Day: December 21st
2 am that morning.
Apologies
Zoro woke up to a light shaking on his shoulder and was instantly awake, sitting bolt upright with the fingers of his good hand clenched into a fist, ready to knock the fuck out of whoever it was that had got into his house. He stilled when he smelt the familiar scent of tobacco.
"Sanji?" He asked lowly, blinking in distaste when the brightness of the bedroom lamp struck his vision.
"Yeah..." The reply was quiet and Zoro looked at the sheepish face of his partner. The blond was looking down at the floor, stood up and refusing to sit on the edge of the bed as though he wasn't allowed like some kind of naughty dog.
Zoro rubbed down the side of his face with his good hand, "Did you just get in?"
"No. Two hours ago."
He looked at the clock with its red numbers. 2 am.
"You've been home that long? Why didn't you come to bed?"
He saw Sanji shuffle slightly, nervously, always looking at the carpet, "Didn't think you'd let me..." He looked up, one eye looking directly into the green haired man's face, "I'm sorry. I really am. You were right, it's not all about me."
Zoro frowned, the sense of guilt rising in his stomach again, "No... I was wrong too. I shouldn't have told you to get out. I was stupid. I didn't think." He pulled the bed covers aside, "C'mere."
He watched Sanji's cautious face soften and slowly, but surely, a smile happened and the blond sat on the edge of the bed. Zoro rolled his eyes and sighed then shot his arm out, grabbing the other around the middle and dragging him into the bed and held him close, "I said to come here, moron."
Sanji turned in his grasp and looked at him and in the faint glow of the bedside lamp, he caught the sincerity in the cook's eyes. It was rare that Sanji ever gave him that look after an argument, in fact Zoro only recalled the blond ever having apologised like this once after a fight long ago when a kick that wasn't supposed to have landed had struck him and knocked him out cold. Zoro knew Sanji meant his apology and meant it deeply. They both struggled with coveying their emotions into words and that made them perhaps the most oddly compatible couple on the earth. But Zoro didn't need Sanji to say anything. Just a facial expression, just a look, told him exactly what he was thinking no matter what and he knew to the cook that this was the same vice versa.
No one understood Zoro like Sanji did and no one understood Sanji like Zoro did. So the green haired man knew that rather than saying anything to the other he could rub random patterns on Sanji's side with his fingertips and the cook would know that Zoro forgave him too and would reassure him that the green haired man loved him deeply. Perhaps even more deeper than words could express.
He knew, like after every other fight they had, that sex would follow at some point. Despite his broken arm, Zoro would be more than happy to comply and participate because sex spoke more for him than words ever could. He would show Sanji he loved him, cherished him, and adored him even though they bickered like an old married couple.
Zoro smiled and brushed his lips over Sanji's forehead. Maybe, in a few days time, that married couple similie would start to become true.