Sanji hated him already. It was just as simple as that. Sanji hated everything about him, not that he actually knew anything about him, but he was certain he would hate whatever it was he did come to learn.

The bastard snored too loud. Luffy didn't mind, 'cuz he's fucking Luffy, but Sanji couldn't drown out the shitty racket at all that night, and he was on the other side of the apartment! That's just fucking wrong. And it really didn't help that Sanji only had about four hours to sleep that night, anyway, before he had to wake his ass up and drag himself into the kitchen to make breakfast before heading to work.

But what really got his day off to the shittiest start possible was seeing the damage from their fight in the clarity of day time. The living room was fucked up! Some shit was broken, there was a surprisingly large spot of blood on the floor that the green-haired asshole had spat out last night, not to mention the hole in the wood from where Sanji's heel missed the fucker's head. He rather regretted the fact, now.

But he sighed, vein throbbing slightly in his forehead, and he tried not to think about how he'd have to clean all this up when he got back from work that night. He didn't trust that bastard for one second, and Luffy didn't even know howto hold a broom.

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

He really wanted to kill Luffy, sometimes. Letting some violent, infuriating bastard move in without evening consulting Sanji first! If the dim-witted kid wasn't so well loved by their group of friends, Sanji would have made sure that there were two empty rooms to be filled.

Fucking moss-headed prick. Sanji hated him already. Hated that stupid face, which had been pretty well bruised up the night before, and that did serve to make him feel a bit better.

Hated his ridiculous green hair. Who the fuck has green hair, anyway? Did he dye it? Was he just a freak? Fuck that hair. It pissed Sanji off.

Hated his stupid Army duffel. Carrying it around like he was some war hero. Fuck that. Asshole probably never did anything worthwhile in his entire life. Sanji knew the type. He'd seen it before. Fucking broke-ass transient, wandering around, probably had some drug addiction or was running from the cops.

Fucking jackass.

Hated that black case he carried into his room last night. Looked like a weapons case. Sanji bet he had a bunch of illegal guns and hunting knives and shit in there. Fucker was probably a murderer, or maybe some psycho who kept little kids locked up in the basement and tortured them. He looked like the type. Sanji'd seen it before. Or not, but he looked like it, anyway.

Fucking hated his stupid boots.

Hated the fact that he came home from work that day tired, sweaty, and sore all over the goddamn place, only to find all the dishes washed and put away, the broken shit swept up, the splatter of blood wiped clean, and all the furniture back in place…

…and Luffy didn't even know how to hold a broom…

But what he really, really hated was that he couldn't even see where the hole in the floor had been…

Hey-o! Yes, posting in twos again! No guarantee that I'll keep that up, but I know for a fact that this chapter is criminally short, so I decided to go ahead and post CH.4, so people don't scream at me like they did on LJ. And don't worry about me keeping with this story: I already have 16 chapters written up, and 17 is in the works. And it's not even half-way over yet, I don't think. And this is the shortest chapter. Seriously. After CH.11, or so, things start getting bizarrely long. Insanely long. Just you wait!