You Started It
Disclaimer: As I will say over and over again, I don't own anything. Even the time isn't mine (because I should be studying). But I repeat, Zoro's heart is officially mine and I will only share him under the pretext that he screws Sanji.
A/N: Thanks for the reviews. Much obliged. And airee; hahaha! Yun pala yon; kase ang pagkakaintindi ko sa 'tubos' eh yung pagbayad ng utang. Eh medyo malabo naman yatang nangongolekta ng utang si Zoro. Ang bobo ko talaga. Tsk tsk tsk.
For to love is much more joyous than to be loved—Joyce Carol Oates, My Heart Laid Bare
ooooOOOOoooo
Chapter 2
He dreamed a dream without knowing it prima facie. In his dream, in that unpremeditated dream of his, he did many a thing that he thought he never had the freedom or power to do. He was there, somewhere or probably nowhere, moving as he wished, so resolutely nonchalant of the rest of the little world he left—now walking on zephyr, now flying away, now running lightly and never ever tumbling as he always had real-time.
Of course, he learned straight away that it was just a dream. Of course, the world wasn't that perfect. Of course, he would have to wake up sooner or later.
And he did.
Without rhyme or reason, he felt like laughing. He felt like giving his throat the damnest jerk so he could hee-haw to the maximum capacity of his air sac, so he could wake the dead and kill the living for whatever insane purpose he nursed as of the moment. And at the same time, he felt silly. He should get up, his sub conscious decided. Time to leave this mere rhetoric of fancy called dream, to fly back to the real world.
He never thought it would be that easy. Well, what kind of a chronic moron would find it hard rousing from a lengthy sleep anyway? People like Sanji could do lots and lots of things; they could fall asleep the moment they spread their bodies on the sheets, snore the whole goddamn night and go on acting as dumb as an anchor under the buoy; and the world could start ending without them feeling the slightest prick. In short, Sanji was that kind of moron. But today he took a break from that kind of moronity and he woke up even before somebody dropped an anvil on his head.
So he opened his eyes. There was light, so bright he thought god just finished saying 'Let there be light.' He knew it wasn't Genesis, like the one he read from some other's religion's book, but it was the genesis of another ordinary day.
Not so.
He cleared the erstwhile obscurity of his eyes by blinking several times. It didn't work as good as actually rubbing them but nonetheless it worked to a degree, almost ineffective however, and allowed him to recognize what was before him. He saw a face, brawny and fierce, and eyes boring from the owner's skull. The head of the face sported green hair, the go-to-hell type of dye that people mistook for lettuces. The vague expression the face wore was like something that couldn't understand a newspaper or got frustrated after trying to talk to a dog. But Sanji knew this person, knew him fucking well in fact.
It was Zoro. Ever so level-headed Roronoa fucking Zoro. His strapping crew mate who could never ever screw up. That perfectly-well-on-his-own bastard. Or was it just a mere will o' the wisp brought about by early morning unsoundness? Sanji opened his lips even before he could think of something to say; maybe Zoro could use a 'hi' or 'mornin' or something like that, who knows? But even before all these, even before Sanji could decide, Zoro shuffled to the door in heel and toe thereby packing with him that stupid expression. Sanji watched as Zoro stretched the distance between them to the extent of withdrawing out of sight, there far, far away down the corridor. Seeing the circumstances unsufficed and insufficient, Sanji elected to just forget it. Yes, 'forget it' was a blazing, jiving idea because thinking sucks huge time. Thinking should be left to the likes of Nami and Robin. Not him, never him, never was.
He sat up, yawned and scratched his belly as a getting-up routine. But he scratched his bare skin. Now he wasn't expecting that. He was expecting a cloth between his scratches and his belly, that he was sure of. He looked down and he could see pinky-winky long marks on his skin, and they looked outstandingly in contrast with it. Just below those marks was a blanket that flowed all the way down to his feet. At least he had something for a cover. He lifted it up and,
'What the—'
His eyes were enlarged by shock. He saw only his pair of boxers. This was the second time his expectation was denied and it had only been, what? 2 minutes? Why, was waking up the new vehicle for distributing disappointment? Where were his pin-striped hot pants and suit anyway? Oh, there they were. On the floor. He should pick them up lest he be the butt of cruel jokes of the accursed day (and most probably a goddamn long time after that), lest somebody saw him with only a pair of boxers sheltering his crotch. Only nutters sleep on this kind of weather with only their boxers on. Now, hold on a second; Zoro knew that. Zoro saw him. He was there just minutes ago. Zoro was, beyond any reasonable doubt…checking him out? Making cow-eyes at his semi-nudity? Balderdash. Sanji found it hard to adapt himself with such inestimable riddle. One didn't stay naked for no reason; there had to be something done about it.
He was bollixed, needless to say. Words jumbled, words formed, words came out only to be channeled in a vulgar catchphrase; 'Fuck that.' He was off-the-cuff for this, knowing well he shouldn't be excused for such folly, carelessness, whatsofuckingever. He refreshed his memory or tried. The best he could come up with was as simple and as accurate as this; he went to bed with his clothes on. No strings attached. When he woke up he found himself being exposed to Zoro's scrutiny until Zoro marched out on him. The next collectible info was, he was almost naked. The logical explanation demanded that somebody must've stripped him off those clothes either as a practical joke or anything else related to callow nastiness and, as he was afraid to suppose, lecherousness. The latter being the grey zone of the matter, all huddled as mere explanatory humbugs, how the hell was he to find answer for this? He wouldn't even dream the wildest dream of connecting Zoro with it, or would he? Even if that would be a violation of all common sense?
But thoughts that were formerly suspended sprinkled, poured, and came as an avalanche of many, many surmises, much as he wanted to forget it. He'd give anything to erase this from the record; he'd break anything, even Zoro's neck, just for that. But the wandering moments certainly made him grow melancholy on the attempt, seeing how the things that he thought could never happen were in most vivid actuality. Or at least the evidences were. Rationale dictated that he should think a great deal about it, should know exactly what Zoro was doing there, in front of him, when he was just a knock away from being stark naked. Must. Keep. Thinking. In. Constant. Revolution.
And think he did, partially due to the aid of his progressing anger but mostly because he felt his dignity shredded to pieces posthaste and therefore the need to further bare the truth behind this shenanigan, as he began to call it. But he couldn't take away the fact that all these slew his notion of male-security as regards to that junto he came to join. There was always an odd one out, there should be anytime, whatever the case, whoever the participants.
TBC
A/N: Thanks for reading again. I will be postponing the 3rd post due to school works and all that jazz. Anyroads, I will try to work on that and this time, omitting other unnecessary details whatsoever.