which is why he won't even think of prying for now. Not that he usually does, anyway.
He's still wondering what he did to get Nami to desert him like that. If not something he did – because he really can't find anything out of the usual in his recent behavior – then, maybe there's something wrong with that very behavior to begin with. And she just recently got fed up with it. But even though he knows himself well, and has always made a point to be aware of his weaknesses, this is only good as far as fighting goes. He knows he's loyal and reliable. True to his word, and usually aware of his surroundings. But he might be a poor judge of his own character, as far as flaws go, because obviously, he's never thought he was lazy or stupid. And obviously again, the cook would disagree with that.
It's only when the latter has to remind Zoro for the third time that he's here to help, not to stare blankly at the wall, that it hits him. If someone will be honest with him when it comes to his flaws, it's the shit-cook. Moreover, Sanji asked him a question, a few weeks ago, asked him for a piece of his advice. Asked for his help, in a way, even though he has to admit he did a poor job of answering him. But he might agree to return the favor, even if the only result he gets is being laughed at. Come on, they're alone in here, and Sanji's mood is pretty good, considering he hasn't tried to start a fight until now – though with all these sighs, Zoro doesn't see how this could be a good mood. At least, the other doesn't seem too antagonistic right now. It's the best occasion he'll ever have. So, he braces himself and clears his throat hesitantly.
"Hey?" He asks, unsure of how to formulate his thoughts.
The other stops his current task – vigorously scrubbing a large cooking pot – and raises an interrogative, question-mark shaped eyebrow at him. And suddenly, without any prior warning, Zoro's throat goes a little dry, as his gut grips into an unexpected tension. Is he really going to ask the cook if he has flaws, moreover, flaws that might be a turn off for a girl? Not only, this is a very personal matter, and Zoro has never been one to discuss his private affairs with others, but also, isn't it pointing towards his relationship with Nami a tad too obviously? If the cook already has suspicions, that will be a dead giveaway.
"Yeah?" Sanji soon asks, when Zoro stays silent.
Damn. He should have thought about it before speaking up, because now, the shit-cook is expecting him to say something. How is he going to get himself out of this? He has to think of something, anything, and quick.
"Er..." He frantically racks his brains, and ends up uttering the first thing that comes to his mind. "Wanna switch?"
Sanji's visible eye narrows imperceptibly, and he stares at Zoro for a couple seconds, before finally letting out a deep sigh.
"Marimo," Sanji says tiredly, eying Zoro with that irritated look he had in the morning, once again, "do I need to remind you that you're not currently washing the dishes because, despite the fact I have to admit you used to do a great job, you always ended up breaking more stuff than needed? Don't blame me," he adds when Zoro frowns at him in a somewhat disgusted fashion, "blame those ridiculously strong hands of yours."
Zoro's scowl deepens, as he glances down at the guilty appendages, which are currently drying yet another glass, as delicately as he can. It's true that he broke a few of these, as well as a couple plates, when Sanji first asked him to help with the dishes. So what? When something gets dirty, you have to scrub hard to get rid of old crusted food. He only wanted to hasten the process, and it's not his fault if he didn't know how much strength he should use. He'd never washed dishes before ; never needed to.
"Seriously," the cook adds after a moment, his tone strangely soft, "if you really want to, I guess we can switch, but you'll have to deal with Nami-swan if you break anything."
Uh, no, Zoro would rather not do that. Not anytime soon, anyway.
"No thanks. I'd rather not increase my debt." He pauses, before adding : "I'm not a masochist."
"Sometimes, I wonder about that." The cook says, in a slightly playful tone.
Maybe it's the way he said it. Maybe it's the fact there's no animosity at all in his voice, despite the somewhat rude comment he just uttered. But Zoro's ears perk up at that remark, and he suddenly sees an occasion to direct the conversation in a way that might answer some of his questions.
"Huh? What do you mean?" He says, feigning irritation somewhat successfully.
Sanji turns towards Zoro, eyes him coldly for a while, and opens his mouth.
"Come on, moss-head. I know you're dumb, but can't you be at least a little self-conscious? Of course, anyone would think that you're a masochist." He dries his hands rapidly, before retrieving a smoke in his jacket, and lighting up, letting out a large puff of smoke before resuming the intense scrubbing, the cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth in a lazy fashion. "You get injured all the time, and you never wait for these to heal before scrapping your bandages. You start training like there's no tomorrow, as soon as you can stand up. You would definitely look like a masochist to any sane person, meat-head."
That's a lot more information than Zoro expected. He'd like to reflect on everything the cook just said, but there are other thing he wants to know, right now. So, he stores everything in the far back of his mind, and, hoping he's not being too obvious about it, he prepares a retort.
"So, I'm dumb, lazy, and now, I'm also a masochist. What else?"
Sanji stops once again, and looks at him peculiarly, his whole body stilled aside from the shallow heaving of his chest. The look on his face is almost blank, but Zoro thinks he might be just a little bit surprised at his last question. Soon, he opens his mouth and slowly starts.
"Yeah. You're stupid and lazy. You're also have no manners, and you're as stubborn as a fucking mule." He adds, his voice strangely tense. Is that faint irritation in his tone? "And you're a general bother to people around you." He finishes through his clenched teeth, before attacking the encrusted monster living in the last cooking pot.
Yeah, definitely irritation. But this doesn't answer the question Zoro now admits he's been agonizing over for the past few days. He has to ask, because he needs to know.
"So, I'm not a cold and heartless jerk as well?" He says in what he hopes is a light, playful tone, trying not to let his voice betray the hope that Sanji will answer that as well.
But he soon realizes he probably failed, because Sanji briskly turns towards him, his blue eye slightly widening in what might very well be bewilderment. But it doesn't last, and the cook is quick to cover whatever it is that occurred to him, turning back towards the sink absentmindedly rinsing the pot.
"Of course, you're a heartless asshole." He replies in a tense tone. "What did you expect?"
Zoro feels himself freeze at these merciless words, though he tries not to let it show. They fall silent, and the shit-cook hands him that last pot, which he dries. His mind is almost blank. Almost. So, he's really that cold. Maybe. At least, Sanji seems to think so. And yeah, that's a very good question : what did he expect, anyway?
"I'm just kidding."
He starts at these words, and looks at the cook, trying to hide his confusion. The other is leisurely leaning back on the edge of the sink, having finished his part of the dish-washing, and is glancing at Zoro cautiously. Almost hesitantly.
"No need to get all offended like that, moss-head. I said I was kidding." He exhales a puff of smoke through his nose, and the noise he makes while doing so sounds like a sigh to Zoro. "Yeah, you might appear cold to people who barely know you," he adds after a while in a soft, almost gentle tone. "But you're not really like that." He glances at him briefly, before going on. "I've seen the concern you show to the others, when needed." He smirks. "Or when you think no one is looking."
Zoro doesn't know what to reply to that. Of course, he tries not to show his concern. He's stronger than most of his friends, but they're certainly not weak, and he wouldn't want his crew-mates to get offended by his mostly useless, overprotective instincts. That, and it's too damn embarrassing, though he'd never admit it, not even to himself. He didn't think the cook would notice that.
"Huh..." That weak retort is all that he manages to reply. He can already feel heat creeping up his cheeks. And, even though he knows the other wouldn't notice, because he doesn't blush, thanks to his tan complexion, it feels even more embarrassing, all of a sudden. He feels awkward, and for no good reason. At all.
"But you know, marimo..." Sanji adds after a short while, his eyes intently staring at the wall. "Sometimes, I wonder."
He turns towards Zoro and locks eyes with him, and the latter feels something jolt in his chest when he meets these scrutinizing blue eyes.
"The opposite isn't necessarily true. I mean... How should I put it?" He pause. "It's like you're trying to distance yourself from the rest of the crew. You never really seem to need us. And sometimes, it's good to feel needed, you know."
And Sanji's face, at that very moment, under the irritated scowl and slight frowning, displays an emotion Zoro didn't expect to find there. Especially not after such a reproach. Worry. The cook seems worried that Zoro doesn't need the rest of the crew. And Zoro doesn't know what to make of it. All he can do is frown harder, trying to hide his puzzlement the best he can.
After a while, the cook sighs and rubs the back of his head.
"Ah, I'm so bad at this." He mutters in a apologizing tone. "I'm not pretending that I understand what goes on in your meat-head at all times, but..." He suddenly hesitates, averting his eyes, now hidden by his long bangs, though Zoro still can see the obvious redness spreading on the visible side of his neck. "From my point of view, I can't understand how, in the long run, one wouldn't feel tremendously lonely." He finally mutters.
After hearing these words, Zoro feels so embarrassed that he has to look away. So, he stares at the clean, dry dishes, resting on the immaculate counter. He doesn't even look up when, after a moment of deafening silence, the shit-cook stands upright, and pats his shoulder lightly in an uneasy, surprising gesture of comfort. He then heads for the door and exits the room, leaving him lost in his thoughts, frowning madly.
