Sanji

Work was a shithole as usual, and I'm in tired relief by the time I return to the flats. Luffy wasn't wrong about the great location. I don't feel half as drained getting the Line back home, rather than walking all the way like I used to.

The flat is dark and quiet when I get in. I flick the lights on and a yellow note on the table catches my eye.

"Night shift. Make me breakfast in the morning. Zoro is in."

It's in Luffy's scribbly handwriting. My smile flickers as I jump from one sentence to marimo's name. I glance around the flat and see his bedroom door wide open. I decide to take a quick peek. It's surprisingly clean, considering how messy he leaves the rest of the house. Bed neatly made, desk clear and organised, even his shoes are stacked in pairs, side-by-side under his wardrobe. I recognise the clothes on the floor as Luffy's.

There are a few wall brackets above the desk that hold three katana. One red, one black, and one white. I poke the white one gently, smiling because I know this would probably get me killed by that green-haired demon.

The thought hits me. There's only one bed in the room he and Luffy share. I light a cigarette. So I was right in thinking they were together. Is that why Zoro's so edgy around me? I can't help but laugh a little at that. If it's that simple, the idiot's got nothing to worry about. I'm not looking for anything like that anyway. Not right now...

I glance out of the window at the twinkling lights of Blue City stretching out before me. "Zoro is in." The words of Luffy's note float in my mind. Where is the damn bastard then? I amble back into the living room. Did he duck out to try and avoid me again? Should I wait for him to get back? If he's avoiding me, he may not be back anytime soon. I hover in front of the stove in the kitchen. If I was trying to hide from an awkward social situation, where would I go? My eyes drift to the ceiling along with my thoughts. I remember seeing the fenced-off rooftop when I first came to see this place. Was the roof easy to get to?

Before I can think any further, I grab my jacket and head for the lifts. The door to the rooftop has a faded window, but I can already see Zoro's mossy head on the other side. A cold wind greets me as I step out, hugging my jacket tighter around me. Marimo is balanced on a metal barrel, doing one-handed headstand push-ups. The muscles on his back tense and flex as he continues to bob up and down. His rhythm falters a little. Must've heard me come in.

"How did I know you were gonna be up here, shitty marimo?" I say in greeting. He doesn't make a sound. Nothing but his deep, steady breathing as he carries on with his push-ups.

I light another cigarette and lean on the mesh wire surrounding the rooftop. My eyes hover over the other equipment around him. Makeshift equipment. A few barrels, some rusty buckets filled with rocks, bamboo poles slung with concrete on either end. Everything looks hand made aside from three shinai leaning side by side against the wire mesh.

In the silence that stretches between us, I wonder if I should've waited for him to finish and come back to the flat. It's too late for that now. He doesn't break his pattern, and doesn't look like he will anytime soon.

"You and Luffy are together, right?" I say with a sigh. Might as well get straight to the point. He doesn't answer me. I take that as a yes.

"Listen," I continue, trying to keep irritation out of my voice. "I don't... I'm not... I just needed a better place to live, and Luffy offered I share your flat. If that's what's got you so worked up, then you don't need to worry. I'm not butting into anything. I don't want to get involved in whatever."

He laughs, and it's such a rare sound that it stops me mid ramble. But I soon realise it held no humour. I drain the emotion from my face as I watch him flip from the barrel and onto his feet. He picks up a towel on the ground and wipes sweat from his face.

"Don't you get it?" His voice comes muffled under the towel. He turns to face me. In the darkness, I can't make out the expression on his face, but I can hear the condescending tone of his voice. "You're already involved."

I roll the words over in my head. "The fuck does that mean?"

He shakes his head, turns around and starts rolling the barrel to one side. I watch him quietly, letting frustration and annoyance boil inside me. He starts to put his other equipment away. Clearly the conversation is over in his head. I grit my teeth, take a step forward. He ignores me. I take another step. Still nothing. You had your chances.

I tense and in one fluid movement, drive a kick square at his head. Marimo turns just in time and blocks with his arm. But I can see the surprise in his eyes. Either he didn't expect me to move so quick, or didn't expect my attack to be that strong. He steps backwards, legs apart and arms held high. Defensive stance. I lunge again, holding nothing back. He blocks, dodges, parries, adjusting to my speed quicker than anyone I've fought before. He counters, throws a feint that nearly catches me. I leap onto my hands and circle my legs above me. I feel my heels connect, and flip back to my feet in time to catch the wince on the swordsman's usually stoic face.

I grin. He scowls. He runs to the side, towards his shinai. I try to stop him, but when I reach him, he blocks my crescent kick at the cross of his training swords. The creak of leather on wood breaks the tense silence in the air. Our eyes lock, and I try to read the expression on his face. It's... calm. Focused. I could tell there was nothing else on his mind right now but our fight. He grunts, breaking my thoughts. He shoves me away with the shinai, and all of a sudden it's me who's dodging for their life.

I can feel the whoosh of air as he swings at me, arcing and thrusting. They're not hard to dodge, until he realises he's gonna need more than simple swings to counter me. He starts breaking out into complex combinations, flowing from one to the other. I block a left swing with my shin. It smarts, but it's enough to buy me time to hook my leg around his arm and vault over him, twisting the sword out of his hand. One down, one to go. I pull away, but he grabs my ankle and moves to sweep my other leg. Twisting, I manage to land on my hands again, and pry myself out of his grip. I recoil a leg and kick out, feeling it hit, before cartwheeling away, putting enough distance between us. I turn to see him nursing a side of his face that's already starting to swell a little.

"Shit," he mutters, breathing heavier. I'm panting a little myself. I realise that perhaps he's not used to fighting someone like me. Swordsmen are usually all strength and speed, no agility or creativity.

I throw him a grin, tap the ends of my shoes to the floor. "Too fast for you, moss head?"

His eyes flicker to mine. He takes in a deep breath, and clasps both hands on his remaining shinai, holding it out before him. When he exhales, his feet shift and his stance changes. He lowers his sword and points it behind him. I shove my hands into my pockets and try to suppress the shiver that tingles my skin. I have to berate myself a little. Zoro doesn't seem like just the average 'swordsman' I keep pinning him as. His stance, his style, the ability to switch and adjust in the middle of a fight. It's perfect.

I wipe the grin from my face. My cheeks are starting to ache. Bitting down on my cigarette long spent, I run at him. He takes three steps towards me and swings upwards. I duck and twist, aiming a roundhouse for his side. He blocks. With a flick of his wrist, he throws me back and lunges, swinging from up high. I sidestep, immitate his move with a high kick. He dodges and I miss him by mere inches. I see a flash of his teeth and he's either grinning or baring them. I don't have time to tell because he parries my kick, before grabbing my calf with a free hand and swiping low with the hilt of his shinai.

He strikes me at the back of my knee before I can react, and my back hits the ground with a thud. I regain my senses quick enough to counter with a sweeping kick. Zoro leaps in th air to dodge, raising his sword. I place my hands behind my head, curl my knees to my chest and spring both feet up in an upwards kick. I'm met with a satisfying smack, accompanied a deafening thwack and a sudden pain blooming across the left side of my face.

I wobble slightly in the attempt to right myself. The ringing in my ears dull and I can hear the moss-head coughing. My eyes blur into focus and I see him crouched beside me, free hand clutching his middle. I must've knocked the wind out of him. My lips twitch into a smile that merges into a wince when I feel a sting on my forehead. I wipe at what I think is sweat, but when my hand comes away, it's smeared in blood.

"Ah, fuck."

It probably looks worse that it feels. That's what I always hated about head wounds. I glance back at the moss-head. For a second, I think I see genuine concern in his eyes. But even if he did show it, he's hiding it now with his normal, placid stare. I sigh, shake my head. That's how it is, huh? Fighting's the only way I can get to you?

"Call it a draw."

I notice his shoulders slacken. "A draw isn't a win."

"Then take it as a loss, mossy," I give him a smirk before turning to leave. "You loose and I win."

Zoro

I run our fight over in my head for the thousandth time that day. Where the hell did that scrawny cook learn to fight like that? He's different from anyone else I've sparred with. Like a mix of kickboxing, capoeira and undisciplined street-fighting. He's fast and favours feinting and counters. I couldn't predict his next moves until he was on the verge of making them.

Last night, I fought in the most heightened state of mind than I have in a long time. Every time the bruise on my face aches, my hands start twitching for a blade and my muscles tense in anticipation. The fire for a rematch burns in my gut. This time, I'm sure to win.

"R-roronoa-Sensei?"

I blink. My eyes focus on the boy in front of me, staring with wide, fearful eyes. I glance around at the other students in the gym. Ah, right. I was in the middle of teaching. I try to ignore the students staring at me like I'm a monster ready to slaughter a thousand villagers.

"Uh, as I said, countering can be tricky. You have to time it right."

My explanation gets cut off by the school bell. I try not to look too relieved. "We'll start working on countering next week. Practice your stances."

The boys don't move. I fold my arms and roll my eyes. "Dismissed."

A pattering of bare feet on hard wood echo around the gym and the children flee and silently as they can. Conversation only starts as soon as they pass the gym doors and I manage to catch a snippet or two.

"Is it just me, or did Sensei seem a lot more... scary today?"

A hum of agreement follows before the conversation is dulled by the gym doors swinging shut I roll my eyes and start putting away the equipment, rubbing a hand over the sore spot on my face. It didn't look as bad last night, although it hurt quite a bit, but when I got up this morning, the bruise on my face has turned a lovely violet shade. I'm also pretty sure it's in the shape of the bottom of that shitty cook's shoe. At least the swelling's gone down.

A quiet laugh behind me catches my attention. "It's like you're trying to give the children nightmares."

I turn around to see Tashigi making her way towards me. Her feet making soft thumps that barely echo in the large space. The way she could just sneak up on me like that always freaked me out.

"Tashigi-san," I bow my greetings out of formality. She returns the gesture before frowning at the bruise on my face. I'm never able to hold eye-contact with her for too long. Something about Tashigi doesn't sit well with me. I return to clearing up the gym.

"So, what happened to your face?" she asks with a sigh, folding her arms. "Like the kids need another reason to be afraid of you."

"It got bruised."

"Yes, I can see that. How did that happen? And how on earth did you manage to past school security looking like that?"

I shrug, keeping myself busy by stacking up the children's shinai on the rack. I hear movement behind me. Grabbing one of the shinai, I whip around just in time to block a downward slash from Tashigi. What is it with people attacking me without warning recently?

Tashigi watches the way my grip shakes a little as she pushes down. A smirk spreads on her features and she breaks the hold, taking a few steps back but still keeping a defensive stance.

"Your mind's somewhere else," she says.

I grunt. Ah well, I may as well humour her if she's asking for a fight. Lunging forward, I swipe experimentally at her. She parries easily. I feint, then move to slash across from her left. Tashigi spins out of the way, twirling around and catching my shoulder with the hilt of her shinai. We step away from each other. I frown. Since when has she bee able to turn a feint against me?

Her giggle pulls me out of my thoughts. "You know, you were always so hard to talk to. The only time you ever paid attention to anyone is if they had a sword in their hands."

I take a deep breath and change my stance, lowering my sword behind me. She takes up a defensive stance again. At least Tashigi's techniques haven't changed since our dojo days. She was always so constant, and that made her moves easy to predict. I step towards her, swinging upwards. She blocks, as I predicted, but then she ducks, parries my thrust to the right and drives forward. I blink just as the tip of her shinai stops right before the left side of my face. My eyes shift from the sword to Tashigi. Instead of the victorious grin I was expecting, her worried frown only deepens.

"And that's probably how you got that bruise on your face, right?"

I grumble, push the shinai away from my face and turn back to packing away the equipment. Tashigi helps me by picking up the other shinai left on the gym floor. "Whatever's eating at you must be pretty big," she continues. "You never let me win. You and Kuina both. You guys were such bullies to me back at the dojo."

The shinai rack clatters loudly as I slam it back into the storage cupboard. I throw a glare at Tashigi, my fists clenching beside me. "You said you wouldn't talk about her."

Tashigi's startled expression scrunches into as best a glare as she could muster. She never could look threatening to me.

"You never talk about anything!" she yells. "You're like a brick wall."

The frustrated sigh building at the back of my throat escapes as a growl. I turn away from her, pick up my duffle bag and head towards the doors.

"There are a people who can help bare your burdens if you just give them the chance, you know!" She calls after me. "People are built to support each other! That's what Sensei used to-"

The gym doors closing behind me cut off the rest of Tashigi's sentence. Idiot. What right does she have to just start bringing up the past like that? A part of me agrees that she does have point. The only times she can get a word out of me is if we spar, or if she talks about the dojo. Before I know it, streams of memories start flickering like a film reel in my head.

People are built to support each other.

Yeah, she's right. That is what Koshiro-Sensei used to say. Not just to the class as a whole but exclusively to me.

"You're always the lone ronin, Zoro." Sensei's voice echoes in my head from a distant time and place, in an old dojo way up in the mountains across the seas. "But know that some battles are best fought with an ally."

It strikes me as an odd time to suddenly remember that moment. But the words stick in my brain, echoing in my skull. Checking my watch, I decide it's best to just get changed at the mall, before I clock in for night duty at the guard house. When I leave the school, the Koshiro-Sensei's words merge into images of my fight with the cook last night. I run a hand over the bruise on my face. Damn cook got one up on me then, but next time I'll be ready. There's definitely going to be a rematch.