You could have heard a pin drop, the silence was that deafening.
Most understood what those tears meant, the comment, the atmosphere, because most of them knew what it felt like to lose someone.
Zoro breathed heavily, he saw Luffy lower his head so his straw hat would shadow his expression, saw Nami's eyes widen and cover her mouth, saw Franky beginning to tear up, saw Usopp gape at the doctor with his jaw dropped open, saw Sanji reaching for his pack of cigarettes from his inner pocket. No one was speaking, yet everything was so loud, he couldn't hear anything above the silence, he could only hear his own breath, his own raspy voice piercing the soundless atmosphere, "What happened?"
The little doctor was wiping his teary eyes, rubbing it so hard that it became red, crying so hard that snot dripped down his chin. There was only one answer but Zoro needed to hear it, he didn't want to, but he needed to, it was the only way to confirm his worst possible fear.
"Kuina is dead."
It was strange to hear those words because it actually affected him; the ground almost gave away and his head spun like a loop, almost like Sanji's eyebrows, and his hands began to shake with the weight of what Chopper's words actually meant. Zoro was someone who accepted death more easily than others, being in an organization at one point in his life, it never meant the loss of their presence, their scent, their jokes, it never meant those ordinary days where they swung their swords around and shared their dreams and mid nights where they laid next to each other in silence, it never meant the loss of his own self.
But what could he do? Death was a natural occurrence, it was expected, it was foreshadowed in everybody's lives, but he couldn't help but be reminded that humans die eventually, that they are fragile.
He couldn't help but be shaken by this news.
"Zoro, are you okay? Zoro, please answer me."
The little doctor was shaking him by the arm, Zoro noticed the bags under his eyes. He probably stayed up for two nights again, without a rest for 24 hours, and here he was worrying about the state of mind of his own.
The swordsman nodded, he still could not speak yet, felt something blocking his throat. He felt all the pairs of eyes staring at him, but they were not pitying him because they were sad themselves. Zoro wasn't ignorant, he knew her death not only affected him but a majority, especially Koshiro, whose eyes were cast away behind his rough hands, the glasses lifted above his eyebrows. Zoro could only imagine what this man was going through, perhaps he was infuriated like himself, wanted to act upon revenge and do the bid Kuina could not fulfill.
Koshiro, in actuality, benevolently spoke to Chopper, "You did your best, thank you for trying. It's not your fault." He ruffled the boy's sandy hair, hugged him and allowed his snot to soak his gray fabric.
Chopper cried and cried, which triggered some others to cry as well. In a high-pitched wavering voice, he said, "If only I had gotten here earlier, I think she could have been saved... If only today had not rained, she could have been saved... I could have helped her if I had been a better doctor... If I only knew more things, no one would be sad right now."
Zoro remained motionless, frozen with his eyes wide and eyebrows creased, because he had no idea what to do next.
In usual cases, he would tell Chopper to suck it up and act like a man, that crying was a sign of weakness and weaknesses weren't mean to be shown to other people, but how could he say all that when he himself felt like crying, as well?
"Chopper, how in the hell is any of this your fault? Do you control the weather? People's lives? Are you God? It's not your fault," someone from the group spoke reason, one who happened to be the love cook in all his anger and sorrow, pride and hurt. "You were just trying to fix my mistakes," he concluded, made other members of the group stare at him in shock, including Zoro and Chopper.
The young doctor weakly rebutted, "It's not your fault either..." However, the blond merely shook his head and ended their discussion.
.~.~.~.~.
Everyone left in a stiff manner, went home or to work, all had to leave after an hour or so had passed, hugged Zoro and whispered words of consolations in his ears before zipping past the more lively hospital of patients and nurses, doctors and guests, out of the hospital to the more refreshing air of life, to escape the atmosphere of death and empty hopes and disease filled coughs.
Koshiro had remained calm along with the D brothers, whom conversed with the doctors of the 'next step', what was going to happen to her body and the funeral arrangements and all the shit like that, things you would not want to hear after someone's death.
He sat on the waiting benches, Sanji had kept him company the longest, but he too had to leave after awhile. They did not talk, he only chewed on his peppermint gum as a replacement for his cigarette and Zoro remained lost in his own train of thoughts, partly believing that since he had not seen her cold and stiff body yet, or had not even seen her wounded shoulder, he would see her again back at the dojo training with the bamboo sword, would greet him with a wank on his head and a smirk on her face.
She would say, You're still weak, Zoro, with that confident, on the borderline of arrogant, smile of hers.
I'm still so weak.
This time he admitted to being weak mentally, though he still lacked it physically as well. He was not one to lament over death, to cry over their existence, or wish for a do-over. He had to accept the fate, the 'everything happens for a reason' philosophy, because it was the path of enlightenment, to honor that she had once lived and did well, that her life was fleeting yet still impacting, that she had lived by chance and died by chance, lived randomly and died randomly.
But fuck, he felt weak to his stomach and legs, felt pathetic without her presence no longer in the world, felt infuriated at Mihawk and the non-existent God and her destiny, all that shit that pulled him down emotionally.
Fuck, why did she have to die?
.~.~.~.~.
The funeral was not big or too extravagant, there were only close friends and families there, a few people who felt the need to express their gratitude to her grave, but the guest list was mostly exclusive, there was not even a priest to make a ceremony of, only those who murmured a few sentences to her sleeping form.
Koshiro greeted those he could, the close relatives, the people who traveled all the way from Japan, and those random people who came to see her. Most of his friends were sniffling or bawling, and Sanji, whom Koshiro invited, was smoking away from the group, they each walked forward to have a small speech to give to Kuina, how she was a close friend and all, how they were happy with her by their side. Zoro remained hidden, slumped underneath the shadow of a sycamore tree, he only appeared when they were lowering her coffin to let it fully hit that she had died and she was not back at the dojo, training with Wado, meditating near the creek, and eating rice cakes on the front porch.
He saw her peaceful face, the black lines above her two eyes, red lipstick brushed upon her lips, shade of pink on her cheeks to give her life as though she wasn't dead at all, just napping. It was silly how they did this, trying to make death as aesthetically pleasing as possible, but he'd rather see this than her pale face drained of blood, chapped lips, rotted flesh, and sunken eyes.
Zoro remained hidden under the shade of a sycamore tree until everybody left with their last farewells, until even Koshiro murmured his goodbyes and drove home, until the swordsman was left alone with his swordswoman once more.
He stood in front of headstone, read "Here lies..." and her name and her life span, then "Died from bravery as a proud swordswoman," which she would've liked, he assumed. Zoro rested his hand on top of the stone, felt it breathe (as strange as it sounds, he hears the earth surrounding him when truly connected with his spiritual side), and whispered, "Goodbye."
Zoro was never good with words anyways and if she heard she would've understood.
.~.~.~.~.
The swordsman fell unconscious a lot of the times (more often than before), slept when he wasn't tired or when it wasn't necessary, ate when he heard his stomach growl, and trained when his body itched for action; but most of the times, he slept, collapsed anywhere, any time of the day, didn't dream or snore like he used to, he simply fell unconsciousness like a corpse, and when he awoke the exhaustion and fatigue remained in his body.
In the shadows of his slumber, the part of his subconsciousness where he has trouble getting up when he is already awake, he heard soft knuckles tapping against his front door.
Zoro rubbed his eyes and yawned, strolled over to the door and invited Koshiro in, who stood by the doorway with a plastic bags hanging low from his arms. "Good afternoon, Zoro. I brought you some food," he smiled warmly as he placed the bags on the kitchen table. "I haven't seen you in awhile, I thought it would be a good chance for us to catch up."
"What did you want to talk about?" Zoro asked as his fingers curiously parted the plastic bags, opening them to reveal two bento boxes inside.
The two men sat in front of one another at his kitchen table, Zoro passed one bento to the older man as he opened up the other for himself.
"Zoro," the man sighed. "I know you're probably angry over my daughter's death but rather than taking vengeance you should defeat Mihawk by-"
"I know, Koshiro, I will defeat him to become the best swordsman and not for anything petty like revenge." If he had died in Kuina's place, he would not have wanted her to act upon his death either, because at the end, it had been the person's choice to put their life on the line.
He lifted the top off the bento, which revealed an elaborate meal of rice, salmon, marinated seaweed, cucumber salad, fermented soybeans, and miso soup on the side, embellished with spices and sauces. It was fancy for a meal. At the first bite, a spoonful of rice with the salmon, dipped in the soup, the flavors exploded in millions of sensations, and it triggered a memory and reminded him of a certain style a certain cook had.
"That curly asked you to give me this, didn't he?" he asked the older man, grinning around the edges of his food.
Koshiro seemed taken aback, "How did you know?"
The swordsman shrugged, he couldn't explain why, he just did.
"This morning he insisted that I take these bentos to you, told me how unhealthy your eating habits are. I have to say, he's quite talented in what he does," Koshiro complimented as he took a sip of the soup.
The swordsman snorted. That narcissistic cook would collapse if he ever heard that.
"It's okay," he replied.
The older man disregarded that small comment to bring back his aforementioned subject, "As I mentioned, Zoro, you should not choose vengeance to defeat Mihawk because it hurts both parties-"
"Get to the point already, Koshiro."
In a calm and collected manner, he knitted his fingers, stared into Zoro's eyes, analytically read him, and continued, "Zoro, I'm afraid it's going to be shocking no matter how I put it, I bear an important news..."
"SANJI!" an obnoxiously booming tone angrily shouted.
Another damn head chef having a problem with how the blond did things, threatening to probably decapitate him with that damn spatula in his hand.
"What?" he answered, bored, slightly irritated, as he sat back against the kitchen counter next to the pots and pans, his hands tucked inside of his pockets.
Two more blue veins popped out high above the chef's ugly forehead, his cheeks became brighter with the colors of humiliation and vexation, and this weird-ass black mustache of his twitched along with his left eye, and the sight would've been funny if Sanji hadn't been so pissed the fuck off.
"I TOLD YOU TO STOP FLIRTING WITH EVERY WOMAN IN SIGHT AND GET BACK TO WORK!"
Heaving and puffing, spits spewing, noses flaring, eyes widening, it was not a pretty sight to see this amateur chef at a diner screaming at Sanji for getting bored at his waiter duties. Sure, he did not have any legitimate proof that he was a cook, none of that paper shit he needed to attain through vigorous testing, but he was a cook nonetheless. Also, it was in his blood to adore the beautiful flowers called women.
"Shut the fuck up," Sanji sighed as he unraveled the strings of his apron and pulled it off from his head. "I don't take orders from shits like you."
The man's face contorted with such distaste that his nose wrinkled and mustache arose from its spot, "GET OUT OF MY RESTAURANT!" He snatched the apron out of Sanji's hands as he pointed to the exit with his index finger.
I don't need this much shittiness in my life, the blond thought as he stalked out the door, kicking it open with the bottom of his foot.
Though the weather was picture perfect with the sea colored sky and cotton candy clouds, Sanji's self-absorbed anger made it impossible for him to relax into it; instead, he continued to curse under his breath, "Shitty restaurant, shitty boss, they can go fuck themselves." He lit himself a cigarette to suck on.
"And shitty marimo for being incapable of taking care of himself."
He recalled handing Koshiro two bento boxes because... yes, he had been worried about that stupid bastard and as it was his instinct to flirt with every pretty woman in sight, it was also his instinct to feed people, to be concerned whether it was wanted or not. That idiot's health probably slipped out of his mind after the passing of Kuina, probably abused his body with intense self training and ate frozen food instead of an actual meal, or meditated for so long that he forgot to eat (which was plausible according to the internet.)
And perhaps he wanted to help to ease himself, his own insomniac disorder that has been gradually worsening with each night. To face his own reflection of guilt, he felt that he needed to help Zoro, the one who was left in a more awful condition than himself.
Then perhaps he could go back to work, find a better job than that shitty diner or Baratie, find a life of his own as Zeff told him to do so; and speaking of his old man, he occasionally called to check up on him, asked Sanji whether he was eating okay and avoiding sicknesses, fatherly shit that didn't become too gooey (the two of them weren't meant to be like that), and Sanji would respond that he was having a great fucking life without the old fart, making tons of money and new recipes, having a stable relationship with a pretty girl, things that would make Zeff proud of him, a sense of relief thinking that losing his leg wasn't such a waste, after all.
Fuck, when did I become a drama queen?
The atmosphere was nice, the bare trees with baby fresh green leaves sprouting from the ends of its branches, commencement of Spring, an anew of chances and experiences, but Sanji cursed at his existence when the snot dribbled down from his nose because of his damn allergies.
"Dammit, Koshiro," Zoro groaned with a grit of his teeth. "I don't understand, explain this."
"Zoro, I'm sorry for telling you all of a sudden but I believe this is a rare chance for you to exceed in your skills as a swordsman since I can no longer assist you on your path, it is time for you to learn beneath a better swordsman than I, someone who portrays power and not arrogance, that behind swordsmanship is not merely strength but beyond that, someone who is respected throughout the world." He paused before dropping a bomb, "Someone that is Mihawk himself."
Zoro groaned aloud, placed his head inside his hands.
"Dammit Koshiro," he repeated.
"I have learned from a friend of mine from Japan that Mihawk is willing to take up an apprentice, someone worthy who can triumph as the winner in a kendo competition held in Osaka, the largest tournament nationwide with the respected swordsmen from all around the world."
Of course a part of him, the swordsman, wanted to take this offer, which held a world of possibilities for him, being able to expand and encounter countless numbers of strong opponents and train with the greatest swordsman in the world; however, the other part of him, the part that was loyal to Kuina, disagreed, because it almost felt like a betrayal being taught like a dog under a person who killed her, ripped her existence out of this world with a thrust of his arms. How dare he be taught under someone who he should revenge upon?
"I'll think about it."
Koshiro shook his head, "The tournament is held next week, you have to make a choice fast."
"I will," Zoro told him with a weary sigh, feeling conflicted, as he rubbed the back of his neck with the palm of his hand.
The older man took his leave right afterwards, told Zoro that it was late and he should take his leave.
As an alternative to distract himself, Zoro began to jog in the same spot, and when that wasn't enough, he took his leave thirty minutes after Koshiro's departure to run down the blocks and streets. With the pulsing melody of his Japanese music humming through his system, he felt as though he was soaring, running fast underneath the blanket of the starlit night sky with no one around.
He eventually came to a stop, and although he had been traveling to nowhere in particular he felt that his surroundings were familiar.
Zoro popped his earphones out of his ears as he stared with his mouth agape at the recognizable building in front of him. He disheveled his hair, tucked his earphones into his pockets, and walked inside the building with a stupid grin on his face, headed to the floor he knew well and knocked on Sanji's door. Admittedly, his heart jumped a little when he heard that velvety tone of voice, when he saw that pale complexion with those lean jawlines, parted blond hair that covered half of his face, and that 'o' of his mouth when he recognized the swordsman at the door.
"Hey," he greeted.
The cigarette almost dropped to the floor but his teeth caught it before it could. "What the fuck?" His face was an array of confusion, excitement, and affection, but mostly taken back from Zoro's sudden appearance. "Why are you here?"
Zoro smirked, he had almost missed the foul mouth of the cook's.
"Are you going to let me stand here all night or are you going to let me in?"
The blond smirked, adjusted to a more comfortable standing position with one of his knees bent and fingers coming around the cigarette in his mouth, "I do want to see you suffer but it'll be embarrassing if the neighbors start asking me about the homeless man camping out in front of my door, so I guess I can let you in." He waved his hand for Zoro to come in and close the door behind him, whose nose was highly alert from the flavorful aroma from the kitchen.
"Ah, shit, it's burning!" Sanji ran across to the stove to lower the heat, cursing under his breath as he twisted the knob.
Zoro quickly glanced around the apartment, noticed how some books were thrown on the carpet and jackets were slumped over the couch, but other than that, it all appeared the same as though he had not been gone for months. He walked over to the blond, who was in the kitchen handling his frying pan, and curiously peeked into the pan. "What are you doing?"
"Cooking," the prick affirmed the very obvious statement. Before Zoro could snap and say he was an idiot, Sanji turned around with the spoon in hand, asked, "Wanna try?" Zoro did. "Pretty good, isn't it?" the cook tilted his head in a cocky manner, with that annoying know-it-all smirk curving of his lips.
God, what the fuck are these fried rice made of?
The swordsman grunted, "It's okay."
But the blond obviously knew it was a lie, the way he hummed as he turned back and paid attention to the frying pan once more. "I guess you don't want any then," he said as he poured himself a share onto a plate, slowly carrying it away from Zoro's nostrils, walking over the the television screen. "But if you do, you can get it yourself."
Zoro had his own code of pride to follow but it was weak against the delicious smell wafting over his way, calling his name. He got a plate and took his share, settled down next to the blond, who was laughing at the gimmicks on the television.
"How have you been?" Sanji asked when the commercials came on, his blue eyes casually taking a glimpse of the swordsman.
"I've been sleeping, eating, and sleeping more..." he answered.
"That's what every normal human being does," the cook rolled his eyes. "Anything special, new? Interesting stuff?" His tone was one attempting to communicate with an ape.
Zoro furrowed his brows, "I worked out and meditated." He frowned as he asked, "Why do you care anyways?" However, as soon as the question slipped out of his tongue, he realized that the blond was trying to ask how Zoro has been ever since Kuina's death.
"I'm trying to start a conversation, idiot, haven't anyone taught you the basics of socialization, or manners for that matter?"
"Well, I wasn't raised to be a snob," Zoro snorted with a sly grin at the sight of twitches of Sanji's brows.
The green haired man laughed when a string of insults came out of the blond's mouth, one after the other, as expected of Sanji, in which he had a foul mouth and nothing could change that aspect of him. It was sort of... nice? And also, he somehow missed the delivery of Sanji's legs across his body, sending him straight to the floor from the couch, it was a good thing Zoro decided to put his plate down on the coffee table.
"Hey, I didn't know you wanted to tackle me so much, cook," he grunted under the crushing weight of Sanji's body on his lungs.
The blond's cheeks glowed with embarrassment, the rosy hue of his cheekbones deepened with each second. He stiffened by those words and silence lingered as he tried to find the right things to say.
"You're sticky," Sanji commented as a topic changer.
"I ran miles before coming here, of course I'm sticky." He pushed the blond off him, rolled out from under him. "I should go home and take a shower," he told Sanji as he sniffed his shirt, which was not too pleasant.
The blond jumped to his feet, "You could take a shower here if you'd like, I have some extra clothes that might fit you, too."
Zoro pulled himself up, his hands on his knees, left foot first then the right, as he responded in surprise, "Should I be scared that you're actually being nice to me, curly?" He knew Sanji wasn't a total dickhead all of the times, but times like these still managed to stun him.
Sanji clenched his jaw around the cigarette he put in his mouth a few minutes ago, "It's manners, something you obviously lack, idiot."
It was playful, this back and forth insulting gimmick, the way they retaliated with a perfect pace to match the other, it was fun and annoying, invigorating and frustrating, and overall, lively.
"Here," Sanji handed him the clothes from his closet, which was adjacent to the bedroom door, a green tank top and sweat pants that were quite large and probably loose fitting on the blond's lean body, he had folded them neatly on top of another as he passed it over to the swordsman. "I hope they fit"
"I'll be done in about ten minutes," Zoro told the blond, who had opened his window so the smoke could escape the room, as the swordsman sauntered over to the bathroom, which was next to the bedroom.
"Sure," Sanji responded quietly, as he kept his eyes on the view outside.
Zoro could have sworn that his breath caught in his throat or the atmosphere had stilled around him because he could not turn away from the figure of the cook, whose stance was so natural that he could almost have been a painting. But when he did, when the swordsman slammed the bathroom door behind him, he breathed again and the motion of his surroundings moved forward again.
.~.~.~.~.
As he always smelt it on the cook, there was a scent of nicotine as well as spice on his clothing, as expected. They were soft as cotton, warm when he pulled them on over his head. The tank top was a bit tight, but it was understandable, with the differentiation in their frames, especially around the upper torso area where Zoro concentrated the strength of his muscles.
"Oi, cook," he called out when he walked into the bedroom, with the white towel wrapped around his head.
The blond, who had not shifted from the position he was in before Zoro stepped into the bathroom, turned around in the direction of the swordsman. "Going home now?" With the lights directly reflecting off his face, Zoro could see the dark purple streaks underneath Sanji's eyes, giving his eyes a tired and an old look.
Is this idiot getting sleep?
He answered, "Yeah, thanks for the shower." Zoro threw the towel from his head to the blond's arms, who caught it nimbly with two fingers, his cigarette in his other hand.
There was tension in the air, the seconds when neither of them spoke.
"I guess I'll see you s-" Zoro paused, thinking over Koshiro's offer from earlier. If he were to take it, his next meeting with Sanji probably won't be that soon, so he replaced those words with a simple "Bye."
Because there was no certain guarantee that the two of them would ever see each other again.
Admittedly, very longingly, Sanji wanted to pull the swordsman back, wrap the larger body around in his arms, feel the soft cotton of his own tank top that were firm against the man and breathe in that distinct smell that soothed him; however, all he could do was smile in a halfhearted manner while playfully kicking the man out the door, calling him names and restraining himself from repeating his mistakes.
"Bye," Sanji said as he waited by the door for Zoro to leave.
He still felt the tug, the urge to grab the man, to tell him don't leave and stay for the night at least, stronger than before, pulling at him like a tight rope, but the door slammed and all he was left with was himself and none other.
AN: Revised~
I'm sorry I kind of sped through the whole death process. I feel that if I had detailed it, it would have been wayy more chapters and since I wanted to jump on the relationship between Zoro and Sanji already, it came out as a cut-off, jagged, dream-like events, which admittedly helped with how Zoro felt after the death.