Sanji

Neither of us says a word. Nothing but the clatter of cutlery and the ticking of the wall clock. I glare down at the curry I dished for myself, picking at the vegetables and taking small bites. My mind is reeling through how I'm going to bring up this whole thing. My earlier conviction of getting this whole mess sorted has gone and I'm left with blank lines.

All this time, Zoro sits down and eats in silence. Sometimes looking over at me, but ultimately waiting for me to start the conversation. I sigh, slump forward and shovel down my food. Maybe sustenance will bring inspiration to my conscience.

"You're off," says Zoro, the low timbre of his voice almost startling me.

I look up expecting to meet his judgemental stare, but instead his eyes are focused on his dinner. Am I that readable that this guy, who barely even knows me, can read the turmoil in my thoughts when even I couldn't sort through them?

I clear my throat, sit a little straighter on my chair. "Uh… Luffy's been a bit strange recently."

"You mean more than usual?"

The smirk tugging lightly at his lips makes my gut clench. This is it. This is the night I die at the hands of a jealous, murderous swordsman. I take a few more bites, thinking about how exactly to explain last night's events.

"What did he do now?" adds the marimo.

"Nothing, really. Just… He was saying a bunch of weird stuff last night."

That got his attention. I watch his dark eyes slowly lift up to stare me down, sending shivers rippling down the skin on my back.

"What kind of stuff?"

"Ugh, you know what? I can't actually make much sense of it myself, but…" I pause. The silence stretches, and I realise he's waiting for me to continue.

Laying my cutlery down beside my plate, I take a deep breath. "Ok, look. I know you and I don't really get on much, but I just wanna make things clear between us. I don't want to fuck anything up, ok? Like seriously, that's the last thing I want, and-"

"Shut up, cook," he says, frowning. I notice he's laid down his cutlery too. "Stop rambling and just get on with it."

I glare at him. "I was just getting to it, shitty-marimo."

Folding my arms, I lean a little forward on the table, glancing off into the living room. "Uh, listen. I know about you and Luffy. That's no secret. But last night, um, Luffy was… Uh…"

"What?" he asks, his voice quieter.

"Luffy was saying some weird shit. Stuff like, I don't know, he says he likes me too or something. I swear he's just messed up. I have no idea what he's talking about…"

I pick up my fork and shovel through dinner again. Every passing second Zoro stares at me in silence feels like another inch of his sword sinking deep into my neck. Well, I wasn't planning to live that long anyway. Die young and live a beautiful corpse, right?

"Oh."

He goes back to eating dinner. It's only the fact that I have food in my mouth right now that stops me from gawping at him. What the hell kind of reaction is that?

I grip my fork a little tighter to resist the twitch I can feel coming. "So you're okay with that?" I ask, no longer able to keep the frustration from my voice.

"I didn't say I was," he growls, jaws clenching.

"Well, good, then fucking sort it out if you don't approve. I've had enough of this fuckery."

I take about a couple of bites when I hear him take a deep breath and lean back on his chair.

"I didn't say I didn't approve either," he mumbles, glaring at the spoon in his hand.

I watch him. Try to read the furrowed brow and the deep frown creasing his face. What the hell is he thinking in the mossy head of his?

I finish dinner and set my empty plate aside. "What the hell is between you and Luffy?"

"It's not as simple as you think it is…"

I roll my eyes. "Well, you can say that again."

He gives me one last glare before getting up and moving the dishes to the sink. I take my time to light up a cigarette, turn a little in my chair and watch the muscles of his back flex and shift a little as he washes the dishes.

"Is it a friends with benefits type thing?" I ask.

No answer.

"Going through a break up?"

No answer again.

"Long term relationship getting boring so you're thinking of spicing things up with a little threesome?"

"Shut up," He mutters.

I chuckle when I notice the tips of his ears tingeing pink. So he's the type that's easily embarrassed, huh? My joy at tormenting him falters though, when he casts a distressed look over his shoulder.

"It's not… It's nothing like any of that. It's just…" His voice trails off.

My laugh comes out hollow. "Well, if you can't even get your head around it, what hope have I got of understanding this?"

His eyes cast down on the floor. "Luffy's just different," he says, voice so quiet I almost miss it. "If you can't understand him, then…"

The rest of his sentence is lost as he turns on the tap and water hits the sink with a loud splash. I watch him turn back to the dishes, his shoulders sagging and his movements slow.

He's behaving differently. Sure he's still acting like an asshole, but something's off about him too. I glance back down at my ashtray. Maybe, I'm just not giving him enough chance to explain. But if anything the moss-head really is terrible with his words.

An idea comes to mind, and I nearly suck in my cigarette in a gasp. Why didn't I think of this before ?

"Hey, let's play a game."

He shuts off the water and turns around slowly to face me, cocking his ear towards me a little and looking as if he misheard me.

"Err, what?"

I take a drag from my cigarette. "We each take turns to say a fact about ourselves. The other person has to determine whether or not he's lying."

Zoro's expression flat-lines. "That sounds like a stupid game."

"Alright." I grab a bottle of sake from the fridge and plonk it on the table. "How about this then? If the person who guesses, gets it wrong, he has to take a drink. But if he's right, the person who said the fact has to drink." Maybe this will loosen your tongue a little, mossy.

His eyes flick from me, to the bottle and back again. He probably knows why I'm doing this. But after a moment of consideration, I watch him round the table and sit opposite me. I grin and sit back down, pouring a small glass for each of us .

"I hope you can hold your liquor, shit-cook," he grouses.

"Don't worry about me, shitty-marimo. There's more than one way to play this game other than 'avoid getting drunk'." I raise my glass to him, and to my surprise, he nods and returns the gesture. But I can see the fire of competition burning in his eyes. He doesn't want to loose to me twice in the same night.

I lean forward on the table, resting my head in my hand. "I'll start: I've been a cook all my life."

"True."

I smile and take a sip. The sake burns my throat and warms my stomach.

He narrows his eyes. "Don't go easy on me, bastard." He looks to the left in thought. "I grew up in the country."

I squint at the calm expression on his face. He's still, looking at me straight in the eye. Playing this game many times with Usopp has taught me a few things about reading people. Marimo might have the stronger stomach, but I'll wager I can see through a lie better.

"True." I say. He takes a sip almost immediately. "Where?" I ask him.

He looks surprised, as if he wasn't expecting me to try and illicit conversation. Just when enough silence has passed that I think he won't answer me, Zoro takes a deep breath.

"Shimotsuki."

I smile. I don't know where that is, but I'm glad at least that he's willing to play along. I follow his train of thought when I pick my next fact.

"I was born in the ocean."

He takes a while to answer me. "Lie."

I smile. "It's true. Drink up." I wait for him to take a sip. "North Pacific Ocean, specifically. Five thousand miles from Port Sunlight, on a cargo ship called St. Melba."

"That's not technically in the ocean though."

"No, but I don't have a proper birth certificate, if that's what you're asking. They don't issue them for children born at sea. Anyway, your turn."

"I've been with Luffy for seven years."

I watch him slump a little in his seat. His eyes are focused on his drink, but his shoulders are relaxed and his hands are still.

"It's true." I say, barely containing the surprise in my voice.

A flicker of a smile appears on his face. He hides it behind his glass as he takes a sip.

"Seven years?" I ask again.

Zoro nods. "I've known him since high school."

"How have you coped with him for seven years?"

"I lock him in a metal box when he misbehaves." He says it in such a deadpan way that it takes a second for me register it as a joke. I let a laugh slip. Good. He's easing up around me now.

"Alright," I take a moment to think. "I've lived on my own for five years."

He stares at me intently. Not breaking eye contact. "Lie."

I take a sip. "Yep. It's nine years."

His brows bob upwards. "Nine?"

"Since I was old enough to leave school and start working." I take a long drag from my cigarette. "I don't have family in this city."

Zoro shrugs. "None of us do." He shifts in his seat as he thinks. "I favour the nitouryu technique in kendo."

I watch his face again. He's learnt how to play this game properly now, learnt to hide his expressions better. But I catch the slow bob of his throat as he swallows thickly.

"Lie."

He takes a drink. The slight sneer tells me he doesn't like the fact I keep calling him out every time. I lean back, trying not let my smugness show too much. "Go on then, what's your favoured style?"

"Santouryu."

"Three swords?" My mind flickers to the three katana hanging up on his wall. I chuckle. "How can you even hold three swords at once?"

He shakes his head. Not giving away all his secrets just yet. "Your turn."

I glance at him, looking down at his cup of sake. It's a lot emptier than mine. "You hate me living here."

His eyes lock with mine. "That's not a fact about yourself."

"I don't care. Answer it."

"Lie."

"Is it?"

He sits and stares. I look everywhere. Eyes forward, focused, shoulders relaxed, every muscle still as stone. Nothing. He's not lying.

"Drink up," he says.

I turn away and take a bitter sip from my sake. The drink is easier to swallow than his words. He has to be lying. He's just hiding it very well. I don't believe for a second that he doesn't hate me to my bones.

"You hate living here."

My eyes snap back to him. I should've told him that you can't use the same fact as the other person, but that's the last thing on my mind right now. His eyes bear down on me, staring intently, waiting for an answer. Every thought I had before has scattered. Every theory, every idea, now turned upside down and shaken and I'm left even more confused than how I started.

I breathe in smoke, not daring to break eye contact but trying furiously to recover my poker face.

"No," I pause to clear my throat. "That's a lie. I don't hate living here. It's… better than where I was before..."

I take another drag to stop any more words spilling out. I can feel a shaking building up at the back of my throat and I just know it'll reverberate to everything else I might say.

And just when I thought I've seen every surprise mossy could possibly pull out of his hat, he smiles. Not a cocky smirk or an irritated grimace, but a genuine smile, so very close to ones I've seen him give Luffy. Then I realise, that he possibly agreed to play this game for the same reason I suggested it.

I narrow my eyes at him, watching as he downs the rest of his drink and pours himself more. Somehow, he's evened the ground between us, and that both relieves and unnerves me.

"Your turn," he prompts, looking back up at me. His face returns to the usual, stoicness. Maybe I'm just imagining things...

I shake my head, take a long drag from my cigarette and sift through the tatters of my thoughts for my next fact.

Zoro

We play the game until the early hours of the morning. Well, it's barely a game anymore. We've gone from facts and detecting lies to just asking and answering questions. Any question, all the questions, ranging from first pet to favourite ice-cream flavour.

I empty a second bottle of sake into his glass and open a third bottle to refill mine. A small pile of ash and six cigarette stubs fill up the cook's ashtray. He's lighting his seventh with a shaky hand, before leaning lower on the table, hand on his forehead to prop himself up and stop himself from swaying off his chair. His words are slurred and he's swearing like crazy, but I can just about understand him.

What a liar. I knew he wouldn't be able to hold his drink, but oh no, he had to try and make a point to be better than me in something else. I mean, I know I'm a little gone myself, leant up on my chair with one arm resting over the back to help prop me up. But he's way gone.

"Fuck, who's turn's it?" he slurs.

"Yours." I remind him for the third time, not bothering to say we haven't exactly been going through turns or playing the same game for the past few hours.

"Ah shit, right, right."

He pushes himself back on his chair, sways, and for a moment I think he's about to fall off. His head rolls backwards onto the headrest and he blows a trail of smoke into the air.

"Right," he slurs. "Ok, got one. So. What the fuck's happenin' tween you 'n Luffy?"

I chuckle before groaning. "You've already asked me this question. Several times."

"Well you haven' answered it!" he says in a high pitched, mocking manner.

I grumble. "Ask me something else."

"Fine," he slumps forward again, nearly face-planting the table but stopping himself at the last minute. His eyes widen. "Ah! Got it. Alright. What the fuck's goin' on with Luffy then?"

I stifle a laugh as I watch him pour himself another drink, missing his glass a lot and muttering curses as he spills sake. "What do you mean?" I ask.

He gestures to his temple. "Like, the fuck's he thinkin'? What'd he mean by he loves you and me too? Ah!" His brows knot and he frowns. "And he'said you a'ready fuckin' knew! What the hell's he talkin' bout?"

I watch the sake ripple in my glass as I slush it about a little. Shit. So Luffy's already made a move. I didn't think he'd do it so soon.

"Oi, marimo," Sanji clicks his fingers to try and get my attention. "Still 'n there? Not passed out yet?"

"Huh. If anyone's gonna pass out, it's you."

He glares at me. "Don't change the fuckin' subject, moss-head. So. Back t'my or'ginal question. What t'hell is gone on between you and Luffy?"

"That wasn't your original question."

"Ah, fuck it, I don' care. Jus' answer it."

I watch him take a drag and choke on the smoke a little before breathing it out. I wonder if he's gone enough that he won't remember anything I tell him right now.

"You already know what's going on between me and Luffy," I say. "You're not wrong."

He takes a sloppy drink from his cup, all images of prim and proper cook gone from my mind.

"Well, glad thas sorted. So he's jus' makin' shit up bout all that love 'n stuff, yeah?"

"I doubt it." My answer seems to sober him up a little. He glares at me, blue eyes cold and glossy.

I sigh, cast my glance at the far wall in the living room. "He's different."

"You keep tellin' me, but I a'redy know that one. He's a fuckin' nomaly."

I wait out the silence a little, watching the cook flick the lid of his zippo.

"This has happened before," I say, mid flick. The cook stops, doesn't look up at me, but stares at the open zippo in his hand.

"Before you," I continue. "And the first time nearly wrecked us."

He shifts a little, laying his head down on the table, before asking. "What happened?"

I chug down the rest of my drink, breathe out and lean back on my chair. My eyes focus on the wall behind the cook, at the point where it meets the ceiling. My mind struggles to recall memories, like a rusty cog being forced to work again after so long.

"The first time was in school," I start. "Not long after… Well, not long after stuff started happening. I can't even remember her name. She was older than us though, I think in the year above me. Luffy told me about her, and… I didn't really get what he was saying. He kept telling me he'd found her, and he needed to introduce me, because she was special just like me. Shit like that. I didn't understand until I met her. She was arm in arm with Luffy."

I sink a little in my chair, my eyes move to stare at the ceiling now. "I thought Luffy was leaving me for her. But that's not what he said to us. I was confused, but she was furious. It was bad enough to find out Luffy was with me too, but turns out, she was a right homophobic bitch on top of that. She called Luffy all sorts of names. Wouldn't stop. Luffy was crying, for fuck's sake. So I hit her."

"You what?" the cook forces himself up from the table. His glossy eyes sober up and regain a little of their icy glint as he glares at me.

"What else was I supposed to do?" I return his glare. "She wouldn't stop, wouldn't listen- wouldn't even look at me. She just kept yelling. Safe to say I got suspended for it."

"Hmph, serves you right…" the cook's head to sinks back to the table. "What happened after?" he asks, after some time.

"I was suspended for two weeks. Didn't see Luffy and he… Didn't come to see me either. I really thought the worst had happened, but… A friend of mine back then talked me into seeing Luffy, talking through all this shit with him. I'm glad I did, even if I did take half a day and ran around the whole town looking for him. I asked him about it, and it was then I understood that Luffy's different. When he said he liked her and he liked me too, I realised he didn't see anything wrong with what he did. I realised he meant it."

I frown at the memory of Luffy's blank face as he spoke to me that time. "Then he told me it was okay if I was angry. He said he knew it was hard to get and that not everyone would ever understand how it worked. He said he was happy with whatever I chose to do.

"What else was I supposed to say to that? Meeting Luffy gave me something I didn't know I needed until it was on the brink of slipping through my fingers. I couldn't let something like that go so easily. So I told him it was okay. I told him I get him. It was gonna be tough, but I get him."

I take another drink, let the burn of the sake ease the sick feeling bubbling up along with the memories. Thoughts quickly turn into words before I can filter them, and I dive into another memory.

"The second time was a few years back or so. Her name was Boa, she was absolutely smitten with Luffy. And it would've worked, but we couldn't stand each other. She hated me, and I didn't think much of her either. At the end of it all, she made Luffy choose. Me or her. Well, you can guess the end of that story."

Pausing to take a breath, I run a hand over my face. My head is starting to ache with all this recalling. "It fucking pisses me off," I continue. "Here's Luffy, with all the love in the world to give, and he can't because I'm holding him back. And I think… Sooner or later he's gonna realise that…"

And that scares me.

The silence stretches out between us, blowing me further and further away from the present. Nothing but the ticking of the clock and slow drip of the sink reminds me of where I am. I should've realised it sooner. It's odd for the cook who usually spews a ton of crap from his mouth to be so quiet, even at such a time.

I glance at him, expecting wide, blue eyes watching me, judging me under the new light of my story. Instead, I find him flat out on the table, open zippo in one hand, breathing slow and steady.

"Oi, cook."

He doesn't budge. I reach my leg out under the table and give his chair a kick. "Hey."

His eyes open slowly and he grunts. "Hn? Yeah, what, I'm listenin'. You kicked this girl, you piece of shit, 'n then what?"

I chuckle, relief draining whatever energy I had left out of my body. Maybe he didn't hear a thing I said.

"You've drunk too much. We should stop playing this game."

He lifts his head and throws me frown. "Lie," he calls out. "I'm fuckin' brilan' at thisgame! You just don' wanna loose t'me. I beat Usopp't this game ten fuckin' times, y'know!"

I roll my eyes and ease myself out of my chair, feeling every muscle groan and joint pop as I rise to my feet.

"C'mon," I say, rounding the table before he can pour himself another drink. "You're drunk. It's time you to hit the bed."

"M'not drunk," he grumbles. I see his hand reaching for the bottle, so I grab his arm. He jerks at the touch, whips out of my grasp, staggering to get up.

"Don't fuckin' touch me!" he hisses, backing up. His eyes sharpen, icy blue glaring defiantly at me. I hold my hands up and his eyes dulls a little when he focuses on me, swaying on the spot and keeping a hand on the table to steady himself.

"Fuckin' marimo," he mutters. "You wanna fight?"

"You're not much of challenge in your current state, curly. I doubt you could even walk straight."

"I c'n walk fine m'self, shithead."

He shoves past me, stumbles a few steps, then sways to the left and crashes straight to the floor. I don't even try to catch him. Folding my arms, I watch as he tries to push himself up again.

"Yes, I can see that. Your motor skills are really impressive right now, cook."

"Fuck you too."

Shaking my head, I crouch down and grab him by the arm again, helping him up. He flinches, but struggles less this time around.

"Geez, you weigh next to nothing," I comment, starting the fumbling process of partly dragging and partly carrying the cook to his room.

"Fast m'tabolsm. Don' eat much. Run lots," he mumbles. I only manage to catch the words because I'm so close to him. He carries on, slurring incoherently, until I reach his bed and dump him in it.

His eyes snap wide open as he curls up on the sheets. "Fuck! Shit! Water's freezin'! You tryin' t'drown me?"

"You're in your bed, idiot."

He groans continuously and turns over in his covers. I roll my eyes and push an empty bin to edge of his bed. He'll need that at some point tonight. I turn and head for the doorway.

"Zoro," his voice comes muffled through a pillow. It's a miracle I hear him.

"What?"

"Thank you."

I look back at the huddled mass tangled in sheets, pillows and clothing. "For what?"

He doesn't answer. His face is hidden, but I see him turn further into his bed. With a shrug I leave him to sleep and shut the door behind me. It's only when I get into the coolness of the living room that I realise the heat radiating from under my skin, especially around my face. I sigh, press the flat of my palms into my eyes and head to bed. Maybe I've had too much to drink too.