Sanji awoke, haunted, with a desperate ache in his heart so deep it seemed to hollow out his bones, his very soul. He hadn't felt the intensity of the loss of his mother, and all the losses that followed, this deeply in a very long time. And somehow Zoro seemed like just another loss waiting to happen.

Sanji's first love played the violin so beautifully it felt like he was playing Sanji's very own heartstrings. Each note vibrated inside him with a longing that energized and frightened him. The boy he loved made the cruelty of Sanji's life feel meaningful. By the time Sanji had turned thirteen he was already a talented cook, with a sophisticated sense of taste and an understanding of complimenting flavor profiles. Cooking was like romance, he imagined, and he wanted to know romance so terribly. The hollow seed in his heart that was planted when his mother died grew like a hungry void, and he longed to fill it, or feed it, to suppress that agonizing sense of loss. He felt, with each note of that violin, that void was being filled. But when he turned to that young man, heart open, feelings bared, he learned that love between boys was not something to share, not something to speak of, not something to be proud of. How badly he had been rejected. How badly he had lost his only friend. And from that loss, a spiral of losses, the ensuing humiliation, his father's rage, and in a whirlwind of confusing feelings and events he suddenly went from Sanji Vinsmoke to nobody. Just another lost soul at the homeless shelter, cold and hungry. Hunger was the great equalizer.

And through it all he wondered each day if things would have been different if she hadn't died. If only she hadn't died. If only his mother was there to love and protect him from his father's wrath, would she have kept him safe, would he have remained at the estate? Would he have ever met Zeff or sailed around the world with him? What would have become of him. Did things truly work out for the best? Did he have to lose everything before he could become something?

The questions had no tangible answers. But if it was true that his life and success was built on losses, when would it end? How much loss was enough, how much grief and bereavement would he have to continue suffering?

Sanji rolled over in bed, forcing himself to escape the tangle of sheets and comforting warmth. How much longer do I have to be alone.

He stalked to the bathroom and splashed his face with water, leaning over the sink heavily, eyes closed and unwilling to move.

He could hear footsteps from beyond the bathroom and a figure appeared in the open doorway. Sanji looked over, tiredly, at his roommate standing shirtless before him.

Zoro was unable to look Sanji in the face. He stood, staring at a far corner of the bathroom, one hand rubbing the back of his neck, and spoke softly, "I'm going out again tonight. So you don't have to cook me dinner."

Sanji's heart sank deeper into the void. He simply closed his eyes and turned his head back down to face the sink he was leaning on. He didn't have the energy to come up with a witty retort and the silence was stifling. Zoro felt the weight of this silence heavily and turned away from the chef, unsure of what else he could say.

Zoro too had awakened with a heavy heart. Distant memories weighed down on him with guilt, and he felt the impurity of his existence seeping into the world around him, seeping into his blameless roommate. He felt poisonous. The dirtiness of the night before, his date with the red-haired stranger, the lascivious kiss, his actions in the shower to lewd thoughts of his roommate; since when had he become so corrupted?

A part of him, in that moment, wanted so strongly to take the chef in his arms, to smother him with the pent up affection that had grown wildly out of control within him. Another part of him wanted to escape. To never have to face the chef, never to expose him to the dirtiness of his desires.

Sanji was spent, and it was only the morning. The exhaustion of reliving painful memories in his sleep paired with the cruel reality of his loneliness enhanced by Zoro's recent revelation was all but too much for him to take. He hoped that escaping into the world of his restaurant, immersing himself in his work, would clear his head and his heart of the dark cloud that hung over him.

But at work Sanji's thoughts were so preoccupying that it interfered with his concentration. His self-loathing had climbed up out of him like a beast in hibernation. He hadn't felt this disgusted with himself in years, not since the early years of struggling with his identity. He thought he had come to an acceptance, even pride for what he was. But it was a constant struggle, to be proud of something that so many other men regarded with disgust. He was a homosexual. He knew in his heart of hearts that it was nothing to be ashamed of. But in this moment he felt the awful realization that he was every man's worst nightmare - the gay roommate with dirty intentions. He felt like a predator in another man's home. He couldn't live in his own apartment in peace without feeling like his existence was a violation to his roommate. He felt that he'd sullied the sanctity of their apartment with his nature. This feeling of disgust was a familiar one he'd battled for years in his youth. He hated feeling it again now, he hated the confusion and vulnerability Zoro made him feel.

Zoro found himself distracted at work as well. His clever students pried while he attempted to teach them throwing and falling techniques. After being thrown by Carrot and demonstrating a proper fall, the swordsman took a little longer than usual to right himself.

"What's up Sensei, you look like you had a rough night?" quipped the blonde girl, bouncing on her toes as usual.

Zoro groaned, straightening up and standing to his feet replying "It's nothing. Good throw Carrot, but you want a lower center of balance." His students had started calling him sensei after Sanji had come to their class that day. He didn't mind, of course, but he was unaccustomed to that term of reverence and respect being directed towards him. His sensei's back in Japan were all much wiser and more experienced than himself, he felt worlds apart from them and unworthy of being considered any kind of sensei.

"Maybe he had a bad date," commended one of the other girls in the class with a sly grin. Carrot seemed to like this suggestion and ran with it.

"Sensei went on a date yesterday?"

Zoro could only stare at the girls with a dumbfounded expression and an awkward blush, which seemed to confirm their hypothesis.

"Sensei was on a date! Sensei was on a date!"

Women's intuition! Scary!

The swordsman moved swiftly and threw both girls to the matted floor. "Never lose your composure in a fight, don't let yourselves get distracted. Those falls were terrible, if there weren't mats on the floors you might even have been injured."

"Sensei," the girls whined.

"Do you think she's cute, Sensei's date?" One girl asked from her position on the floor.

"What? Don't you think he went with Sanji?" Carrot retorted.

"Okay that's enough," Zoro said, about to loose his own composure at the terrifying intuition of these girls.

He should have been excited for his second date tonight, but the apprehension Zoro felt was far from giddy anticipation. The only thing that kept him looking forward to the night's events was the prospect of getting in that ring for a good fight. Having watched the competitors from the night before, he could tell there was a mix of skill levels. He wondered who he'd be up against, perhaps he'd end up fighting his date - that wasn't an altogether unappealing prospect. He should just get over himself and enjoy the night, maybe with enough alcohol he could drown the uncomfortable feeling of guilt that had settled in his gut and just enjoy the date for what it was. He just had to tear his mind off his roommate. If only he could forget about Sanji, he'd be able to get back into his routine without feeling like some kind of animal, like he was doing something inherently wrong.

The evening rolled around without incident. Zoro was gone before the chef had even arrived home, to both Zoro's guilt and relief. When he opened the door of Ichiji's ride, his date's excitement was palpable. The energy rolling off of the red-head in waves was almost overwhelming. Zoro sensed that raw, testosterone fueled anticipation of physical satisfaction that made him wonder whether Ichiji was thinking of the fights to come or the possibility of taking Zoro home with him for a night of passion. Zoro wasn't ready to face that kind possibility, but perhaps after a night of alcohol and fighting it would be exactly the kind of release he would need to stave off the uncomfortable feelings that had been creeping into his psyche of late.

Sanji had come home from work to find his apartment empty. This was nothing new, he had lived alone for years, but somehow the emptiness of his apartment this night weighed on him heavily, knowing that the missing person, the man of his affections, was away entertaining some other person, enjoying their company, while Sanji was left alone. He had grown so accustomed to their nightly dinners. Their private dates. He had taken for granted the man's presence, and now he was faced with the bitterness, the ugliness inside him, he had to let it out. There was only one place for him to go on nights like this.

The club was vibrating with music, dancing, lust, and bloodlust. A red-haired man led his date to the private booth that they had shared the night before and ordered an abundance of drinks, settling in immediately next to Zoro to lean in close to him and talk in his ear.

"Friday nights are always the best nights, there will be even stronger fighters here than yesterday."

"You better not get your ass kicked," Zoro retorted.

Ichiji threw his head back in laughter, relishing in the feeling, then leaned into Zoro and pulled on his earrings with his teeth. "That willnever happen."

The man's confidence was spilling off of him. Zoro wondered where all that confidence came from, and wondered if he had the same confidence that he would get Zoro into his bed.

The first few fights were uninteresting, as the stronger fighters were always saved for later in the night. Zoro quickly filled his body with enough alcohol to quiet his mind and settle him into a comfortable buzz. He didn't acknowledge the sloppy kisses his date left on his neck and shoulder, as he was preoccupied by analyzing the fights below. But the physical contact was not unwanted, and as the night grew on he found the touches to be a pleasant addition to the experience.

Ichiji and Zoro went back and forth with their observations of the fight, Zoro keeping his hands to himself while his date barely restrained himself from fully molesting the swordsman.

"Zoro you're such a tease," Ichiji growled into his date's ear.

"I haven't done anything," Zoro replied calmly.

"Exactly."

Zoro chuckled, "I'm not into being touchy feely in public"

"Shy?" the red-haired man teased.

"Nah"

"I can't wait to get you in private."

Ichiji wasn't affectionate in a womanly way, he was demanding, hungry, and assertive. If Zoro were a lesser man he might have been devoured, but the swordsman's practiced stoicism was unwavering in the face of Ichiji's distractions.

Soon enough, a young woman came to their table to take Ichiji away for his fight. Zoro was partially relieved, though he had to admit, the affections were satisfying to his body in a way he hadn't realized he needed. He hadn't been physical with another person in so long that he found the touching and kissing to be revitalizing. Brain buzzing with the comfortable warmth of alcohol, and body tingling from the sensation of his date's hands, he was beginning to think he wouldn't mind going for a little more action tonight. The booming voice of the announcer jolted Zoro out of his thoughts.

"DO WE HAVE A TREAT FOR YOU TONIGHT" As the announcer spoke, the floor seemed to vibrate slightly, but not from the sound. In the center of the ring, a small hole opened and something came rising out of the floor. A pole? Were they going to bring in a dancer?"

"Joining us tonight is everyone's favorite! He said he needed to burn off some steam and that's exactly what he's gonna do. Fighting FOUR opponents simultaneously,"

Zoro looked out at the ring incredulously. Four on one? Now that sounded interesting. The pole still threw him for a loop though.

"And here he comes, the man, and let me tell you, this guy knows how to dress like a man, that's right, the undefeated, here in the flesh - or should I say, in the suit, the man, the legend, Blackleg!"

And from the corner of the ring Zoro watched stunned, the roaring crows fading into the disance, as a tall man with a familiar gait sauntered to the center of the ring to lean on the pole, blonde hair tousled casually in his face, cigarette hanging loosely from his lips. Sanji Black, head chef of the Baratie, stood in the center of the fight club ring like he owned the place, and Zoro could only look on stupefied.

Four large, muscular men, lunged towards the lean chef who merely stood in the center of the ring, casually lighting a cigarette, seemingly oblivious to the oncoming threat.

Move!

Zoro found himself on the edge of his seat, urging his roommate to get off his ass and do something before he was pummeled to a pulp. When it seemed like the men would be on him, Sanji jumped, five feet in the air vertically, grabbed the pole and spun, feet smashing into the oncoming barrage of men with a ferocity that sent them careening backwards.

The ensuing fight could barely be called a fight, it was a dance. The moves that Sanji used were like nothing Zoro had ever seen. He had considered himself a well-rounded martial artist, but in that moment the the dearth of untapped knowledge hit him with an intensity that stirred and inspired and frightened him all at once. There was an entire world of unexplored fighting techniques dancing before him in the most tantalizing way. And those beautiful, long legs swinging powerfully, weapons in their own right, had Zoro entirely entranced. All thoughts of Ichiji had vanished from his brain. Everything in his head was Sanji. All this time, this other dimension to the cook had existed that Zoro had been completely oblivious to. In all of their fights, in all of their arguments, in all of their conversations, he hadn't even scratched the surface, and it left him reeling with the thought of just how little he knew of this man he lived with, this man he had such strong feelings towards.

Sanji leapt into a back handspring and sent one leg plummeting down into an inescapable axe kick that knocked one man out cold. As soon as shoe hit floor it slid around in a continuous, fluid movement, sweeping back up again and into an arching crescent kick, which spun out into a flying roundhouse. The incredible fluidity of those movements, the innate flexibility, the natural ease with which each impossible action was performed so effortlessly, Zoro's heart was pounding, eyes fixed on the man in front of him with an urgent longing to see more, to know more, to feel more. Desires welled up in him like bubbles in a beer, fizzing up his sides and overflowing.

"Excuse me, Mr. Roronoa?"

The polite voice cut through the wildly cheering crowd and Zoro's dazed thoughts.

"You're fight will be soon, please come with me."