After the pair of men had dinner, they had playful conversations and fights, arms to legs, though the blond would've rather preferred if Zoro were equipped with his katanas. He wanted to see the swordsman at his best, wanted to beat him at his best, and mock him at his best. He would've also preferred if their conversation dived deeper on a personal level, more profound than cracking jokes and laughing at one another(though he liked that a lot, as well.) Sanji himself did not mind revealing himself, but Zoro unfortunately still did because his lips were sealed of anything personal.
Time wasn't an issue between them anymore, but still, the blond wanted to know more about Zoro— his job, his past, his regular routine.
What he does in the morning, what some of his hobbies are besides swordsmanship, how he and his friends met, if he had lost his virginity in high school like how Sanji did, and with whom if it wasn't Kuina.
God, he wanted to know everything. The curiosity was like an itch, a scratch, and it needed to be satiated.
The green haired man had sat on the floor, cross-legged, hands peacefully resting on his knees, chest expanding and contracting as if taking heavy breaths. With the lights dimmed, if Sanji hadn't been concentrating on Zoro this whole time, his presence would've been hard to distinguish from the silhouette of the furniture surrounding him. He was still as a rock and very, very silent, appearing peaceful. It piqued the blond's interests, who was much more impatient and restless than the swordsman was.
Slowly, without making a sound, he plopped down next to Zoro, held the same position by crossing his legs and allowing his hands to rest on top of his knees.
It was silent for a few minutes, so Sanji thought Zoro hadn't noticed his presence, but a voice broke through the empty air. A deep, tranquil voice.
"What are you doing, cook?" Zoro asked.
The blond didn't bother opening his eyes, attempting to stabilize his concentration, furrowing his brows. "Meditating," he responded. Zoro snorted, and Sanji twitched in annoyance. "Bastard," he growled. "If you're not going to help, don't bother me."
"With that horrible position, you're screaming for my help," the swordsman responded.
Sanji twitched again, but remained still, not wanting to disturb the calmness of his body. He heard a movement to his left, alertly paid attention to it, and realized his hearing had heightened somewhat. He could almost feel the swordsman's shift and his breathing as his body neared where Sanji sat.
A sudden low whisper sent down a chill down the blond's spine, "Relax your shoulders and neck, straighten your back and fingers, rest them so you won't feel uncomfortable later on when you're more aware." Sanji reluctantly did what he was told, straightened his back to the point he tensed up, but relaxed them again when he remembered Zoro's advice. "Now 'clear your mind' is what I would like to say, but that's fucking difficult," the swordsman chuckled. "Just focus on one word, a simple sound, and have a mantra. Concentrate on your breathing. If your mind trails off, try to keep coming back to it."
The blond thought, Simple enough.
As he straightened his posture, he focused on the sound 'om' as he had heard from those monks on television. But after a few seconds, a recipe of his popped into his head and he tried to subconsciously make it better.
Damn, he thought when he realized what his mind had done.
Sanji breathed heavily, intakes and outtakes, in through his nose and out through his mouth, simple. But that also became difficult to do when his breathing became rugged and uneven.
A voice broke through his thoughts, "Oi, cook, relax your eyes and that curly brow."
Sanji felt calm and composed after a few minutes of stillness, his body relaxed in such way he'd never experienced before. About half an hour later, or so it felt, the blond opened his eyes, feeling impatient. He saw that the swordsman's eyes were also open, a smirk on his expression, slouched over with his chin resting on his palm. "Pretty good for your first time, cook," he spoke, and his low tone of voice vibrated through Sanji's heightened ears.
"My body feels heavy."
The swordsman extended his arms over his head, stretching and yawning, "That's because your body fell asleep when your mind was still awake. You won't have that problem once you improve your posture."
Sanji chuckled, "Ah, I see, sensei."
Zoro seemed pleased with the nickname, "I suggest you meditate when you're fully awake or you'll have trouble concentrating, but you should find a middle ground in concentration. Some monks have died because they completely lost command over their bodies." As the man continued on with these technicalities, Sanji found himself staring at his lips again, how they moved and how his tongue would occasionally moisten them.
God, they were so close, too. So fucking close...
"Why are you grabbing my shirt?"
Sanji blinked, stared at his own hand that had grabbed a handful of Zoro's green shirt, seconds away from smacking their lips together. "Uh, there was a bug," he said as he pulled his hand back.
The green haired man grinned, "Yeah, okay, you're terrified of insects."
"Shut up."
Sanji grabbed his ipod on the cabinet next to his couch, wanted to blank out his mind with a full blast of music, and sprawled out on the floor lazily. But he was interrupted by a gentle tap on the shoulder, the swordsman who crouched to ask him a question. Sanji took out his earplugs to hear the question.
Zoro was frowning, pitifully, looking like a lost pup, "Did I do something wrong, cook?"
Did he act that obvious? Sanji had been told many times in the past that his emotions got the best of his expressions and senses. It wasn't as though Sanji was angry at the man, no, far from it. If he had to be angry at someone it was himself, for being so damn sensitive and falling for this bastard of a swordsman. Zoro was the victim here, all he'd wanted was a simple friendship, man to man clashing sort of thing, but Sanji had to be the gay guy, intruding on all the wondrous possibilities of a friendship.
Sanji had to be the fag.
No, he denied. He wasn't gay. He had been straight as an arrow until Zoro showed up to the picture, and there was a hell of a reason for that. The swordsman was so fucking manly, the epitome of manliness, that it was easy for anyone to fall for him, even someone as manly as Sanji. The blond still loved ladies, their bosoms, smooth legs, long hair, and nails. He loved staring at them, touching them, fantasizing about them. He wasn't gay, only hetero-flexible toward someone like Zoro.
"No, you didn't. Nothing's wrong, I just want to listen to music."
Zoro did not budge, stayed in place with a determined set of expression, appearing unsatisfied with the answer Sanji gave. "Come on, you shitty cook, you've been acting weird all day, just tell me what your problem is." He scratched his head, frustrated, tousling his green locks of hair.
"Hah-?"
"If you don't want me around then that's fine, I'll leave. Just come out with it and tell it to my face. Be a man about it, cook."
What is this idiot going on about? Why would he want Zoro to leave?
Sanji lacked friends in his life. He had a couple of acquaintances here and there, some ex-girlfriends, Nami as his best friend. It was pathetic how little amount of friends he had.
At a young age, he had friends within school whom he would talk and hang out with, but only within the school premises, never outside. Every day, every afternoon, he would head home to work in the kitchen, to learn techniques from the shitty old geezer who didn't allow him to touch anything until Sanji had finished all his chores. Initially, it was necessary for Sanji to work in the kitchen because of the lack of budget and employs, but as the business flourished, it became obvious that Sanji preferred the kitchen duties over hanging out with his school friends. Except for Nami, of course. He always took care of her, at any unusual time of the day, just to be by her side.
When the blond didn't answer, Zoro spoke, "Since you're not answering, I guess you do want me to leave." His expression was downcast and slightly hurt, which made Sanji jump out of his skin, almost, but more like out of his state of confusion.
"Marimo, what the hell are you saying? I mean, you're annoying, but I don't necessarily want you out of my life."
Way to go, way to be a kind person.
Sanji pushed himself off the floor and sat on the couch, setting aside his ipod on top of the cabinet again. The green haired man was directly in front of him, on the floor, still sitting cross-legged, staring up at him with questioning set of eyes and a mean pair of eyebrows (but that was genetics, not the reflection of his emotions).
"Why are you acting so weird today, then?" Zoro asked, earnestly and questioningly, with a wrinkle between his eyes.
A brave person would've just came out and said it, bluntly as he can be, but Sanji wasn't such a person. He really wanted to tell Zoro, about everything, about his feelings and how it fucking hit him out of nowhere, about how Zoro made him feel alive with friendship, passion, martial arts, cooking, and life. How, even though he had lost his job, he didn't care that much because the swordsman was still with him.
"Uh, I'm just confused about what I heard between you and Robin the other night," he told him instead.
"You remember," Zoro said, not as a question but as a statement.
Sanji nodded, "Yeah, I heard something about a deal made in an organization. I know I shouldn't have eavesdropped, but I was drunk, marimo." He stressed the word 'drunk.'
"Sum up what you heard or what you gathered from hearing our conversation," Zoro demanded, stiffly, in a monotone of voice.
A pause on his part, unsure how to word his supposition. "Well... I think that you're in some organization with Robin and the swordsman from the dojo because of some deal you made with them. I think you guys do illegal things, I'm guessing you with swords, and I think that's why you were so hesitant in telling me."
"H-How did you figure that out?" the swordsman groaned as he buried his face into his hands.
The blond smirked, pleased to see that he had connected A and B together without the swordsman's help. "Because I'm smart and you're stupid, idiot marimo."
"Narcissistic cook," Zoro said with a roll of his eyes.
Sanji grinned, "Fuck you too."
"But seriously," the swordsman continued with a slight pout, sulking. "It feels like you know too much about me when I know nothing about you."
The blond raised a brow, surprised. It was endearing to know that Zoro was feeling this way, wanting to know more about Sanji as much as he wanted to know about Zoro. "Hey, all you have to do is ask, marimo." Shit, his heart was thumping all over the place, noisy drums against his rib cage, making him sweat with nervousness.
Zoro pulled his head back in confusion, "Really?" as if expecting the blond to redraw his comment, snort and say 'Just kidding'. But Sanji didn't.
The man placed his thumb underneath his chin and his lips rested on top of his index finger. In this moment of contemplation, the blond took it as a chance to look over the man, taking in his features. Every line and shape, the deep hazel color of his eyes, those defined jawlines, and long neck that led to his muscular chest.
God, how am I attracted to a fucking man?
"I mean, I have a question," Zoro uneasily scratched his head and furrowed his brows. "The other night, what were you dreaming about? You freaked out in your sleep."
Freaked out?
Sanji sighed into his palm, feeling embarrassed. "You saw that?
The swordsman glanced downward, a pensive look on his face as if questioning whether to continue or not. "It was hard not to, I thought you were having some sort of heart attack or something."
At that answer, the blond had to snort. "Heart attack? How old do you think I am, shitty grass head? I am a young, healthy man who exercise everyday! I am also a chef who knows how to distinguish his nutritious food, what made you think I was having a heart attack?" he asked, but before allowing the other man to reply, he continued. "If anyone was to get a heart attack, it would be you! You hardly eat anything healthy!"
"Fuck you, blondie! I eat out when I can!" he countered poorly.
Sanji rolled his eyes, "Please, marimo. Your definition of 'eating out' is probably takeouts."
By the lack of response and the pout of his mouth, the cook knew he was right on point. Sanji chuckled softly, because this game that he and Zoro always played was so damn fun.
"That's not the point, cook, answer my question!" the swordsman growled, apparent frustration written all over his face.
Sanji sighed, "Alright, alright, but it's a long story, I don't know if you want to listen to the whole thing or-"
"It's not like I have anywhere else to be," he cut in. "So just spill it, I wanna hear."
A grin expanded across his features from those simple words, he was strangely pleased to know the swordsman's impatience and eagerness to hear what Sanji had to say, about the difficult times of his life. "Well..." he was at loss with words, but when he found encouragement from Zoro's eyes, which stared into his with depth, he found himself speaking more fluidly and casually. "I guess I should start with a fact about myself first. When I was young, I was in an organization also."
His eyes widened, "You?"
Sanji nodded.
"Yeah, but I wasn't really in it, my parents were. I was a chore boy for the boss from time to time." As memories flooded into his consciousness, anguish did as well. He began to chew on his nails, as it was a nervous habit from his young age. "That fucking boss, " he cursed, disdainfully, as though the thought itself disgusted him. "He was so nice, he promised me a secure future, said that he would hire me the best cook to be my mentor, but of course that piece of shit was lying."
Sanji gritted his teeth, full of hate and anger in his tone of voice. But the green haired man's eyes never left his, attentive and focused, patient to what the blond had to say.
And it reassured the blond.
He continued, in more control and less shaky when speaking this time, "My parents were scientists, but not those delusional scientists who experiment on other people, just environmentalists, I think. They always told me that they were in the organization to help others, to cure the 'boss' figure. Then... then... that day happened."
The blond boy had just finished his chores, and with the groceries hanging low from his wrists he entered the rustic building where his parents were. "Mom? Dad?" he called out, high pitched voice echoing throughout the empty building. But there were no responses, which wasn't so odd, his parents were usually in their laboratories cooking up something new or discussing plans with the boss anyways.
Sanji hummed to himself, arranging the ingredients he had bought. What a dream it would be to cook like a professional chef someday, he thought, as he carefully took out the fruits and vegetables from its bags.
"Ew," he said aloud as he separated the bruised peaches from the healthy, ripe ones. Then he preceded in throwing away all of the bruised fruits, even those with the smallest speck of brown.
Abruptly, causing him to jump out of his skin, his mother's scream cracked the silent atmosphere surrounding him. Instinctively, he dropped the peaches and the plastic bags, and began to run towards the cry of his mother. His stomach twisted in such a way that it hurt for him to breathe. Before he reached the door, where his mother's cry had reduced to loud sobs, Sanji saw the crawling blood on the floor making its way toward his bare toes.
He gulped, terrified of what he would see.
Sanji stepped into the puddle of blood, felt the thick and sticky fluid in between his toes as he trudged forward. Immediately he spotted his father lying on the carpet, cheeks stained with his own blood, eyes rolled so far back that only whites of it were seen.
"Kuhahaha, you're so foolish. I knew what you were scheming, and I had kept you around because of it. Did you actually believe that you could 'cure' me, and of what? I am far more superior than you pathetic mortals." The man chuckled deviously, a bloodied knife in his hand. "I have other scientists I could use, I have no need for you two anymore. Now die as your final order."
"Stop it," the young boy whispered, frightened of the man who had once offered him his dream. "STOP IT!" he yelled, throat vibrating from the intensity of his scream. Tears beginning to form in his eyes.
His mother interjected, looking up from his father's limpid body. "Stop this instantly! We will not breathe a word of the disgusting plan of yours if you let us go!" She was trembling but her eyes were audacious, unfaltering from the boss' face.
Although his mother's life was on the line, Sanji had not budged from his spot, his legs rooted to the floor.
The man's eyes were cold, like the reptile he was. "Woman," he growled. "Move or die." His black eyes were pitch-black, like haunted nights without a moon, like the color of his oily hair hanging low on his face. He wrapped his fingers around the revolver, cocked it, and held it towards the boy's mother, who stood motionless.
And without a warning, a shot was fired, so quick that Sanji's young eyes didn't fully grasp the situation until his mother's body made a thud against the ground, crumpling like paper. And just like his father, a pool of blood quickly spread in a circular motion around her. Sanji ran towards his mother, tears and snot running down his face, hysterically crying, "Mom!" over and over again.
But she remained unresponsive, rigid as a statue, even when the boy shook her.
"So sad. What a tragedy, two brave parents dying and leaving behind their son," the man said, appearing smug.
Suddenly his father stood up, clutching his stomach, blood seeping out from in between his fingers, "You son of a bitch, you killed my wife! You will pay!" He charged forward, pure hatred in his deep-set blue eyes that were like Sanji's own. And for a split second, the boss seemed alarmed because after every shot, Sanji's father took a closer step, with his fists clenched.
"You killed my wife," the father spat as he fell on his knees, dropping to the floor right before delivering a punch.
"Dad!" the boy cried out. "Dad, please! Please, don't die. Please!" he begged, asking for the impossible.
His father, chuckled for him and brushed the strands of Sanji's hair out of his face, as he usually did every morning. "S-Sanji, my boy, your mother and I love you, don't forget that." His head lolled sideways before his arm dropped to the floor, and somehow his hands ended up meeting his mother's, holding hands even after their death.
"No," the boy whimpered. What a horrible dream this was, he wished he could just wake up.
Appearing confident once more, the boss began to laugh, "Kuhahaha, Sanji, Sanji, Sanji, what shall I do with you? Shall I spare your life? Or shall I send you off with your parents? Both seems too pleasant of an ending." He paused as he contemplated. Then with a smile, a very cold one, he said, "Oh, I know..."
In fear, smothered in blood, Sanji backed away from the man. Lips trembling and legs shaking, "S-Stop, please."
"Take him away," the man ordered with a push of a button.
"Fuck," Sanji stopped.
He wanted to share all of this with Zoro, he really did, but since it was his first time telling this story, it was fucking difficult. The memories hit him harder than he had expected, it made him sick to his stomach and reminded him of that empty feeling of his body— emotionally and physically.
When he looked up, he expected a face of pity and sympathy, but Zoro showed neither. The swordsman showed admiration and encouragement.
Sanji's throat began to clog up as dry sobs escaped his lips, "Fuck, I'm sorry, fuck." He quickly wiped away any forming perspiration from his eyes with the sleeves of his wrists, wetting the expensive material but not caring a goddamn thing upon seeing the swordsman's intense gaze focused on him.
The swordsman pulled him close, large hand on the back of the blond's head, Sanji's wet nose on the blade of his shoulder.
"It's okay," Zoro whispered.
And my god, did those simple words help.
Then after a few minutes of embracing, which got Sanji's cheeks hot, not that it mattered since it was hot from his tears anyways, he continued his story but with a cigarette in his mouth this time.
"So, that son of a motherfucker locked me inside a basement where I was treated like a prisoner, less than an animal. Every day they gave me a meal, just once a day, broth of mixed shit. He probably fed his pets better than me..."
"Here," the guard said as he pushed in the tray inside.
Hungrily, like a beast, the boy jumped at the food. He downed the soup in one gulp, not satisfying at all, then licked every corner of the bowl that didn't even have a taste anymore.
Days and nights passed without his knowledge. Every hour felt like a day yet he had no idea what an hour was anymore. He didn't know whether he was alive anymore, not with his body numbing and his strength slipping away.
It was hell.
He dreamed of his parents' death every time he closed his eyes and found himself screaming every time he awoke. Sometimes he would daydream about All Blue so the reality would disappear for awhile. Anything to keep his mind alert.
But one day, when he decided to escape, he found a crack on the wall hidden away in the corner, behind the dusty old boxes. It was small but nonetheless an opening, where he breathed in the fresh air, the smell of freedom. It was small but since he had lost all that weight, it was enough for him to fit through.
"So you escaped?" Zoro asked, with hope in his eyes.
The blond nodded, and Zoro appeared relieved. He hated to let the man down but there was more to the story, "But I was caught again."
"Damn," Zoro replied, anguish written all over his face. "What happened afterwards?" he asked, with his eyes squinted and the space between his brows furrowed.
Sanji puffed out a smoke, "Well, I was put into that damn basement again. But they sealed the crack and lessened my food sources, if that was even possible," he snorted. "It was worse this time, the hunger, the numbness. I was conscious but my body wasn't, I was half dead but not fully, and that was the fucking torture. All the food I threw out before came back to haunt me, and I could not even think about my parents anymore because that starvation was worse than death. I wouldn't wish it on anyone."
"That's why you're so keen on feeding others and not leaving any leftovers."
Sanji nodded. He felt like crying, wanting to hug the man for comfort.
But he continued the story instead, "Right before I died, my old geezer rescued me, the head chef you met at Baratie." And all that anguish and regret drained away when Zeff came into his story. With excitement, he pressed the cigarette on the ashtray with a small hiss.
"The chef?" Zoro raised a brow. "How?"
"Well, I found out that he was also in the organization, right hand man to the boss, most trusted because of his strong abilities. But since he was really close friends with my parents, he saved me when I was in dire need and adopted me as his legitimate son. We changed our last names so the organization would never find us."
He could go on and on about his old man, about how he had saved his life and had the same dreams as Sanji and knew his parents.
"With the money he had been saving, he bought the restaurant so no one else could ever starve, that old geezer feeds anyone whether they have money or not. The rich snobs don't mind paying for the price but if anyone hungry walks in, we don't mind giving them food for free." Then he paused, realizing he had nothing else left to say.
Curiously, Zoro tilted his head, "Why'd you stop, cook?"
"I'm finished," he said. "Thanks for listening, Zoro." The name felt so strange out of his own mouth but so befitting at the same time.
The swordsman nodded in understanding as he jumped to his feet, stretching his arms out in front of him, "No problem."
Then, with a serious glance that sent a thrill down the blond's spine, he said, "Sorry I misjudged you at first, I didn't know you had such a past. I thought you were just some womanizing cook."
The blond smirked, "I am a womanizing cook, just a unique one."
"Bastard," the man growled, playfully, no hint of venom behind his tone. "I was trying to be serious."
Zoro was laughing, smirking, and his eyelids were creased, like he was enjoying himself as much as Sanji was; the swordsman appeared happy to be with him. They were exchanging jokes, teasing each other, and lightening up the mood instead of wallowing in the sad atmosphere that was set between them a few minutes ago.
Then it was all quick, as it should be, as most things in life were, quick as a thought process or instinct or desperation. Zoro tapped him on the shoulder, a light punch, to show him that all was well between them, that he had no sense of judgment towards Sanji, but for the blond who had been restraining himself this whole time, more than he had ever done with a woman, it was enough to push him over the edge. That simple touch was electrifying, and it was too much. The touch, the smile, the familiarity between them.
The blond got a fistful of Zoro's shirt and pulled him closer, until their lips were smashed against one another in a teeth clattering, brutal, wrestling manner, until the warmth of the man's breath was in his nostrils, until he could taste the smell of steel on his tongue.
The swordsman had frozen.
What. The. Fuck.
His eyes had remained open as Sanji's had closed, whom remained completely absorbent to the kiss they were sharing, and as brief as it was, that split second had exploded into thousand sensations. The swordsman could not pull away, though he knew the sting in the back of his head was guilt. As shocked as he was, the touch felt familiar, easy to relax into, yet so passionate with emotions at the same time as though the blond was attempting to communicate, to scream into his mouth with the desperate movements of his lips.
Then the blond shifted the angle, just a bit, to deepen their kiss, then Zoro's head swirled with the taste of Sanji's tongue, the flavors of something sweet with an aftertaste of spice. It was addicting. And for a moment, not even quite noticeably, he responded to the cook. His own lips moved along with the rhythm and danced with the other man's tongue.
Sanji's hand came around the back of his neck to conjoin them even further, but that was one touch too far that snapped Zoro out of his bleary state of mind.
He pushed Sanji away from him, and wiped the foreign saliva off his lips with the back of his hand. "What the hell are you doing?" he snarled, disgusted at himself for responding to that kiss. Why did he do that? How could he do that? He already had Kuina, she was everything he'd ever wanted, desired, needed.
The blond was petrified, looking as confused as Zoro felt.
"Why did you do that, Sanji?" Zoro asked in a much gentler tone of voice.
Sanji appeared as though he was about to cry. "I-I don't know," he responded, sounding hoarse.
Zoro asked, without really expecting, or wanting, an answer. "Do you... like... me?"
The blond's eyes enlarged, to make him appear terrified, as though he had anticipated this question from Zoro and dreaded it. "I... I..." he stuttered, unable to finish his sentence.
By the lack of answer, it all became clear to Zoro. So that means yes.
The green haired man sighed, wondering how it had come to this. Not once did he treat Sanji romantically, intimately, or even kindly for that matter. Mostly was for his own self interest.
He really liked Sanji as a friend, but because of their strong friendship, he knew he couldn't be around the blond any longer. He knew how brutal one-sided love was and how he himself would never come to like Sanji in a romantic manner. So as a friend, it was only right that Zoro did not pull the cook by the neck to any further extent.
"Sanji," he said, softly, and that immediately grabbed the blond's attention because they hardly called each other by their actual names. "Today should be the last day."
Short but to the point, that was how Zoro usually verbalized his words.
There was an understanding but true devastated sadness behind Sanji's eyes, a lost expression that pained Zoro to see. "Can you stay for just one more night" he asked, with a downcast smile.
Zoro nodded because really, how could he refuse?
And with that, the pair slept next to one another.
And for one night, Zoro obliged to the blond's desires. He allowed Sanji to use his arm as a pillow, to relax into his chest; it enabled the swordsman to smell the blond locks again. By the breathing, Zoro was able to tell that Sanji was not asleep yet and that he was still too tense from earlier, so he used his free hand to comb through the silky blond hair and rub Sanji's temples to lax the pressure built there.
And after about half an hour, the cook fell asleep.
Zoro's eyes rested on the cook's face. Other than the few strands of hair on his chin, the man's face was smooth as a baby's. His skin was milky white but a healthy pale color. Zoro curiously brushed his thumb against the blond's eyelashes and then slowly trailed down to those lips that were kissing him earlier. The red lips that held such fervor and passion, so soft and plump, why did he want to taste them again?
He experimentally hugged the lighter body and rested his chin on the blond hair. God, there was this urge to protect him, especially after hearing about the death of his parents and the starvation he had to undergo, but the sense of responsibility of allowing Sanji to forget him was more important. He didn't want the cook to suffer any further from the one-sided love; if Sanji was to have a happily ever after, Zoro had to disappear from the frame.
Even if neither party wanted to part from the other.
Before Sanji even awoke, he felt the empty and cold space next to him.
He stretched his arm out to his side and clenched the blanket where Zoro had been a few hours ago.
Sanji saw that disgusted, or horrified, expression of Zoro's after they broke apart from the kiss. The man had been scared shitless from Sanji kissing him. But of course he was! I would've been too if I had been in his shoes! He regretted it— the impulse, the desire, the kiss— he wanted to change his past, he wanted Zoro back because not only did his heart throb from the rejection, he also lost a dear friend.
Salty perspiration dribbled down his cheeks, and he tasted his own tears. Silent sobs choked out, and the pillow beneath him became soaked with his teardrops.
Sanji was clutching a note by the swordsman, one that said, If fate allows us, we shall meet again, but until then, do not contact me.
The thought of never seeing Zoro again tasted so bitter, ached his chest, and brought more tears to his eyes. Both times did Zoro walk out on him and both times because Sanji had screwed up.
AN: Revised~
It's difficult to shift the tone of the text from playful to romantic to melancholy, but I hope it worked. This chapter had a lot of emotions and it was hard to write this without feeling them myself. I'm sorry for leaving the ending hanging like this, but I swear it gets better? (Don't believe me, I'm actually evil)
Anyways, I felt that some dialogues were off and that scene were changing too fast, if you felt that way also I'm sorry! Please do tell me if you felt that way.
Oh, by the way, there is a lovely fan art of the sleeping scene between the two by k-dds, the link is on my biography page, do check it out! It's nice ;)