"Hey eggplant. You look like shit."
"Shut up." The automatic response make its way out of Sanji's mouth before it registered in his brain.
"No, shitty brat. I haven't seen you like that since your first hangover." Sanji drummed his fingers on the counter. His first hangover had been pretty horrible. He had turned delusional. It brought up faces of his enemies and pasted them onto bodies of his friends. He ended up wrecking a whole lot of havoc before someone could subdue him. Perks of being a good fighter.
"It'll stop."
"Tough luck, kid." Zeff shook his head. Sanji grit his teeth. He always had to stick out his nightmares. As a little kid, he was afraid of the dark, and waking up from a nightmare was just as terrifying as having one. Nothing to comfort him but the bitingly cold winds and the pitch black. He couldn't distinguish the difference between reality and dreams and spiralled into paranoia. As he grew hungrier, he started hallucinating about food and everything he lost, his parents, the cooks. Every night was hell. "If you can't sleep, go spend the night making a new recipe or something." The old man snapped his broad fingers in front of Sanji's nose.
"Yeah," Sanji muttered, blinking.
"And nothing that takes too long either because last time when you fell asleep in the kitche-"
"Shut up!"
Sanji clambered into bed, dreading what was waiting. He could feel it. A bad dream lurking at the back of brain like a captive lion, slinking around the corner and waiting to pounce. He shivered under the covers.
"Hey, you're the Prince, right?" The woman with a large mace batted her eyelashes at Sanji.
"Hell yeah I am." Sanji rolled the cigarette between his thumb and forefinger. The man beside the woman flicked his long ponytail over his shoulder and took his stance. Some sort of martial arts. The blonde grinned. This would be fun.
"Come at me." He flicked the butt of his cigarette up in the air before moving in. They parried, the consecutive smacks of flesh make Sanji's heart pound. Enough testing. They back off, eyeing each other. "Are you going to get seri-"
The man's ponytail came to life, wrapping around Sanji's neck. A smack to the back of his neck had him blacked out like a snuffed candle.
"Hey, hold him still will you?" Sanji half opened his eyes, taking a few moments to focus on the figures in front of him. The beautiful woman crouched. "I want information."
"I'm afraid I can only be of limited use to you, my lady." Sanji made a move, before releasing his limbs were trapped by iron shackles. The woman smiled.
"I want information about Zeff." A cold hand clutched Sanji's heart. There was no way in hell he'd tell her anything. "See, this is why I hate men." The woman's smile disappeared. She stood up and backed a few paces. "Start by pulling off his fingernails."
Sanji opened his eyes, scrambling in the darkness. He threw off his covers and ran his hands along the wall, finding the light switch and flicking it on. Zoro was already awake, squinting against the sudden burst of light. Sanji didn't trust himself to speak. He opened the door, flicking on the lights around the apartment. Light. Light and food. He reached the kitchen, opening the door of the fridge and staring at the contents within.
"Sanji." The chef stopped, letting the fridge door close as he straightened. "Sanji. It's okay." Sanji turned slightly, peeking at Zoro through the curtains of his hair.
"Zoro…" His eyes watered. He wiped his eyes and sniffed. "I'm fine." Sanji brushed past Zoro and making his way back to the bedroom. "I'm okay," he repeated, rubbing his eyes again.
"Stop lying, shit-cook." He felt Zoro's hot breath on his ear. The voice was quiet, murmured. Almost like crooning or soft singing.
Although, how could an insult sound so gentle was beyond Sanji.
He felt Zoro lay his chin on his shoulder and wrap his arms around the chef's middle. He felt Zoro's heartbeat on his back. It was something like meditation. The chef sighed, tapping absently on Zoro's arms.
"I'm okay now." His voice was stronger. He sounded more like himself. "I'm fucking tired. Let's go back to sleep." There was no answer.
Wait.
"Shitty marimo."
No answer.
There was no way that idiot mosshead could've fallen asleep while standing.
Sanji turned his head slowly, peering down at Zoro.
The swordsman had indeed fallen asleep.
He was going to kill him.
Sanji untangled himself from Zoro's grasp and pulled his arms, throwing the oversized hugging teddy bear over his shoulder before lugging and hauling his stupid ass all the way back to the bedroom.
"Your shoulders are pointy." Zoro cracked his eyes open as soon as Sanji dumped him on the mattress. He rubbed his stomach, frowning sourly.
"You were awake?" Sanji snarled.
"Hell, anyone would be."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"I enjoyed being carried by the Prince of Idiots. Just goes to show I have my own servants," Zoro snarked, lounging back in his blankets. He rolled over as Sanji brought his foot down, bare foot smacking right in the place where Zoro's belly was moments ago.
"You little shi- mmph!" The blonde's sentence was interrupted by mouthful of pillow. He tore it and glared murderously at the smug swordsman who was arming himself with the remainder of the unused pillows around the room.
The pillow fight descended into shredded pillows, feathers bursting out of the abused cases, dirty fighting, swearing that increased in volume and both participants looking like they've become the new human bird hybrid species.
The nightmares soon became a regular occurrence in Sanji's life. He jokingly insisted it was a disease he caught from Zoro, but it was no joke. They became increasingly violent and twisted, like elongated, hooked knives, cutting deep and refusing to budge. He was unsure what it meant, whether old memories had come back to haunt him, or that he'd finally be healed from the past once it'd stop. Sanji and Zoro would often have their night talks, and though Sanji could never bring himself to describe his dreams, the swordsman never pressed. He didn't even know why the fuck he was content with someone as barbaric as Zoro, another male, share his sleeping space, and he tried to make up numerous excuses when he thought about it.
1. He's an ape and I want my bed. He just won't move.
2. I won't bow down and sleep on the couch. After all, it's my bed.
3. The couch isn't comfortable.
4. The bed is mine.
5. I like my bed.
6. I have to make sure he doesn't ruin my bed.
7. Refer to number 1 and repeat.
But eventually, it came down to one thing: he liked it. He liked Zoro's presence in the room. The deep breathing was comforting and they were almost always awake together, discussing their, or rather, Zoro's dreams, which were becoming increasingly ridiculous, and their bickering always made Sanji feel better. Zoro wasn't moving out soon either, nor did Sanji hear he had plans to, so he was content for the marimo to lounge around and eat and take up space in general.
It was nice.