Zosan/NeoZosan rated - T

Extra Credit 7


Sanji swore under his breath as he fumbled the shitty chopsticks in his hand for the hundredth time. How the hell did people cook with these damn things? His movements were clumsy from barely constrained anger as Sanji tried re-gripping the slender utensils. The wooden tips slipped and crossed awkwardly before one of the sticks escaped his grasp and clattered to the steel counter.

"Fuck!"

A nearby student giggled making Sanji grind his teeth as he glowered at the chopsticks. He fucking hated these things, and he hated that shitty professor too. It was obvious that the fucker hadn't remembered a thing about being helped home when he too drunk to help himself since he'd been his usual asshat self since Sanji had walked through the door that day. He'd constantly been watching Sanji too - like he was just waiting for an opportunity to swoop in and make Sanji's day worse.

"Having some trouble, Mr. Baratie?"

Speak of the goddamn devil... Sanji turned his glare onto the professor who had appeared at his elbow. "I don't need your help!"

Professor Roronoa raised an eyebrow, but didn't move. Determined to show that he didn't need help from any ungrateful, green-haired assholes, Sanji jammed the errant chopstick back between his fingers and reached out toward his wok to stir his rice noodles. The tips crossed again, and Sanji couldn't help the frustrated growl that rumbled in the back of his throat.

"Just let me show you, stubborn brat." The professor's warm hands enclosed Sanji's own, and Sanji stared at the older man with his mouth agape as the professor pulled his hand away from the wok.

"Just let it rest along here..." Thick fingers gently pushed Sanji's hand into the proper position, "...And grip it firmly here. That will let you move them properly. I'd like for you to try and use these for now, but if you need to implement another tool to keep the stir fry from being ruined, I won't take off points for just this assignment. Be sure that you practice though, because I'm not cutting you any more slack."

"Thanks..."

Professor Roronoa's calloused fingers scratched lightly on Sanji's skin as the older man let his hand slide loose. "Just try not to burn any more good ingredients, Baratie."

"Like I'd be that amateurish."

Rolling his eyes, the professor walked away, "Just pay attention to your work, Baratie."

Sanji snorted and poked at his noodles - like he needed to be told something like that. The new grip was keeping the chopsticks securely in his hand this time. This actually made him feel kind of cool. Grinning happily as he swiftly adjusted to his new skill, Sanji added the pork and marinade. The hissing of the liquid in the wok was music to his ears. Maybe that bastard wasn't a total asshole after all.

He spotted the professor watching him again, and he proudly gestured to his wok with the chopsticks. He smiled when the professor gave him a short nod of approval. Now if only the guy would give him an A for the course, Sanji might even find himself disliking him less.

Maybe he should remind the guy just who it was that had been nice enough to drag his drunk ass home.