Sanji felt worn out after visiting five apartments. The only reason that kept him standing on his feet was the agent whose number he had been lucky to find on some site – a stunning blonde with long legs and a serious but yet so cute face.
"So, what do you think of this one, Mr. Blackleg?" She turned to Sanji, shifting her glasses on her thin pretty nose.
Peering into the price-list, the cook could barely hide a scowl. This exact apartment was located forty minutes away from the Baratie. It would be ridiculous to pay that much for it.
"The kitchen is quite small," he uttered, wearing a forced smile.
"I see," the woman nodded with a barely audible sigh. "Then we have the last one to look at."
Her lovely face twitched slightly, but enough for Sanji to notice.
"Is there any problem with it?" he asked carefully.
"Well..." She narrowed her eyes, hesitating. "Let's go and you'll see by yourself."
Sanji followed the agent out of the apartment complex, down to the parking lot. It was a shame he had to let a lady drive, he definitely needed his Mustang back.
They drove for so long that soon the town's highway changed to a beaten road, country-side style. Sanji observed the gloomy scenery from the passenger's seat: crooked trees without any foliage were growing occasionally by the road, only a few houses reminded of civilization. For a moment Sanji thought that maybe the stunning lady was going to kidnap and ravish him. He wasn't sure he was glad, but he certainly felt a little honored.
"We're here," the blonde turned to him, stopping the car near a large looming house.
Sanji realized why it was the last variant right after he'd got out of the car and got his foot stuck in mud.
"I'm not going there, sorry," the agent winced. Sanji couldn't blame her – walking on the mud with such nice high-heeled shoes would be troublesome.
Getting closer to the house appeared to be such an ordeal that the blond quickly decided it wouldn't be his choice for sure. His shoes were all filthy with dirt, what would happen to his Mustang then? However, it was somehow lame to return without looking. Lighting up a cigarette, the cook entered the house.
Even though it wasn't pitch black outside, the place looked like it was haunted. All the windows were boarded up, planks creaking under his feet. He took his phone out to illuminate the darkness at least a bit. Now Sanji recalled that one of the apartments on the list had cost so little it was almost ridiculous to refuse. Seeing the house with his own eyes assured him otherwise.
The kitchen was large, but nothing about it could be called comfortable. It looked like a butcher's from some cheap horror movie, and for a moment Sanji wondered if maybe those suspicious stains all over the counter were real blood.
The stairway to the second floor was so broad it reminded him of abandoned vampire mansions. The blond stepped onto it cautiously – it gave a prolonged whine under his foot. Carefully moving upstairs, he leaned on a railing. Something tickled his fingers, he shifted his gaze and instantly regretted fucking everything.
His scream was way too high-pitched for a twenty-five year old man. Jerking his hand away from a giant ugly spider on the railing, he dropped his phone. The hit was muffled by a hundred year old layer of dust.
"Shit!"
He stumbled in blind darkness, falling on his ass somewhere that felt (after the strike of pain) like the beginning of the stairway.
Now it was so dark that Sanji couldn't see his own hands. Bumping into objects on his way, Sanji backed off somewhere he remembered the front door was. Finally, his fingers touched a door handle, and he pulled it so hard it could probably come off.
Not only had it become dark outside – it was raining. The mud his shoes were squishing was so marshy he barely managed to get to the car.
"How did you like it?" the woman asked him matter-of-factly from the driver's seat.
Panting, he leaned over to the window.
"A bit too far from work."
He barely managed to wake up next morning. Exhausted after his miserable trip, Sanji cursed everything in the world (except for the pretty blonde agent). Not only he didn't get any apartment, he lost his phone and now had to buy a new one. When he returned yesterday, long after midnight, Usopp had been waiting for him in the kitchen, sleepy and disheveled, a cup of coffee on the table in front of him.
"I'm sorry I'm late," Sanji barely managed to utter.
"Chose something?" the long-nosed guy asked huskily.
"No. Sorry, Usopp, I can't cook dinner right now, I'll die if I don't sleep."
With fading attention Sanji did notice Usopp's scowl, noticed his friend opened his mouth to speak, but Usopp only sighed. Immediately the cook fled off to his bed – the yellow couch. He needed to wake up in four hours.
In the morning his eyes were closing unconsciously while he was standing under the hot shower. Since Usopp lived farther from the Baratie than Sanji used to, and since his Mustang was still on the parking lot, the blond woke up at 5 AM. Of course, he didn't gain any rest from his short, messed nap. Strangely so, being beaten with fatigue to the core, he still couldn't pass out even with his eyes closed. A chain of weird semi-dreams, semi-hallucinations kept him somewhere on the edge between sleep and consciousness. He couldn't recollect all the weird imageries that had been flowing into his mind, but he was disturbingly aware that Zoro featured in all of them.
Having brushed his teeth and shaved his face, the blond hurriedly put on his two days far from fresh shirt, slacks and a new tie that was in the box Nami had gifted him. It didn't match that exact outfit well, although he had only that one now. The change was still there.
He needed to go and take his belongings. Today.
Going by the crowded metro wiped his drowsy state instantly. Occasionally stomping on his feet people, the hangover smell – long-standing friend of Monday mornings, gloomy faces around – it was somewhat worse than being stuck in a traffic jam. In his own car he could turn on the radio and peacefully sip on the coffee, even being slightly annoyed with unbearably slow pace. Today, right after work.
The Baratie greeted him with familiar noises all over the place: chefs roaring curses, waiters fussing before the opening and clatter of utensils. As soon as he stepped into the kitchen, his day acquired insanely high speed.
Slicing, frying, boiling, stirring and stewing – Sanji didn't even notice when his lunch break had started. But before he could fly off to smoke, a grumpy voice from behind made him jump on his spot.
"Eggplant!" Zeff snapped loudly.
Rolling his eyes, the cook turned to his boss and his father all at once.
"What?"
"Why the hell was your phone off yesterday?"
Sighing, the blond got prepared for a long lecture. Screw lunch – he'd only manage to smoke since the geezer looked determined to scold him.
"I'm not a schoolboy anymore," Sanji winced, tapping his toes.
"Cut your cocky behavior," Zeff pointed a knife at him. Probably he just forgot about the sharp object in his hand, but Sanji was used to such rude violations of his private space.
"To put it shortly," the cook took a cigarette from a pack and placed it behind his ear. "I'm moving out, and yesterday I was looking for a new apartment. There I happened to lose my phone, you happy?" He stepped to the doorway, but the grand chef stopped him with his hand.
"I know that," he glared at Sanji.
His eyes widening, the cook suddenly felt the urge to smoke increase.
"I needed to tell you something very important, and since your stupid ass was off, I called that green eggplant," Zeff narrowed his eyes.
"So?" Sanji threw coolly, yet feeling familiar prickling in his gut.
"What the heck are you doing?"
Sanji didn't miss a well-hidden note of concern in the old man's voice.
"I do what I want," the blond sighed exasperatedly, trying to break free from the geezer's grip.
"Moron," Zeff snapped, but his hold loosened. "You can move in here for a while," he added softer.
Being used to the geezer's mood roller-coaster, Sanji just nodded. It wasn't a bad option for now – irritating Usopp would be much worse. And irritating the geezer was his second qualification, after all.
"Thanks," Sanji forced a small smile. "What's that important thing you wanted to tell me?"
"Not telling you now," the old man burst into evil laughter.
Sanji grimaced painfully. What a stubborn geezer Zeff was.
"Please," he more demanded than asked.
"I'll think about it," Zeff waved his hand, implying Sanji was free for now.
Smoking near the back entrance with a bunch of chefs and waiters, Sanji was yet far away from their chatter. What did Zoro say to Zeff? Knowing the shitty swordsman way too well, the cook highly doubted that idiot would explain any details. Most likely, he just said that Sanji moved out was all. Although Zeff's demeanor and his childish refusal to spit the 'important' thing were indicating the geezer might've come up with his own dramatic vision of events. Despite his never-ending insults, the old man was very kind inside. Way too kind, which always made him worry about shit.
The rest of the workday flashed before Sanji's eyes with tons of orders to prepare. Exhausted but satisfied, he took his apron off.
"Sanji," Zeff approached. Without his ridiculously giant chef hat he somehow managed to look even weirder.
"Hm?"
"Remember that bastard Fullbody? He owns a cafe near the beach."
"Of course I remember that bastard's annoying ass," Sanji snorted. "What's the deal?"
Keeping a needlessly long pause, the old man grinned with all his fake teeth.
"He's just got bankrupt."
Sanji couldn't help but burst into laughter. The pesky moron with his shitty coffee shop was their rival for centuries.
"That's fucking great," the cook patted his father's shoulder.
"You still don't know the best thing," Zeff smiled mysteriously. "An important thing."
"That thing? Spill."
"He sells the premises of the former cafe for peanuts."
Sanji's world tumbled down, ripping his quivering gut off and making an excited firework of it. Frozen and wide-eyed, he stared bluntly at Zeff, jaw hanging open.
"On the shore, like you've always wanted," the geezer smirked, his eyes flashing with delight.
Sanji couldn't believe his ears. Was it a joke? Maybe he was daydreaming? Having his own restaurant, especially on the shore – what could be more wonderful than that?
"Zeff, you'd better be telling the truth," Sanji uttered, lighting a cigarette and not even bothering to leave the kitchen.
"No kidding, eggplant."
The cook frowned. Fullbody's cafe was settled in such a great place. Fortunately, Sanji had a special bank account, and hopefully the required sum would be manageable.
"But what if somebody has already..."
"Sanji," Zeff's grin became so wide his gums were visible. "I've already bought it."
"Wha–"
"Happy belated birthday, eggplant," he laughed.
"Holy shit, you damned geezer!"
No, the tinkling in his eyes was only the onion that he'd chopped previously. Giving Zeff a short hug, Sanji bit his lip hard not to choke on a sob. He mumbled 'thank you' quietly, hoping the geezer wouldn't notice his voice was shaking.
"But," the old man became serious again, "you need to build everything from a scratch. It's just a piece of land with ugly walls now."
"Of course, I understand," Sanji nodded, trying to put all his gratitude in the gesture.
"It will be hard, and it will take time."
"I know."
"That's why I'm offering you to move in here for now. Money, you know."
"I know."
But he couldn't bother to think about equipping at the moment. It wasn't anything like a restaurant right now, but it would be his restaurant soon if he worked hard. And he, no doubts, would.
He ran to the metro station like mad. No crowd with grim painted faces could get his spirits down. Grinning like an idiot and humming quietly, he didn't even notice how the stations flashed.
He rushed to the exit, hopping lightly on the stairs. Some people were turning to look at him, annoyed or freaked out, but he couldn't care less.
A loser suddenly won a million dollar lottery at his twenty-five.
Running faster and faster towards the very familiar apartment block, Sanji felt his heart thumping, his blood blooming with airy pleasure, head so light that he couldn't wipe a smile away.
He would come and hug Zoro, apologize, say he'd been such an idiot, cook Zoro a delicious dinner, massage his back after the tiring day of training himself and kids. He'd read him a book aloud to bring him fast into sleep, or, screw that, maybe he'd exhaust him in a better way, his hands all over that perfect tanned body, making the swordsman shiver under the brush of his fingers and lips, and then he would start thrusting into him hard and fast, until Zoro would scream in ecstasy and come.
Seriously, what had gotten into him two days ago? Why was he so mad at Zoro? Heck, he'd just got late because his friends were in trouble, of course he needed to help them! What an egoist Sanji had been, making rushed conclusions that were definitely caused only by his somber mood and thoughts of getting older and paying bills. What a bullshit!
He smiled toothily when the parking lot came into his view. His blue Mustang stood there matter-of-factly, as if nothing happened. And certainly nothing happened, just a mistake, a stupid accident!
Although Sanji did hurt Zoro, physically and emotionally. Probably it would be hard to get the swordsman's forgiveness, but right now nothing in the world seemed impossible for determined Sanji. He would apologize and do anything to make Zoro feel better, to make up for his dumb mistake.
So Sanji thought, inserting his key into the door lock with slightly trembling fingers. It gave up easily, and he instantly jumped into the dark hall.
"Zoro! Zoro, I need to talk to you!"
Switching the light on, Sanji looked around and kicked his shoes off. Zoro's boots weren't anywhere near the door. Maybe the moss-head went to the living room wearing them, oh that idiot.
"Zoro!" He stepped into the living room, turning the lights on in there too. His brow twitched when he saw tons of empty beer bottles scattered all over the coffee table and near the couch. Probably the Marimo got drunk and fell asleep.
"Zoro! I'm sorry, I know I was an ass! C'mon, I need to talk to you!"
In the bedroom an empty disheveled bed gave him an unfriendly look. Next to it lay the bag he packed that day, untouched, exactly like he'd left it two days ago. His – Zoro's originally – white t-shirt was lying on the bed, wrinkled.
Comprehending the situation, the cook sat down onto the edge of the bed. His fingers reached to the t-shirt almost unconsciously.
It smelled like Zoro's skin. Sweat mixed with steel, a note of musk and salt. Inhaling the so painfully familiar scent – the scent of home, Sanji closed his eyes.
He waited patiently for an hour, and two, and three. Usually Zoro worked till 4 PM with kids, and then he trained for several hours. It was 10 PM already. Sanji reached his hand into his pocket, but of course there was no phone since he still hadn't bought a new one. Cursing, he dropped his back to the bed helplessly.
Why did he even think he'd be welcomed here in the first place? Maybe the moss-head was happy to finally get rid of Sanji. Because, well, the cook had to admit he liked to get on the swordsman's nerves. He'd always been rude and cocky with Zoro, demanded attention from him, disregarding the fact that the green haired man preferred silence and peace. He'd never actually thought that Zoro would like to be without him better, and now he probably got what he desired.
Except that Zoro had been wearing that t-shirt. That certain t-shirt which Sanji took off himself that night.
Punching his forehead, Sanji bit on his lip, gnawing the flesh so hard it went numb. It was stupid, and he was stupid, and everything was so stupid that he wanted to jump into a time-travel machine and return to that evening. To talk with Zoro calmly, to explain that he was downcasted, but it wasn't Zoro's fault. It all was Sanji's fault for being driven by pure emotion, by mood and the moment. Now Nami's words seemed as right to him as never before.
At half past eleven Sanji stood up from the bed. He'd thought his strategy over. Living only in present, in the exact second, appeared to bring harm to both him and the person who was important to him. The person he never wanted to hurt for real. So, patience would be needed to merit Zoro's mercy.
Leaving the apartment, the bag hanging on his shoulder, Sanji promised himself he would return every day until he'd talk to Zoro. And even if the swordsman really didn't need him in his life anymore, Sanji would take it like a man. After all, he wanted Zoro to be happy, no matter with or without himself.