I don't own anything but my ideas.
NSPH Major
It had taken a couple of days for Zoro and Sanji to get used to living with each other, but once they had a system down, everything sort of straightened itself out. They'd found that if they had an argument over anything, from stupid things like which side of the room Zoro kept the bookshelf on to bigger things like where Zoro left his shoes around the house (God forbid he leave them in front of the door), the best way to settle the problem was for them to duke it out and then lay it to rest. Until Zoro left his shoes in front of the door again.
What is he, the fucking wife of the house? "Just step over them!"
"I can't see them with my ONE EYE when I'm carrying groceries in, shitty marimo! I swear if I drop any food and waste it because of you, I'll kill you!"
In the end, they always fought. It was a good thing Zoro didn't keep much around his apartment.
Zoro had moved his bed out into the living-room-turned-dojo and set Sanji up in his old room so he didn't have to tip toe around the cook when he wanted to train in the morning. Sanji was generally up by the time he was awake and ready to go, but for those odd times that Zoro couldn't sleep or got woken up early, he didn't want to wake the shit-cook up and mess up his concentration. Sanji was loud enough as it was without Zoro making him mad.
Sanji moving in also meant that his once bare apartment slowly but surely began taking in more strays from the outside. The once barren kitchen, really used only for Zoro to make tea and throw away his takeout containers and keep alcohol in the fridge, was now stocked like a restaurant kitchen. Pots and pans and woks and silverware of so many shapes and sizes, Zoro could never be sure how even half of them could ever be used or why in god's name Sanji needed so many with so little variation. Sanji had bought beautiful knives and wooden cutting boards with intricate designs (except for the plastic one used for garlic and fruit); he'd filled the cabinets with glasses and plates and bowls and teacups and mugs; he'd crammed every spice imaginable into the pantry along with everything he could possibly need to garnish a meal; and every morning he made a fresh pot of coffee with the new French press for himself and a fresh pot of tea with the new kettle for Zoro. There were so many things in the kitchen now, Zoro would have been to intimidated to go in even if Sanji hadn't made it explicitly clear that the kitchen was his territory and if Zoro broke anything, he'd have Sanji's foot up his ass before he could take in a breath to apologize.
Like he'd apologize. It was his damn kitchen!
The shopping for the kitchen had taken days, and Zoro had only agreed because Sanji had offered him meals and fights in exchange for the time. Yesterday they went for furniture, though Zoro still couldn't figure out why the cook wanted more things in the apartment that would get in the way of their fights and invariably break. And Sanji had stupidly expensive taste too.
Zoro had never felt the need for furniture. He was never in the apartment enough, always on the road for fights or practically living in Shanks' fight club. Occasionally he'd stay at Law and Kid's place when Killer had an insecure moment and needed his family. And he didn't like lounging around in prissy-looking chairs with flowers out on the table anyways. He had a kitchen, a dojo, and a bedroom, and that was really all he needed. But Sanji was a girl, so he had needs, which meant the apartment had needs and Zoro wouldn't be happy if those needs weren't met. Zoro had actually suggested furniture first after Sanji made fun of him the first time he'd walked into the apartment from how little he had in it, but the cook had been unable to wait for the kitchen to be filled, so they did that first.
The only reason Zoro put up with it at all was Sanji's stupid happy face. It gave him stupid little flutters in his chest and made his stupid brain decide that Sanji's expression outweighed the annoyance of shopping.
Living with Sanji gave Zoro the chance to see the blond in every type of scenario, and in everything Sanji did and every day that passed, Zoro couldn't help but notice how much easier Sanji walked, and how much easier he kicked Zoro if he was annoyed. Sanji was healing fast, exactly on time with Law's diagnosis.
Sanji only had one week left in the two months, and after that, there would be no more excuses for him to stay.
Every time Zoro remembered that, the tightness in his chest returned and everything irritated him to no end. Generally he would piss Sanji off with his attitude and they would fight, which calmed both of them down and gave them another excuse to go shopping to replace whatever broke, but there was always the nagging reminder that if Sanji could fight normally, than he could leave, and the tightness in Zoro's chest never fully went away.
But god could Sanji fight. He was like a weapon, whipping through the air, leaching power and strength and Zoro fought Sanji like it was his fix in life and he could never have enough. The blond never seemed to care though, which never helped the delicate items in the apartment.
Sanji was a pain in the ass, but Zoro really couldn't find any reason to regret inviting him in. Even if everything the cook did pissed him off, the food was great, the fights were amazing, and Zoro could indulge himself in watching the way Sanji's incredible body moved and dream of the day when he would be strong enough to really fight.
Recently, Killer had been over more and more for meals, even when Sanji wasn't making anything with blood (for Killer at least, Sanij needed more blood than he did). Killer seemed more fascinated with Sanji than anyone else—which wasn't a surprise, considering that Sanji was the first vampire Killer had ever met—and spent every moment he could with Sanji. Zoro was just kind of glad that Killer hadn't asked to stay the night yet; the apartment was really running low on space and he was pretty sure Law would be jealous if he heard. They could put a sleeping bag on the floor in Sanji's room though, Killer would definitely like that.
Zoro stepped out of the bathroom, steam rushing out into the living room as he draped a towel around his shoulders. The space where he could work out was slowly growing smaller and smaller as they added more and more things. The most recent additions were a coffee table and a couch, where Sanji was currently sitting with his legs crossed casually, reading a book through the stupidest pair of glasses Zoro had ever seen.
"You think that's how oompa loompas see the world?"
Sanji shot Zoro a withering glare and pushed the orange glasses farther up on his nose, turning back to his book. "I wouldn't expect you to understand, marimo, so don't try. We're not living in a hospital anymore, if you fry the last of your brain cells, we won't reach a doctor in time to do anything. Though I suppose you'll be fine as long as you can swing your swords around like an ape. Don't need much brain to do that."
"You think that color will fuck up your retina? You only have one good eye left, you'd better be careful with it."
Sanji grinned up at him with a wicked smile, beckoning Zoro closer with one finger. "Come here, I want to show you something."
Zoro's own grin split his face, recognizing the shift in Sanji's hips so he could kick easier. Sanji had been progressively more and more ok to joke about his injuries; whether that was an effect of leaving the hospital or that he was just coming to terms with it, Zoro couldn't complain. "What is it?" he taunted, inching closer. "You can't see me from there? That's not good, cook."
"Closer, come on," Sanji called, his voice sweet and innocent, and when Zoro was in range his foot swept out playfully. Zoro danced out of the way of the kick and took a slow swipe at Sanji, letting the cook duck out of the way as he walked past him into the kitchen.
"Don't snack," Sanji called from the other room. Zoro could hear him getting settled again with his book. "I'm starting dinner after I finish this chapter."
I wouldn't know what to do even if I wanted to, Zoro thought idly as he looked around the kitchen, taking in the odd assortment of tools, many of which he didn't even know what they did. He filled the kettle with water and placed it on the stove, turning on the burner and leaning against the counter while he waited for it to boil. His eyes continued to trace the kitchen, and the more he looked, the more decorative and homey things he found tucked into small corners of the room. A couple of shells on the windowsill, a small vase of flowers in the middle of the table, a butterfly Sanji had found outside laid out above the stove. It was all superfluous, but whatever. He didn't mind and Sanji seemed to like the additions.
And his stupid brain had decided that that was what mattered.
-oOo-
Sanji was… something. Even lying tousled on the couch with his book draped across his lap, hair brushed off to the side, a light snore reverberating up from his chest, he was a sight to behold, and that was putting it lightly.
And Zoro was staring, and totally fine with it.
Sanji was something.
And in one week he was going to lose that something.
The tightness was back in his chest, and Zoro felt the odd desire to cross the room and join Sanji on the couch, but with the way the cook's legs were stretched out he'd have to either sit on Sanji or move the cook on top of him slightly—which he didn't mind—but Sanji would have a cow when he woke up if Zoro didn't wake him in the process and take a foot to the face.
He toyed with the idea of moving Sanji to the bed—mostly just to entertain his fantasies instead of the actual idea—but that would disturb the trance and Sanji would undoubtedly wake up and flip to find himself in Zoro's arms.
The idea of him carrying Sanji around had stupid imagery of Sanji naked and in his arms dancing through his head in seconds, Sanji's powerful legs held tightly in Zoro's arms, their opposing skin tones pressed so close together they looked like a single form with serious tan lines—
Zoro growled in disgust at his lack of willpower and crossed the room to the bathroom. He went to close the door, and on second thought slammed it roughly behind him, listening for the sound of Sanji jolting awake. Not a minute later, soft feet padded across the floor and the door to the bedroom shut. Zoro let out a heavy breath, leaning his head against the door.
Better to have the temptation removed.
…God damnit.
One more week and there wouldn't be a problem. Sanji would be gone, and the blond sprite making his brain swim like a fifteen-year-old's hormone-pickled mind would be gone. Sanji would disappear into the underground with no way of contacting him if he wanted to stay safe and hidden from the government. And considering the fact that Sanji had successfully hidden seven weeks from whoever and wherever he came from, Sanji was good at staying under the radar. When he was gone, he was gone.
God fucking damnit.
-oOo-
"What are you going to do when you get back?"
Sanji shrugged. "I guess I have to apologize to everyone for playing dead."
"Will they be mad?"
"Probably, but they'll understand, especially after they learn what happened. I just fucking hate hiding out, I feel so pathetic. Back at home I could work at least and I was useful."
"You work here."
"Feeding you bottomless pits isn't work, it's my passion. I could do shit back home that seriously helped people and feed them along the way."
Zoro considered asking or not. Most likely Sanji wouldn't tell him, but every once and a while… "…What work?"
Sanji sighed, hands dropping slightly and the spoon in the bowl of batter slumped. Zoro's lips pinched together, annoyed that he'd cut off that conversation so quickly, but instead of going silent, Sanji suddenly straightened up again.
"…Espionage, I guess. We worked really behind the scenes, even for the underground, helping people that were in trouble. Makes hiding now easy because I get the territory."
Espionage? "Like what Robin does?"
Sanji shook his head, pouring the sticky mess out into a pan he'd greased prior. "More closely related to people. Pass me that spatula, will you?"
"…You don't have to leave, you know. …We can protect you. We've had Killer for years—"
Sanji snorted loudly, chopping Zoro's train of thought in half. "The government will swoop in with papers and guns and level the city if I don't come quietly, and maybe then even if I do. They'll do a full sweep because I've been missing for so long, and for all they know I could have been here since I was eleven, probably find Killer, and kill everyone else here for good measure. This city is already on bad terms with the government, don't push it any further."
Sanji was quiet after that, spreading the batter evenly through the pan with the spatula, and then he let out a slow breath, smoke decorating the air in front of him. "I got used to hiding out at home, I'll get used to it here. …This is better than any facility. I'll die before I go back."
And with that the conversation had been over.
God knows why that was playing over again in Zoro's mind. He was so tired he was amazed he had any brain functions at all left, especially hiking up these damn stairs to his apartment. Goddamn broken elevator. Goddamn Luffy keeping him awake. Goddamn Usopp teaching Luffy those stupid songs.
Sanji never talked about staying, so Zoro took that as he didn't want to. And for the first day or two after this horrible realization, Zoro had felt the icy fingers of desperation clawing at his chest, begging him to do something rash and convince Sanji to stay—go all eighties cheesy romance movie on him with a boom box or a dance move or whatever was necessary just so long as he stayed please god. And then the ice had melted, time settling in, and Zoro had begun to accept the fact that Sanji would be leaving. He distanced himself from the blond whenever he could, working down at the shop with Kid, visiting Chopper and Law at the hospital, sparring with Luffy in practice for their upcoming tournament, anything as long as it got his mind used to the idea that his blond barnacle soon would be totally gone from his life. He had the willpower to quit Sanji slowly, so there was no point in going cold turkey and making it as painful as possible.
Still, the thought brought the now-familiar tightness back up into his chest as he rooted around in his pockets for his keys and he found himself planning out the quickest route to move through the apartment and get to his bed. Sanji might have already been asleep, though the thought was hopeful. It wasn't much later than nine—no wait, that was when the fight started last night… then they'd driven home… what day was it anyways? Goddamn Usopp. Goddamn Luffy. He may well have been up for over twenty-four hours at this point.
The door swung open suddenly in front of him and Zoro jerked his hand back, keys stuck in the lock and flying away from him. Wide eyes found Sanji standing in the doorway, shoes and coat on and a gleam in his already iridescent eye like he'd been waiting to surprise Zoro on his birthday.
Was it his birthday?
No, Chopper and Luffy and everyone else would have been singing. He would have heard Brook and Franky's songs and Nami screaming at Luffy as he snuck pieces of cake from the fridge all the way from the front of the building when he first walked in—
God he was tired.
"Come on!" Sanji grinned, pushing Zoro roughly out of the way as he stepped out of the apartment and locked the door, skipping down the stairs when he was done. Zoro looked at the lock on the door, hoping to find his keys still there and offering him an escape to his bed.
"Come on!" Sanji repeated, stronger now but just as excited.
"Coooooook." He ignored the obvious whine in his voice, telling himself that it was from exhaustion. "I just want to sleep! We were up all night for the fight and I couldn't sleep at all on the way home with Luffy, Usopp, and Chopper screaming ninety-nine bottles of beer at the top of their lungs the entire way back." Even Nami hadn't been able to stop them, and Brook and Franky found it too funny to bother.
"Hear me out!" Sanji was apparently not offering hearing him out as an option, but as the option, and bounded back up the stairs to grab Zoro's wrist and pull him stumbling back down the stairs. Zoro felt the irritation rise in the back of his throat, bed calling desperately for him from the closed apartment.
"Why didn't you tell me before I got all the way up the damn stairs?"
"I said to text when you were coming back."
"What am I, your husband?"
"Oh shut up, you're the one that's doing extra walking."
"Sanjiiiiiiii."
"Come on! It's so awesome."
Zoro was pretty sure he wouldn't have been able to wipe the stupid smile off Sanji's face even if he tripped the damn cook the rest of the way down the stairs. And his stupid brain was cutting in again, reminding him how nice it was to have Sanji's electrifying touch on his wrist—Sanji was touching his skin holding his hand touching him holding him touching—even if the cook was dragging him down several flights of stairs to do god only knew what.
God damnit.
Sanji pulled him out through the front door, only letting go when they were completely outside and Zoro was at his side so he was sure the swordsman wouldn't wander off. Zoro jammed his hands in his pockets after that, all incentive to keep walking lost, and grumbled quietly to himself, slowing down his pace as much as possible. Sanji, to his credit, didn't lose the spring in his step, even though they were taking twice as long to get wherever the hell they were going now.
They went up two blocks and crossed the street to go down another, Sanji making sure that Zoro was with him at all times and hadn't turned around or gotten lost or fallen asleep mid-step.
"Recognize where we are yet?"
"No" was ready at the back of Zoro's tongue with a nice snarl to go along with it, but as he looked around, he realized that he did recognize this place. Wherever it was. He had no clue how to get back to his apartment now.
"…How far are we from the arena?"
"Just a block or so, it's right on the way to town, we came down this street when we went clothes shopping a couple weeks ago."
"…Oh yeah."
Zoro was so busy looking at the buildings around him, trying to fix some to memory just in case he needed to find his way back here that he didn't notice Sanji cutting in front of him and nearly walked straight into the cook as Sanji pulled open the door to a building halfway down the street and ushered him inside excitedly.
Zoro waited, a flat, bored look on his face as Sanji pranced over to the front desk—what the hell was he so happy about anyways?—and started speaking to the woman sitting behind it. Zoro's deadpan flattened more with every flourishing gesture Sanji made and every word of useless drivel that drifted back over to him. When Sanji reached into his jacket, no doubt for the flower he always kept on hand, Zoro decided that that was enough.
"I'm going back," Zoro grunted suddenly, not about to put up with Sanji's bullshit when he was this tired, but the cook appeared at his side even before he'd said the last word and had a hand locked tightly around his arm.
Goddamn NSPH speed.
"No! Sorry! I'm done, I promise, just come on!"
He dragged Zoro into the elevator on the other side of the room and hit the button for the seventh floor ,smiling happily to himself and smoking away calmly as Zoro stood like a dark cloud in the corner of the elevator.
He hoped Sanji wasn't expecting him to be cordial to whomever the fuck they were meeting.
The doors slid open and Sanji dashed out and across the hall, sliding the key he must have gotten from the lady at the front desk into the lock. He flung the door open and strode inside, leaving Zoro standing out in the hallway. Zoro sighed, scratched at a bothersome spot on his scalp, and followed the cook in. Might as well if they were already there.
Zoro stopped in the entryway, taking in the bare rooms of the apartment around him. It was a studio apartment—a big one.
"The space is so cool!" Sanji called from the kitchen, which Zoro could see right through to from the lack of walls separating the rooms. Beautiful grey and white marble countertops laced golden-stained wooden cabinets, drawers, and the island in the middle of the room with a grate overhead for hanging wine glasses. The warm colors of the wood accented the stainless steel stacked double oven, fridge, and dishwasher tucked into the cabinets, making them pop in a modern-old country home blend. The third counter, making up the only barrier in the entire downstairs, created a third wall for the kitchen and had two layers of marble with room on the other side for barstools, offering up ridiculous amounts of space to spread out. It was a chef's dream, especially compared to the kitchen Zoro's apartment had.
Beyond the kitchen, the entire floor was just one big open space, except for what must have been a bedroom jutting out from the back corner. But the rest of the floor created a giant "L" that Sanji was walking through, apparently trying to show Zoro vicariously what it was like to be in it.
"It has two floors, two bathrooms, two bedrooms—that closed room on this floor could be storage or a guest room. Although it doesn't have a window, but that's ok."
Zoro followed Sanji's brimming voice as the cook dashed upstairs and sighed to himself, resigning to look around just to humor the cook.
"The kitchen is gorgeous!" Sanji called down the stairs. "And it connects right with the living room and I guess what's suppose to be a sunroom or a dining room, but look!"
Zoro looked over to the "sunroom" area, where an section of the living room just a hair smaller than the kitchen had been raised with two steps leading up to it. Zoro eyed the giant panel windows that made up the entirety of both walls on both sides of the space, tracing the glass with his eyes to where another large paneled window had been put in the kitchen behind the far counter, opening up both of the rooms even more. Eight floors up meant that they had a pretty good view, and because the sunroom had windows on both walls, it meant that the apartment was on the corner of the building. No neighbors on both sides, then. Zoro crossed the space and stepped up the stairs unconsciously, feeling the way the wood held his weight and taking the time to look down to the street below them where the city was just starting to glow red with the sunset.
"It's perfect for a dojo, and there's still plenty of room for furniture and a table, though the kitchen has the barstool countertop and the island which can fit a couple chairs if you don't hang pans underneath."
Zoro looked up, confused at how he could hear Sanji's voice so clearly from where he was, only to find Sanji looking back down at him from over the railing of a balcony. The ceiling had been opened above the sunroom—dojo?—leaving amazing amounts of room, and suddenly Zoro could feel himself grinning at the open air of the "dojo" and how perfect it would be for training and meditation. Sanji's mood was finally catching up to him.
"There's two bedrooms and a master bathroom up here," Sanji gestured with his hand. "And there's a pantry off of the kitchen with shelving for storage and a washer and dryer, so you don't have to deal with other people in the laundry room, though you do meet some of the most lovely domestic ladies down there~"
Zoro rolled his eyes and turned back to the window, watching the red sun sinking down below the buildings.
"…It's big," he said finally. It's really fucking big.
"I know, I know," Sanji stopped him quickly, padding down the stairs and trotting over to join him in the dojo. "It's more than you're used to, but we can split the cost, especially now that Shanks hired me—and you fight underground, so depending on what you make every fight, it really shouldn't even cost that much. It's much closer to the arena and to the town, you won't have to sleep with your weights anymore, and we can put Killer up for longer than a couple of hours when he wants to stay."
Zoro opened his mouth, not exactly sure how to politely word such a blunt rejection, but Sanji held up his hand again, cutting him off.
"I talked to the landlady and she agreed to hold it for a couple of days because I said I had to talk to my roommate. You don't have to decide now, but it's a really cool space and it'd be much easier for both of us."
That, Zoro could agree with.
It was still really fucking big though.
But Sanji's happy expression was making his brain want to say stupid things like: "Of course we can get it, go tell the woman now!" or "Why are you even asking? You should know I'd say yes for you," or "If you wanted it badly enough and it would make you happy, I'd find a way to live on the moon for you."
God damnit.
"…Listen," he started as something occurred to him. "…This place is… well, it's fine for two people, maybe even three or four"—he added under his breath—"but what about…?"
Zoro looked over and met Sanji's vibrant blue eye silently, pleading for him to understand so he could avoid saying awkward things as much as possible. Sanji sighed, running a hand through his hair, picking up instantly on what Zoro meant.
"…Are you going to take all of your cooking stuff back with you? Like, what the hell am I supposed to do with a kitchen like this?"
"…Look…" Sanji ground out. "You—I—We—ugh… let's just talk, marimo."
Zoro nodded, tightness building up again in his chest, imagining all of the horrible things about to come out of Sanji's mouth: For him to forget about the apartment, he'd buy boxes for the kitchen stuff, Zoro could keep the things like the kettle and the mugs—
"…Dancing around it is stupid, we're both thinking the same thing."
But neither one of them seemed willing to say it.
…Wait, the same thing?
"…I… I don't want to go. Things are just… I'm just… I don't want to go."
It was like someone had lifted a sandbag off of Zoro's heart, and instantly he could breathe again, relief washing through him like new life.
"…And you have to tell me if you want me to leave, because I'm going to stay otherwise."
Zoro chuckled, looking back over the city, agreeing that it was stupid to dance around it. Robin would have said the same thing but much more bluntly and weeks ago. She would have called Zoro dense for waiting this long to have this conversation, especially because Sanji was right, and she would have been right as always.
"What the fuck is so funny?"
Sanji's defensive tone pulled Zoro back out of his thoughts and he looked back over to where the blond was scowling, wracking for a comeback to what had looked like a jeer from Zoro for him wanting to stay.
"No no!" Zoro covered quickly before Sanji's brain could catch up with his quick tongue. "…I like what you've done with my place, and everyone likes having you around. Shanks and Luffy don't seem to mind the idea of your joining the crew or whatever."
"…So…"
"And this place is pretty cool."
"…So I'm staying?"
"I'm not gonna ask you twice, shit cook, that's the best you're gonna get. Take it or leave it."
An amused grin started to creep up on Sanji's face and Zoro scowled, feeling the beginnings of a blush creeping up and looked sharply away, ignoring Sanji's shit-eating expression.
But they'd done it. Sanji was staying.
The rush of breath in his lungs was like a drug, and Zoro felt himself straighten up and hurried to smother his own smirk so Sanji wouldn't see it, but the cook caught it and leaned in, bringing his lips close to Zoro's ear.
"What? Were you going to miss me, marimo?"
God damnit.
-oOo-
The next morning Zoro padded barefoot into the kitchen, swiping a towel across his forehead, and had the good grace to pause in the doorway and look around in almost shame for offering such a dingy kitchen to Sanji for his art. It was nothing like the other apartment, that was for sure.
He found a place leaning up against the crappy counter and picked up the cup of tea already waiting for him. He had finished quickly today, and Sanji must have noticed that he would and had forgone Zoro's morning snack to finish breakfast. Zoro couldn't help the possessive grin that touched his cheeks as he thought of everyone missing Sanji's breakfasts, even though the cook still did most lunches and dinners at Shanks' so everyone could gather.
"I want to see the apartment again," he said around his tea, pausing curiously when Sanji didn't jump at the idea and race to get his shoes on. The cook just shook his head, moving to transfer the crepe he'd been working on to a plate.
A pit dropped into Zoro's stomach and his grip tightened on the thin mug. …Had Sanji changed his mind?
"The landlady called after you fell asleep," Sanji explained, drizzling the plate with an assortment of colorful fruit decorations. "Someone made her a better offer after we left."
The disappointment in Sanji's face was painfully obvious, and painful to the part of Zoro's brain that loved watching Sanji smile, and that stupid nagging feeling was back in Zoro's chest, wheedling him to do whatever necessary to keep Sanji happy and here.
The cook looked so much cuter when he smiled.
Zoro grimaced to himself, not as big of a reaction as the first time he'd thought of Sanji as cute—though the word really didn't do it justice—but still bothersome. The man was the King of Ladies, he'd be blind not to notice all of the doting on the women Sanji hung around. Sanji trusted him; that was what this was based on. And after what he'd been through, that was almost enough for Zoro, as long as it kept the cook here.
He wracked his brain, trying to come up with a scene in a book or a movie or something he'd read in the paper that would offer something… how could he fix this?—oh.
"How much better?"
Sanji blinked, pausing as he moved to slide the second crepe onto a plate, curious at Zoro's unexpected interest.
"…Not much better… she said she'd give us until the end of the day to make a counter offer. The guy who made her the other one doesn't want to wait to move in."
Zoro thought, taking a slow sip of his tea as the numbers churned in his mind. He could pay for his half easily with what he made from just two fights. He had enough saved up from how little he spent on a regular basis. And Sanji didn't seem to have trouble getting ahold of money—bills, if the lack of credit card and how easily the bank shelled him out hundreds meant anything. And his trade dealt entirely in paper money, nothing went through any system that could track numbers.
"…So… would she take our current offer if we made it cash?"
Sanji was still, and then the excited smirk split his face again and he reached over the sizzling pan for the phone. "I'll ask."
-oOo-
Sanji threw open the door to the apartment, hustling the large box he was carrying immediately into the kitchen where he began to unload and organize things to his liking in the ample storage space he suddenly had. He was like an excited puppy, mind leaping frantically from one thing to the next to the next. He ground to a halt with his hands full of spoons, noticing the windows behind him, and tossed them haphazardly into one of the open drawers so he could fling open the huge panels and let the air rush in. After sticking his head out for a second and taking in the view, he bounded back to organize the spoons but noticed something else he wanted in the box on his way and raced to unload it. The cook was shining as brightly as the sunset bleeding in through the glass, and Zoro felt his chest swell as he witnessed one of Sanji's happier moments in all seven weeks of being here.
Slowly but surely, the blond was opening up, coming back to himself—whoever that was. And Zoro was excited to meet this new Sanji.
The cook yanked open the fridge, box of tools forgotten on the counter for the moment, and beamed over in Zoro's direction where he and their new landlady were having fun just watching the cook flit about the kitchen. She was a sweet little old lady that leaned heavily on a cane and hobbled with a light crick in her back. She had somehow survived the city when it was swarmed with NSPH and come out alright on the other side, and when she heard who she'd be selling to, she'd turned down the other offer immediately.
"How much food do you think we'll have to offer everyone to help us move?" Sanji called excitedly. Zoro grinned, figuring out pretty easily that Sanji was using it as an excuse to cook in his glorious new kitchen. There would be way too much food; Sanji would want to use everything here twice and maybe more. They'd have to make sure Luffy came to finish it all off, but he would only be allowed to help with the large, durable furniture.
And the apartment was still big.
But it made Sanji happy, so that part in Zoro's brain just kept saying, "Fuck it," and as was well.
"How much food do you think we'd have to offer to get everyone to help us move today?"
The landlady laughed, handing Zoro the extra pair of keys because Sanji was far to preoccupied with his new space to take them. "I have another key if you need it for an emergency. I still manage the building, so I have to be able to get into the apartment for police or fire situations."
Zoro nodded, slipping them into his pocket.
"And I collect for utilities and such on the first of every month, I'll write you up a bill for the upcoming one because you've already paid for this one and you can pay that whenever."
"Do you think people would want confit de canard? Is it too hot today for that?—No, the meat has to marinade for too long—what about Bouillabaisse? Ooh! I have to make Blanquette de Veau—and crab cakes with that saffron mayonnaise! What else do you have around here for food shopping? I couldn't find cardamom the last time I went to the store—ooh! Spicy seafood pasta! I haven't made that in so long!"
The landlady smiled, watching Sanji with a warm expression as he practically danced back to putting his utensils away. "He's not from here, is he?"
"…No," Zoro agreed after a moment. For anyone that had gone through the siege, it was pretty easy to pick out an unfamiliar personality. Sanji fluctuated too easily between watching the shadows for anything and being far too relaxed in his environment to blend in; everyone around here—save Luffy—had a very consistent demeanor. Maybe it was to keep themselves safe and hidden from the marines, maybe it was to keep the horrors of the past at bay, but it had never been difficult for Zoro to pick out a newcomer to the area.
The landlady shifted to hold her cane with both hands so she could turn to look at Zoro without throwing herself off balance. "I never thanked you by the way."
"…For what?"
"…Four years ago, after my building was hit by a bomb, I was being brought by an ambulance to the hospital and we were attacked. A young man with green hair braved the vampires all around us and carried me into the hospital along with my eldest son."
…She was there that day we brought Killer in. Even as he thought this, fangs and slashing metal and glowing eyes and haunting screams flashed behind his eyes, and he felt himself twitch uncomfortably. He looked down to find the old woman calm and still smiling, even with the memories of that day running through her head. He still had a while to go before he reached that point apparently.
"I didn't know who you were or if you'd survived until after the city had been rebuilt and I insisted on my son taking me to one of the…" she waved her hand vaguely, "matches being held in the old underground amphitheater where the town hall used to be. I wanted to see what the city's new economy had been built on; I had to convince myself that even though it was illegal, it was what brought in the money to rebuild our lives and keep us from drowning because the government wasn't helping anymore."
Zoro stood quietly, watching the old woman reminisce happily, mostly to herself. She had gone through so much, come to terms with so much in her life, and still smiled so happily. Zoro assumed that when she said eldest son, she meant that at least one other son, if not more family, had died that night, and he was sure there had been a fight to bring her to the hospital at all because of how old she was.
She was still watching Sanji with that warm smile. The cook had moved onto the dessert plates in the box and was arranging them just so in one of the top cabinets.
"…What made him come?"
"…Why?"
"…I would just assume he'd think it was dangerous. …For his kind. Not many people around here would be comfortable with the idea of taking in a vampire after what had happened. And he'd be stupid not to know how his kind hunt and not figure out what had happened to this city."
Zoro blanched, throat locking up as his eyes flicked to the old woman, measuring her at-peace smile and the relaxed manner in which she was leaning on her cane, just watching Sanji intently and taking in his mannerisms from afar.
"…U-uh—" Zoro started, trying to come up with something to reassure her but also wondering why she'd said yes to them renting so quickly if she knew—and how did she figure it out—?!
"He has that way about him. You can just see it even when he walks," she explained slowly, and Zoro turned to Sanji, watching his graceful movements and thinking over the way Sanji moved when he fought, tracing all of his kicks and attacks in his mind.
Sanji was like a wave, powerful and unstoppable, carefree and certain, fluid and graceful beyond any human ability. If you looked closely enough, he moved like no human ever could.
But he wasn't like what the old woman had known.
"…He's not like those others—"
"I figured that out as well," the woman chuckled. "I wasn't sure why he was different, but it was obvious from the first time meeting him that he wasn't what we had grown to know. I didn't think someone like you, who'd been as close to barging right through death's door without knocking as I was, would take in a monster that had nearly ended everything we held dear."
Zoro wasn't sure what to say. Part of him was so used to protecting Killer that all he wanted to do was convince her how not dangerous Sanji was, but the other part of that protectiveness was screaming for him to keep his mouth shut. He didn't know this old woman, and she could very easily become a loose end. "…There are two different… breeds… of vampires. …One loses control of themselves like what happened here. …Sanji's… stronger. He's more human. More…"
He trailed off, watching as the blond hopped like a cat up onto the countertop to put something on one of the highest shelves. Sanji's crisp limbs and bones were like a frame, keeping all of that power contained. The old woman was right: he did have a way about him. More…
Something.
More everything.
Zoro looked down as he heard her chuckle again, and she gave him a knowing look before shuffling towards the door. "Call me if you need me."
He watched her close the door behind herself with that warm smile and then turned back to Sanji, tuning back into the cook's wild gesticulations as he described all of the things he was imagining for the apartment, and something sunk in that hadn't quite before.
Sanji was making his place in the city, a brand new start with everything he could ever need. Sanji was planning to stay for a long time, much longer than either of them had ever expected him to stay.
Zoro couldn't come up with a single problem with that.
"Where'd the old woman go?"
"She left."
"I was going to make her something in thanks! Go call her back!"
Zoro snorted to himself before turning for the door, hurrying to catch her before she got too far and had to hobble all the way back here with her gimpy walk. Inwardly, he wondered if she'd received the injury the night of the attack, but it wasn't important.
-oOo-