Author's Note: Okay, some notes on some of the things in here. One being that last night, I stayed up really late and read through a lot of people's profiles on the One Piece wikipedia. During this time, I learnt that Zoro had never had sushi and was fascinated with it and that Zoro also hated chocolate. I learnt that Sanji would be French had he not been a fictional character and he probably would've been a hair dresser or stylist had he not been a pirate. I would've thought he'd have owned a restaurant. Anyway, it mentioned which cigarette brands Sanji used, so I put them in here. Another thing is learning that Sanji's smoking was completely altered in an English dub version of One Piece by a lollipop. A fucking lollipop. Just imagine it for a moment please. Anyway, most of these things I've said about Sanji are purely because I believe I could see Sanji being like that. I know that Zoro comes off kind of stupid here, but hey, what are you gonna do? This chapter is kind of rushed cause I kinda want to get to the good part. In terms of chapters, I have at least 26 of them totally planned, but they're not all written. The next update will take longer cause the chapters are going to start becoming longer. Thanks for the reviews will be below! I REALLY like getting reviews and if I can get 5 for this chapter, I will be encouraged to work harder and faster to make the next one come out sooner. I don't own One Piece.


Beautiful Disaster
By: Setkia


Full Summary

Sanji is the assistant cook of the world-renowned restaurant, the Baratie, the only restaurant like it in the world. He's a successful chef and flirts with the customers every chance he can get but there's a problem. It's all a facade. The cooks give a new meaning to the word "abusive", both mental and physical. The only thing keeping Sanji alive is his love for cooking and a good ol' pack of cigarettes.

Zoro Roronoa is a swordsman who suddenly has more change in his pocket than he expected and enters the Baratie by recommendation. His waiter happens to be a curly browed man with an adoration for cigarettes. An attempt speak to the head chef goes horribly wrong and he gets sucked into the crumbling world of the chef's, wondering how he can possibly save him and better yet, why does he want to save him in the first place?


Chapter 3: Hello Stranger


The Baratie was going to run him bankrupt.

Zoro knew it was expensive, but he came every night with some comfort knowing that he wouldn't have to convince the "receptionist" as Sanji had called them, to let him in because this time around, he had a reservation. He knew an easy way to keep his deal with the cook without needing to pay a single yen, being if he just left his house with nothing in his wallet, then he couldn't empty its contents to the blond, but he knew that would be stupid to do and besides, with the food they served, they definitely deserved some sort of payment.

He was pretty sure Johnny was regretting telling him about the Baratie since he hadn't gone out for drinks with him and his friend, Yosaku, in quite a while. In fact, he had only been ordering water so he had been sober for a new record of time. Somehow, Sanji, who had known him for perhaps a week total, had managed to quell his minor (it hardly even existed, as far as Zoro was concerned) drinking problem while Yosaku and Johnny were grasping at straws. They found that a drunk Zoro was one of the most amusing things they had ever seen and stocked up on sake whenever he came to visit them, but at the same time, they realized they were killing his liver but weren't able to stop buying the damn alcohol.

Taking his usual seat, Zoro watched the cook with an intense gaze that he usually used to size up his opponents. He was able to watch every one of Sanji's moves as he walked around the restaurant and he wondered if this time, he was being allowed to serve. It had become clear to him that the first time he had come to the Baratie, Sanji was not a waiter and was not permitted into the dinning hall, but maybe it was better? He didn't seem to be walking with a limp, nor were any of his fingers looking crushed or damaged in any way. When Sanji set down his water, Zoro saw that he wasn't holding his ribs anymore, which meant that whatever damage that ladle had inflicted on him was long gone.

He gave Sanji a small smile and the cook stared back at him. Zoro learnt pretty quickly that Sanji didn't know how to deal with smiles.

Enough meals had passed that Sanji's unease around Zoro must have been relieved, or at least, he didn't look at Zoro as though he were an overly-suspicious person. Zoro still didn't know a thing about Sanji though and that irked him. Here he was, spending all of his money to eat at a fancy restaurant every night, giving up his liquor so he'd still have money the next morning, all to watch over some cook whom he knew absolutely nothing about. Whenever he thought about it too hard, he always asked himself why he was doing this in the first place, but since he could never give himself a satisfactory answer, he always pushed it to the back of his mind. Finally, he decided enough was enough. He would learn something about the tall cook if it was the last thing he did.

As Sanji set down his appetizer, Zoro readied himself to attack.

"Here you are, Mr. Roronoa, bon appetite."

Zoro opened his mouth, ready to ask a question to the blond cook when he realized something.

He had no fucking clue what to say.

It was puzzling that though Zoro knew nothing about Sanji, he didn't even know where to begin when it came to asking him questions. Moreover, he didn't even know if Sanji would answer any of his questions. He knew any inquires about his injuries were completely and totally off-limits— it was part of their deal after all— but there had to be more to the cook than a few scars and bruises.

"If you would close your mouth, Mr. Roronoa, it would be ever helpful. People are starting to stare," said Sanji with a smirk.

"What's your favourite colour?"

What. The. Hell?

Zoro wanted to hit himself. What's your favourite colour? How old was he, a fucking preschooler? Surely there was a better question he could find in his arsenal to ask the cook, but instead of asking a different, more sensible one, he waited. Fucking Christ, he was actually waiting for the cook to tell him his favourite colour. What the fuck was wrong with him?

Sanji raised a curly brow at him. "I don't see how this is relevant to your meal—"

"What's. Your. Favourite. Colour?" Zoro repeated, this time in a growling voice he saved for competitions to intimidate his opponent. Jesus, it was just a colour, would it really matter if he didn't know Sanji's favourite colour? But for some reason, Zoro's mouth had decided the most important thing was knowing the cook's preference in pigments, and so, he waited while his brain called him over a thousand different kinds of idiot.

"Don't have one."

Zoro stared at him and blinked. Once. Twice. Thrice. Then—

"What the fuck do you mean you don't have one?!"

At this point, Zoro didn't even have to check to know that everyone was staring at him. He was used to it now and besides, he wasn't going to apologize. "Don't have one," he mimicked in a high pitched tone.

"Mr. Roronoa, I believe that's a horrible misrepresentation of my—"

"What kind of a fucking answer is that?" Zoro demanded, getting out of his seat, slamming his hands onto the table and glaring at the cook who merely continued to smirk, taking in a deep lungful of smoke before exhaling.

"I. Don't. Have. One," Sanji repeated slowly. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have other clients to tend to."

With that, the blond turned around and left Zoro standing there, unable to fathom a response.

For a reason Zoro would never know, he went home that night feeling slightly satisfied that he knew Sanji had no preference in colour (but seriously, what kind of a fucking answer is "I don't have one"?).

The next night, Zoro took his seat at his table and before Sanji could even welcome him, he said, "Blue."

"Pardon?"

"Blue. My favourite colour's blue," Zoro told Sanji through gritted teeth.

"I never asked," Sanji said.

"Yeah well, I'm fucking telling you since you prefer not to tell me," Zoro snapped.

Sanji nodded slowly. There was silence and then— "Would've thought it'd be green."

Zoro gave him an incredulous look and ordered his usual water. When Sanji placed his glass of water on the table as usual, he leaned closer to Zoro and whispered, "Black."

Followed by which, Zoro was stared at once more for screaming about how black wasn't a fucking colour, it was a shade, all the while the calm cook smoked his damn cigarette.

That night, Zoro felt even more content for even more reasons he didn't know, simply repeating to himself over and over again that Sanji was a fucking idiot and black wasn't a colour, it was a shade, and a damn shitty one at that, but for some reason, Sanji thought it was a colour and it was his favourite. And for some other reason that Zoro didn't know, that was all that mattered.

After going to the Baratie nightly for a month, Zoro knew the following things about the curly browed cook:

He enjoyed classical music, specifically Chopin

He was rather fond of e.e cummings

He had almost all of William Shakespeare's greatest works (and some of his lesser-known ones) memorized and could recite them at a drop of a hat

He had read every book by Charles Dickens

He hated politics and had no clue who the fuck was in the Diet

He thought cooking shows were pointless and no one should make money off of showing others how to make a turkey when Thanksgiving came.

He smoked King Ground cigarettes, but also liked Death.

He was twenty-three

His favourite colour was black (even if black was a fucking shade)

Zoro learnt quite a few other things about Sanji, even if Sanji never told them to him directly. After watching Sanji long enough, he realized he was right handed, judging by the hand that held his cigarette. He also learnt that Sanji didn't read the news at all (which explained why he couldn't tell Zoro which section of the newspaper he enjoyed most), from the way he always seemed surprised when Zoro told him about the latest story about how a paralyzed man somehow managed to walk again. Sanji called it bullshit.

Of all the things Zoro came to know about his cook it had to be that unless you asked, you would never know a thing about him and even then, he was reluctant to give out information. It was a slow process, trying to piece together who Sanji was from the brief, not to mention vague encounters he had with him. It wasn't until he had been to the Baratie for a month and a half that Zoro ever saw Sanji unguarded and it wasn't even at the restaurant itself that it happened.


Zoro grumbled, walking down the long aisles, looking for some eggs. He was pretty sure he was in the dairy section, but then again, if it truly was the dairy section, why was the olive oil there too? Realizing his fridge was completely empty had been a bother for Zoro. He wasn't the greatest in terms of direction so whenever he found the supermarket, he'd stock up to prevent himself from having to go through the terror of wandering the streets aimlessly like an idiot for half an hour before he finally swallowed his pride and looked at a map (never ask a person, that leaves a witness to your directional weakness).

As he picked up a can of beans (seriously, what the fuck was up with this dairy section?), he spotted blond hair out of the corner of his eye. He honestly would've thought nothing of it, had it not been for the smell of nicotine that was coming from that general direction.

"Fucking bastards," he heard the blond mutter. "Do your own grocery shopping, you lazy assholes."

Zoro watched the man's back. He was wearing a white shirt with a pair of black pants and black boots. The way he moved, practically on the tips of his toes, was too familiar to be a coincidence.

"Curly Brow?"

Immediately, the blond stiffened. Zoro could picture him gritting his teeth with a firmly set jaw, that cigarette probably grinding against his teeth. He started to retreat, as though by backing away slowly, Zoro would forget having seen him, but he stopped suddenly, keeling over. Holding his stomach, Sanji coughed harshly before trying to straighten himself up, but he pushed against a shelf and knocked over several cans of soup, falling forward instead.

"Fuck," Sanji muttered, picking up the cans.

"Didn't know you were such a klutz," Zoro said, though his eyes held worry. He bent down next to Sanji and began to help him clean up when Sanji slapped his hand away.

"I don't need your fucking help," he snapped.

"Yeah well, too bad, you're getting it anyway, Curly Brow," Zoro replied. Picking up a can of Canbell soup, Zoro frowned. "What kind of fucking dairy section is this?"

Sanji rolled his eyes and pulled the can out of his grasp. "It's not the dairy section, you marimo!"

Zoro stared at him blankly. What the fuck is a marimo? Zoro shook his head, pushing the thought aside. "I'm trying to be a nice person, so shut up and be grateful, dammit," he snapped. He grabbed the can out of Sanji's hands and placed it back on the shelf with a triumphant smile, as though this was something that he was infinitely proud of. It didn't really matter in the grand scheme of things and since Sanji was being such an ass, he should've been glad Zoro was even bothering!

Sanji grumbled, no doubt realizing that there was no way Zoro was going to give up and the two of them cleaned up the aisle together while the other shoppers stared and pointed on the occasion. There was even a little boy who walked up to Zoro and asked him if he was a fairy. Zoro had nearly struck Sanji in the head with the can of soup that was in his hand at that moment to stop the idiot from laughing at his expense, but had held back, remembering the cook's wince when he had keeled over.

After they finished, Zoro stood up. "Well Curly Brow, perhaps I should join you on your shopping adventure?"

Sanji raised his curly brow. "Pardon?"

Zoro found it incredibly strange how Sanji never said "excuse me". Instead, he merely said, "pardon" and gave Zoro a blank look. It was a little peculiar in his opinion, just a little too polite that reminded him of the way he found overly polite and stuck-up people to be assholes but for some reason, Sanji's politeness didn't turn him off the way others did.

"Well, we wouldn't want you destroying the store, now would we?" Zoro asked, elaborating his point.

"I wouldn't destroy the store," Sanji said indignantly.

Zoro stared at the cigarette in between Sanji's lips. "You're a walking fire hazard."

"Yes well, I think I'll manage just fine," Sanji told him with a frown. Pushing his cart in the opposite direction, he tried to avoid Zoro, but Zoro quickly got in front of him, stopping him from leaving the aisle. "Move it, Marimo."

"No."

Zoro was patient. He was stubborn. He could totally out-wait the cook, hands down. He just had to make sure he didn't do anything stupid that would make him a real nuisance. Why he wanted to follow the cook was beyond him. Perhaps it was because he was a friendly face— well, not that friendly, but still— and he knew relatively where he was going.

Sanji sighed. "You're not going to move until I let you come with me, are you?"

Zoro shook his head.

Sanji sighed again, more exasperatedly and far too dramatic than necessary. "Fine, whatever. You'll look like a lost puppy though."

Zoro smirked, glad to have won and began to walk beside Sanji and his cart. "So wait," he said slowly, "if we're not in the diary section, where the fuck are we?"


Following Sanji while he did his groceries was actually a lot of fun, surprisingly. At least, Zoro didn't get bored. Sanji got into fights over prices and he got yelled at several times for smoking inside the store before Sanji gave them the finger and told them to fuck off. Sanji loaded his cart with enough carrots to feed a barn of horses and when Zoro pointed that out, Sanji replied with he was purchasing this food for the sake of the restaurant, which needed to have a full supply if they wanted to make just about anything on the menu.

When they finally got to the cash register, Zoro was torn between conversing with Sanji and flipping through the various magazines that lay on the rack. Sanji scoffed when he saw the tabloids and Zoro remembered once again Sanji disliked reading things that involved the lives of other people. Or at least, he didn't enjoy any form of news, televised, or written.

Zoro picked up a cooking magazine, curious if perhaps, just maybe, Sanji enjoyed them. "Hey!" Zoro said, pointing at an article. "There's a review for the Baratie in here!"

"Oh yeah?" asked Sanji, sounding somewhat interested in something other than picking a fight for the first time that day.

"Yeah," Zoro said. "It gives the Baratie four and a half stars. The food is delicious with melt-in-your-mouth aftertaste that leaves customers dying for another bite. The decor of the restaurant utilizes a pale colour scheme and the waiters are outstandingly polite, with the exception of a certain curly browed cook—"

Sanji grabbed the magazine out of Zoro's hands and it was at that moment that Zoro realized Sanji's left hand was bandaged. It was wrapped clumsily in gauze and there was a crimson stain over his index finger.

"What is that?" asked Zoro, as the line moved along. The person behind them yelled something about how "the green-haired freak should use his fucking feet". Zoro didn't feel like telling him that he had just rhymed and instead he turned to Sanji with a serious expression on his face.

"What's what?" Sanji asked.

Zoro's eyes narrowed in on the gauze and Sanji's eyes followed his.

"Oh." Sanji paled, but fisted his hand and turned his head away before Zoro could tell if he was imagining it. "It's nothing. Besides, why the fuck do you care?"

"Your ribs are hurting too, aren't they?" Zoro remembered the way Sanji had keeled over, holding his side. "I know I'm in no position to say this, but I think you should go to the hospital."

"You're right," Sanji snapped. "You have no fucking right to tell me that, so don't."

Zoro's brow furrowed. He was only trying to help and the asshole got all defensive! Though, Zoro supposed, he could understand why Sanji was reluctant to accept help and from a total stranger too. Well, no, that was wrong. Zoro liked to think that he and Sanji had become "acquaintances" at the very least. Sanji served him every time he sat down at his table with that silly cigarette in his mouth; Zoro thought it couldn't hurt to serve Sanji some medical aid. And not the shitty kind that did up his bandaging.

"But I really think—"

"I don't give a fuck about what you think," Sanji cut him off. "That wasn't the deal we had." Fuming, Sanji moved forward in the line and took out his wallet, leafing through his money.

The person in front of them at the cashier finished up and Sanji handed his things to the man behind the counter.

"Okay, fair," Zoro agreed, "but you need help. At least, I think you do and you're too damn fucking prideful to go looking for it so I think it's only fair that I tell you my opinion on your personal well-being!" Zoro sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Besides, the deal applies when I'm on Baratie properly, which I'm currently not."

"We never said that," Sanji snapped, handing over his money to the cashier.

"Yeah well, it was in the subtext!"

"Then write down a fucking contract if you need to, but if it includes that, I'm not fucking signing it!" Sanji snapped. Grabbing his bagged groceries, he left Zoro standing there at the check-out, the man behind him yelling at him to "get a fucking move on", while he simply tried to collect his thoughts.

When Zoro got back into his car, he sat behind the driver's wheel silently and thought.

Sanji was a tough man. He knew that. Quick as a whip and talented (at least at cooking), well-grounded, probably had a lot of self-discipline and could probably hold his own as well. Surely someone like him wouldn't have trouble getting himself out a scrape like this, would he? Perhaps Sanji just wasn't a good fighter when it came down to it, maybe he was just weak— no. Sanji was not weak.

Perhaps Zoro had never seen Sanji fight for himself against the cooks, but he could see it in his eyes. Sanji had a fire in his eyes, slightly dimmer than it probably was originally, but it was still there and it would probably remain there for quite some time. Sanji was not weak.

So why wasn't Sanji finding himself help? He was prideful, but surely when it came to a scenario of physical abuse, that must mean that he had some sense of self-preservation and looked for help somewhere, regardless of the blow to his ego.

Unless it was more than just physical.

Were they also mentally abusing him? He heard the insults, sure, but was there more than that? Were they threatening him to stay? Were they holding him hostage and blackmailing him? What was the truth behind the Baratie?

It was once Zoro finally got home (after taking five wrong turns, nearly going through a red light twice and circling around a building three times), he walked into his small apartment, flipped on the light, threw his keys on the couch and the moment he sunk into the comfy cushions, realized something.

Shit, I forgot to buy my groceries.


Author's Note #2: Note about something: I said Sanji had no idea who was in the Diet. Now, it's not a food diet. Since I figured Sanji wasn't the type to like politics, I decided to look into Japanese politics and figure out how their government worked. I still have no idea how exactly its run, but the Diet is basically a group of people who are chosen by the people of a certain city (I believe) and the members of the diet are the ones who chose their ruler, or something like that. I could be totally wrong though, so don't take my word for it!

Okay, now for the thank yous!

a1wonder50: That is a good idea, but I'm not quite sure since I don't think Zoro has the patience to wait around till the restaurant closes. I dunno, I could use it, thanks for the suggestion!

JustCallMeLucie: Well, given Sanji's situation, he kind of has a right to be paranoid, don't you think? Thanks for reviewing and I'm really happy that I got thanked for writing this story! I think it's funny when people thank me for doing something I love.

Guest: I am REALLY bad at writing flirting scenes. See, the thing is, with my own original stories that I write, all of my characters who have romantic relationships (cause the main focus of those stories aren't romance, their fantasy/humour/friendship kind of stories) are really dysfunctional and entertaining, but really weird. Like, insults are their way of flirting so I wasn't intending on having Zoro flirt with Sanji, but if you saw it that way, I can understand why. I think Zoro's an honest person in general, so really, there's no reason for him to be secretive and I'm glad you think it's realistic, if there's anything I aim for besides being in character (which is kinda being thrown out the window for this story) it's developing realistic relationships that someone could potentially see. I want their relationship to develop gradually and the way I believe, people in this situation with Zoro and Sanji's personalities, would.

lilcutieprincess: The thing about Sanji and savate ... the thing is, I never really understood how he learnt how to do all that while he was with Zeff, cause he was training him to cook, right? I thought he kinda picked up his version of savate through watching the other cooks fight, but anyway, you'll see about Sanji and his self-defence methods and such.


1st Edit: August 5th 2015